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Max
Weird combination. I’ll allow it.
Hadlee
You’re all obnoxious. Do you realize there are four hundred and sixty-eight notifications on this text thread?
Max
How nice of you to grace us with your presence, Hads.
Hadlee
I’ve been boon-docking!
Max
Why?
Mara
Apocalypse preparedness training?
Elora
Hads is a minimalist.
Hadlee
Experiences over things is my MO.
Max
Welcome back to the land of the living.
Hadlee
Thanks. First stop is a bathtub.
Elly, why so homesick?
Max
Yeah, Elly. Why so homesick?
God, I missed Broderick. Had been missing him even more since leaving Mistyvale nearly two weeks ago. He was like a phantom limb, an omnipresent ache for a piece of me that was never there when I went reaching for it. Yeah, we talked every night and texted all day—hell; we spent the evenings watching the same movies or playing the same music. But it wasn’t the same thing as waking up in his arms on those stolen days back home. He was meeting me here on Saturday night, and we’d go watch Pax play Sunday together, shielded by the family box and thousands of fans.
I never thought I wouldn’t want to take another speaking gig, but fuck, having to say goodbye to him again was even worse than Las Vegas. By my fourth year on the speaking circuit, I’d learned to make my presence dependent on my comfort—flat water instead of sparkling, and the right coffee and snacks in a private dressing room, or hotel room on site, where I could run through my breathing exercises, visualization, and rehearsal before stepping out on stage or in front of a boardroom.
When I first started, I would’ve labeled them weird asks or a prima donna attitude, but I was good at what I did, and deserved the space, tools and reinforcement to deliver the information at my full power. It was only there that I could serve my clients in the way they deserved, anyway.
Men were never second guessed when they had specific requests, and yet women always were. That’s what we needed to change.
This company was woman owned, and—low and behold—didn’t bat an eye at my signature ‘weird asks’. As a matter of fact, they’d been prepared for it, and even had a welcome basket with my favorite juice and cute little mini muffins when I got there. I’d happily given them an extra half hour of Q&A time before we dismissed the meeting. Their hospitality played into my nonchalance when I saw the flowers and a card sitting on my bedside table when I got back from the presentation.
It was only when I noticed they were daisies, rather than some kind of ostentatious roses or a mix, that I hesitated. The Leaning Tower of Pizza postcard finally sent my heart sprinting.
I flipped over the postcard to see his hastily written note, a smile on my face just seeing my name in his handwriting.
