“That’s a temporary phenomenon. We need a name that’s—”
“Burnout made all of us walk away from our careers. Your firm is trying to get you to stay even though you put in your notice three weeks ago.” I see my own scowl on screen. Some part of my brain registers that it’s not my best look. “And did you just call our business concepthippy-dippy?”
“Hey—Hey—” Josh’s hand lands on my shoulder, and he tugs me gently back from the camera before I can bite it. “Greta. Zach. Let’s—Let’s just take a minute here, okay?”
Nope. This isn’t going well.
One look at Josh’s profile says that he agrees. And guilt flushes my insides down the toilet. Worry lines—the ones that have grooved much deeper in the time I’ve known him—crease his forehead. He swallows, and I can tell by the way he’s breathing, he’s staving off a panic attack.
I reach for his leg, this time palming it softly. Lovingly.
“Sorry, babe. I got a little carried away there.” Then I turn to the camera. “Sorry, Zach.”
But he’s already shaking his head. “No, I should be the one to apologize. I was being pushy.” His brows pinch, and I could be wrong, but I think I see real remorse. “I want you both to know I’m behind this project one hundred percent. I think we’re providing something people really need.” Zach glances down and mutters something that might be,I know I do.
And the fight goes out of me. I just need to get to know him. That’s all. Once I know Zach better, I’ll trust him, and once I trust him, it’ll be easier not to get worked up over disagreements. And I’m not foolish. There will be disagreements.
I’m nodding. “I don’t doubt that. Look, the name is important to me, but we can talk about ways to address your concerns. Maybe through marketing and signage?” I throw out, and he starts nodding too.
Beside me Josh is still employing conscious breathing, and I can feel the panic easing from him. With shaking hands, he drains his beer.
“Want another one?” he asks me.
“I-I’ll get it.” I rise from the couch—and out of the camera’s focus—even though my beer is still half full. I need a minute. We all do.
A long counter top is all that separates the kitchen from the living room, so when I hear Zach’s voice as I grab the fridge door, I freeze.
“Can she still hear me?”
Pause.
I open the fridge and clink around, but, hey, I’m human. And I’m listening.
“I don’t think so,” Josh says softly.
But if you can’t hear seventh graders whispering answers to a plate tectonics quiz or gossiping about who got fingered over the weekend or accusing each other of farting, you have no business being in a middle school classroom.
I have the hearing of a Rafinesque bat.
“She’s intense.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“She reminds me of a Bitmoji throwing a tantrum.”
Josh snorts a laugh, and my face would burn off if my head weren’t in the fridge.
“Not cool, man.”
I grab another Stella and set it on the counter with athunk.
“Made you laugh though.”A few seconds pass.“Looks like you haven’t done that in a while.”
I make myself look at Josh. He’s squirming like someone with gallstones. I pop the top off his beer, hoping it’s his last for the night.
“It’s been rough. It’ll get better,” he tells his old friend.
Schooling a smile on my face, I tell myself that it will. It will get better. There’s too much riding on this. Josh’s stock options. Zach’s condo. Aunt Tilde’s Roth IRA. All we have that’s worth anything is going into Camp Bliss.
