Page 57 of The Hard Launch

“Word,” he says.

That afternoon I receive a series of voice memos. Yes, Faith and Layla are voice memo people. It’s fine. It’s efficient, I suppose, if you’re not the one listening.

Hi Lacey! This is Faith. Putting this in a group chat for the three of us to communicate. Just wanted to let you know it was great meeting you today

Hi Lacey, Layla here as well. Super nice chatting with you earlier. Faith and I had a chance to connect this afternoon and would really like to continue talking with you about joining the team

Faith again. Would love to book a few hours with you next week to really dive in. Please let us know what works for you!

I do multiple takes before I get my voice memo response sounding the correct amount of pleased and not dead inside. It’s just another conversation, I tell myself. Being open to other opportunities doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere.

CHAPTER TWENTY

JUDE

Amber and I get back from New York on Wednesday night, and I don’t want to talk about it. Not any of it.

Ella, proving to have the highest EQ in our family, is not at my apartment when I return. She has left three perfect things for me on my kitchen counter: takeout (saag paneer and rice), a Post-it that says YOU GOT THIS, I LOVE YOU -E, and on top of the note, a sleeping pill. I eat, I read, I swallow.

Then I send Lacey and Trevor a meeting invitation for 8:30 a.m., shower off my plane germs just as the pill is kicking in, and fall into bed where I sleep better than I have in four years.

In the morning I make a mental note to tell Ella to never give me one of those pills again, no matter how much I beg.

I log in and see that no one internally has Slacked or emailed me since Monday. Not even Jonnie. I’ve destroyed every last bit of respect or good will anyone at Lettercat has for me, which should make today even more fun than I thought it would be. Imagine all this time thinking you’re the hero when it turns out, you’re the bad guy.

I see that the non-disclosure agreements went out at the beginning of the East coast workday, which means that when Lacey wakes up and logs in, she’s going to see an early-morning meeting request and an NDA from Corday Ford in her inbox. I set an alarm to go off at 7:02 so I’ll be ready to call her the moment she wakes up.

On Monday morning I decided to be optimistic. I woke up at five and slid out of bed, showered, and got ready for work quietly while Lacey slept. I thought about how, when we were so worried for Glenn that day, she told me she believes there’s no point in freaking out until someone gives you something concrete to freak out about. A little harder to implement than to say, but better to try than waste so much energy on something that might not happen.

I crept back into my room to grab a pair of sneakers.

“Hello there,” Lacey said from my bed.

“Shhh,” I told her. “Go back to sleep.”

“But I was going to-”

“Nope. There’s nothing left for you to do. You did it all.”

I walked over to the bed, leaned down and kissed her.

“It’s kind of a big day,” she said, yawning.

“Which is why you should get more sleep.” One more kiss. “You can leave your bag here if you want. Maybe you can stay tonight, too?”

She gave me a sleepy nod and closed her eyes. “That can be arranged,” she said.

I walked the five blocks to the office, thinking I’d be coming home with Lacey after having drinks with the team that night.

I stepped off the elevator and stood in front of that neon sign and let myself be overwhelmed with gratitude for the people who helped me get to launch day. I thought of every line of code that had been written, every bug filed and fixed, every decision and idea our team had contributed in the past four weeks, the past four years. It was inspiring and humbling to think of how much energy they’d put into this company; I felt grateful for them, but also responsible.

I didn’t even get a chance to finish my thought before my phone started ringing. It was Edmund.

To his credit, he blindsided me in private, without an audience.

“I want to prep you,” he said, “so you’re ready for the emergency board meeting that’s about to hit your calendar.”

“What’s going on?” I asked, waving my keycard at the door. Nothing about the words emergency board meeting are a cause for optimism, in my experience.