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Owen has done every single presentation for our company. He’s the smiling, confident charmer. I’m the smiling, confident-about-everything-except-public-speaking tech guy who stands behind him and claps.
“Oh, you’ll be fine,” Owen says, knowing I know he knows that’s not accurate. “You’ve written speeches for me before. They were better than mine. It’s just the add-on of standing up and reading it out.”
His sigh breaks my terrified silence. “I’m so sorry, El. But I’m desperate to get that thing off my plate. There’s so much whizzing around my head that I need to know it’s one thing I don’t have to think about.”
My brain scrambles for a way out, for the thought of someone, anyone, else who could do it. But the gray matter that can spot a coding error in a split second, an error it would take anyone else days to find, fails me when it comes to a practical life problem.
I try to keep my voice steady. “Well, it wouldn’t be the same as you speaking, but I can talk to the Netto execs and maybe they could have two people make speeches instead of one. And the second one could focus on us and the First Byte origin story.”
“Oh no, El. That wasn’t what I meant. We’ve wanted this nonprofit since we started the company. Something like this would have made a huge difference to us when we were kids. Imagine the head start we’d have had on programming. This thing has lived in our hearts and our souls for years, and finally it’s about to happen. And with our dream sponsor. We can’t not have one of us up there talking about it with the passion only you and I have.”
My stomach churns.
Why can’t people understand that the mere thought of something like this makes me want to hurl my guts? I’ve never been one for hanging around in busy rooms full of people at the best of times, and I’ve sure as hell never wanted to address one of them.
I flop onto the sofa and put my head in my non-phone-holding hand. “I can’t do it, Owen. You know I can’t. I’m shit at things like that.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know.”
“But you’ve never done one.”
“I did one at MIT, remember? And only because we had to, or we’d fail the class.”
“Oh yeah.” He sucks in air between his teeth. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“Yes, I’ve also tried to forget that dramatic trip on the edge of the podium on my way to the lectern and falling flat on my face. And the mutterings of disgust as blood occasionally dripped from my nose throughout my presentation. Professor Chen was not impressed by the splatter on her keyboard.”
“But that was a long time ago when you were an awkward student.”
“And now I’m an awkward adult.”
“No, you’re not. You’re the confident owner of an almost-billion-dollar tech company you built with your own blood and sweat. And I know you’d be fantastic if you’d just give it a try. I know you would.”
“No, I wouldn’t. I’d be really fucking nervous, bumble my words, and make a fool of myself. That’s definitely not the image we want for Two Coast Tech.”
“Okay, okay. Maybe I could squeeze it in.” He sighs again. But this time it’s the same sigh I heard over and over in the few months before he met Summer. The sighs that told me he was nearing the end of his rope and struggling to cope.
The wedding and the start of his new life with the woman of his dreams should be bringing him joy, not stress and anxiety. I can’t see him teeter on the edge of crashing and burning like that again. It’s no good for Owen, no good for the business, and definitely no good for the start of a marriage.
As silence stretches along the phone line between the West and East coasts, I push myself up from the sofa and head back to the window, kicking aside a cooling fan that slid off the pile of old computer components a couple of days ago.
The glass chills my perspiring forehead when I rest against it and stare down at the traffic clogging FDR Drive. If the choice is to put Owen or myself through a hideous experience, I have to choose myself.
If I make the speech super short and maybe a bit funny and self-deprecating, thank Netto, and swiftly hand the mic over to them, I might be able to get away with it. Five minutes. I could do five minutes, right? For the sake of Owen’s over-stressed mind.
If it weren’t for him and his ability to network, make contacts, schmooze, and do all the other fantastic presentations he’s done, we wouldn’t have the company we have now. I should do this for him. No matter how much the thought of it makes me want to puke.
“No, no, Owen. It’s okay. I’ll do it. You focus on the wedding and Summer. Those are the most important things in your life right now. I’ll take this one for the team.”
“Are you sure?”
Nope, I’m definitely not. But the relief in his voice makes it worth trying to punch my fear in its face. “Sure.”
“Man, I appreciate that. It might not sound like much, but it’s a load off.”
It actually sounds like a lot—for me and my nonexistent public speaking skills anyway. “Of course. Don’t mention it. It’ll be fine. Just make sure to laugh at my jokes in case people don’t notice them.”
