Page 68 of The Hard Launch

There are some hoots, but honestly, lots of confused faces.

Jude tells them he’ll be available to answer questions in Gutenberg, but I tell the QA guy to stay put. And I ask the marketing team to queue up the emails and social posts we have drafted. I call Ella and tell her the website reskin needs to go live this afternoon.

“What exactly is happening down there?” she asks.

“I’m not sure,” I say. “But it feels like Lettercat again. And I love it.”

The release isn’t what you’d call the smoothest. Ingrid and Dave are busier than they should be with hotfixes, and the data team is in a panic and requesting a rollback.

“Do you not understand what is going on here?” Trevor asks Steve. “My boy Jude might have just blown up his entire career along with the Corday Ford deal, and whatever payout you and the rest of us might have made from it. And you’re looking for the Undo button?”

Steve agrees that he’ll try to make things work.

I’ve set Gutenberg up as a war room, with dashboards and monitors displaying performance, server load, website visitor data, and real-time sales tracking. Jonnie has brought in snacks. Kate put a Bluetooth speaker on the conference table and is streaming dance music. Trevor DoorDashed some beer.

The team buzzes in and out. Traffic is up on the website; people clap whenever someone starts a trial, which also prompts Ingrid to jump on her laptop and kicks off a batch process for something we didn’t fully automate. I don’t ask her what will happen with that while she’s sleeping.

It’s festive but hectic, and more things are wrong than probably should be. The numbers are what we expected for a soft-launch, but not the type to shoot off fireworks for. That’s okay. It feels like a win, like we saved the soul of Lettercat, if not its future.

Jude’s on the phone in his office for most of the day, but he comes in to check on things late in the afternoon.

“Have you heard from Edmund?” I ask him.

“No,” he says. “When I talked to him this morning, he might have mentioned that he’s flying to Greece this afternoon. I can’t be sure.” He smirks. Corday Ford’s workday was over when we pushed, and with Edmund on his way to Europe, we have maybe twelve hours until the shit hits the fan.

“What about Glenn?”

“He had a lot to say. But I think he’s proud of us. I’m proud of us.”

“Good,” I say. “I am, too.”

He checks his watch. “Listen, I need to get to a haircut appointment at five. And then I’m around two years late for a soccer game I have at seven.”

“Okay,” I say, aware that Kate, Dave, and the rest of the room have tuned in to what just became a personal conversation.

“Would it be okay if we talked after?” he asks me, like I’m the only person here.

“Yeah,” I say, a little breathlessly.

After he leaves, Ingrid asks me what I did now, and if I’m in trouble.

“Oh, she’s in trouble,” Kate tells her.

I don’t stay late. Well, not too late. I send an invitation to The Colony for a webinar where we’ll review and discuss the new platform. I take the data highlights from the day— trials, new signups with the premium option, engagement from existing paid users —and put them into a message that I send out to all Lettercatters, because internal communication about product changes is just as important as external communication. I’m shutting down the monitors in Gutenberg when Kate comes in.

“We really need to find you a hobby. Have you considered knitting? Witchcraft? Walking dogs from the shelter?” she asks.

“In my defense, this is the biggest launch of my career; I’m allowed to be a little obsessed with it,” I tell her.

I don’t tell her that I received an email today, that I haven’t opened, with an attachment and the subject line LACEY LANG - OFFER LETTER, along with a voice memo from Faith that I haven’t listened to. It’s not denial keeping me from engaging, I’ve decided. I’m just making room for today, letting this accomplishment mean something. It might be my last launch day at Lettercat. It could be Lettercat’s last launch ever.

“The biggest launch of your career so far,” Kate corrects. “What about Jude? Are you all good on that front?”

“It’s going to be,” I tell her. “I’m going to go with my gut.”

It’s not until I get here that I wonder if I’m a stalker.

I texted Trevor to see where Jude will be playing tonight, and then took an Uber to this soccer field in the middle of a neighborhood somewhere between Potrero Hill and the Mission. There’s a very tall fence around the entire field, and the only people inside it are playing soccer. It seems strange to go in there and watch, so I walk the perimeter until I find a cold and uncomfortable aluminum bench to sit on. The light’s a little dim and the wind kicks in, and I start to feel like an unrequited high school crusher sitting here watching grown men run around in soccer shorts with red and yellow singlets on over their T-shirts. The lights come on and the field is awash in color, and I can see Jude better.