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Nara
In confronting Brodie about his plans to take off for San Francisco, I’d gotten myself an invite.
Well, I guess the invite had been part of his plan all along.
But still.
He was crazy to think I’d just up and move. I barely freaking knew him, for one. And yet, he somehow knew I’d say yes. That took a supreme amount of arrogance on his part.
But since I’d met him at that silly fundraising auction all sorts of things had taken an interesting turn.
After weeks of flying back and forth across the country to wear me down, Brodie had convinced me to agree to visit the city with him. Just visit.
And so far, it was fabulous.
From our hotel room in the Fairmont on Nob Hill, the foghorns blared low and loud. It was no wonder they could be heard clear across the city. In the week since we’d been in San Francisco, it seemed like they never stopped.
And I loved them more than I could describe.
Then there was the clanging of the cable cars. From our hotel, we had a perfect view of the California Street line when it passed by laden with tourists and the occasional commuter. It was a charmingly quaint reminder of a brilliant, modern city’s past.
I’d taken to getting up at five thirty every morning so I could be on the same schedule as my team back in New York.
Working remotely had gone pretty well so far. In fact, it hadn’t even seemed like I was remote. Everything was pretty much the same except that I dialed into meetings I used to hold in person.
After things had calmed down from Joi’s wedding, she dove into running the office, and things there were perking along with better efficiency than I’d ever managed.
The top venture capital firm in the country had decided to back Mommy Knows. It was an incredible rush to realize such heavy hitters believed in our work. And the mommies were loving us and their new method for baby hygiene.
Mimi had thought of that tag line—baby hygiene.
My phone rang, the screen reading Mom.
“Hey, Mom.”
She was still tweaked I’d not come back for my reunion. I suspected no one else had really noticed. Well, except for Becca.
“Sweetie. How is everything in sunny California?”
“Great, Mom. Except it’s really not sunny in San Francisco. It’s mostly foggy.”
“Oh, you are so funny. Everyone knows it’s sunny in California. Are you just trying to keep me away?”
I held the phone away so she couldn’t hear me sigh. “Mom, you know Brodie and I would love for you to visit.”
“Well, I don’t want to impose. How long do you plan to be there?”
That was a good question.
“Not sure yet, Mom. You want to come next week?”
“Well, are you sure that’s okay with Brodie?” She didn’t care whether it was okay with me.
“Yes, Mom.”
* * *
Brodie’s new Hotel Vertigo West, in the city’s up-and-coming Tenderloin district, had come together at lightning speed.
I guess that’s how things went when you had the budget you needed and knew what you were doing. In fact, a giant opening party was scheduled for later that evening.
He’d been working so much I’d hardly seen him, but what I had seen impressed the hell out of me. The man really knew how to take care of business, having gotten the place up and running in no time.
And he still kept an eye on the New York property after he’d successfully jettisoned his hostile business partners.
My Skype rang, and I answered a video call from Joi. If it was possible, she’d grown even more beautiful since she’d gotten married.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey. You look great. I love your hair,” I told her.
“Really? Supposedly, this long bob is all the rage right now. They’re calling it a lob.” She fingered it as if she still wasn’t quite sure she’d done the right thing with a big chop.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I’m calling because some official-looking papers just arrived for you. Want me to open them?”
“Yes, please. I’m still waiting on that stuff from Simon.”
She tore open a large envelope in view of my screen and sorted through a couple sheets.
“Wow. Congrats. Looks like you are finally officially divorced.”
Oh. My. God.
I’d been waiting so long to hear those words.
I was through. Through with my fake marriage and through with that little peckerhead, Simon, and his terrible betrayal. He’d oddly gone dark after my last message from him. A couple weeks later I’d found out he’d been deported, his INS fraud having been “anonymously” reported.
I didn’t know who ratted him out, and I didn’t want to. But I had my suspicions.
“Wow. It’s finally done,” I said.
Joi nodded and shook a finger at me through my computer screen.
“No more fake marriages.”
I laughed. “Absolutely. One fake marriage almost did me in.”
* * *
