Page 24 of The Hard Launch

He nods. “Yep. But there’s a significant chance he won’t actually log in. He might have just seen it as an opportunity to terrorize me. Us.”

“Should I let you do the whole thing?” I offer. “Is it weird for me to do so much of the talking if he’s watching?”

“It’s not weird unless you don’t want to do it.”

I nod and consider the situation. I don’t want to push this off onto Jude, but I also don’t want to let him down.

“It worked five out of the last six times?” I ask.

“Six out of the last seven,” he says. “I got here early.”

When I was in middle school we used to put on a play each spring. I always knew my lines, had my blocking down without a worry. I’d be fine, until I was backstage with all the other actors, until their nervousness became contagious, and then the stage-fright would set in. That’s when our drama teacher, Mrs. Corgan, would look at all of us before the curtain went up and remind us of all the hard work we’d put in over the last few weeks. She’d tell us—every year, in the same way—that we’d already proven to her that we had the tools to succeed. Now all that was left was to get out there and share our work and our gifts with the audience.

I’m not sure that Mrs. Corgan was correct when it came to my solo in Oklahoma! , but her words stuck with me. I think of them every time I’m worried about any type of performance, and there’s plenty of it in the work I do. While Glenn is giving the introduction, telling all the people here and maybe online how we’re embarking on a new path for Lettercat, and what a special time it is to be part of this team, I remind myself that I’ve worked hard. I have the tools to succeed.

I look over at Jude, who will be doing the driving on the demo and also share the talking with me.

“You good?” he mouths.

I nod. “You?” I ask silently, and he smiles.

And we are good. We’re not perfect, not by a long shot; I know I say “um” and “like” too many times, and I do have to gently bring Jude back on track when I see he’s losing the audience by going too deep on API frameworks. But the nerves shake off when I see our team there, pleased to have their work on display. It’s a privilege to represent them like this.

There’s a moment during the walkthrough where it looks like the placeholder ad might not stream. I pause my narration and hear someone from QA muttering about server issues. Jude and I turn from the screen to each other and share a look of panic. What is probably only four seconds of lag time feels like thirty. And then I hear the recording of Jude’s voice—“this is a test advertisement, this is a test advertisement”—and when I check, I see the video is playing. I look back to Jude before continuing and see his relief. He gives me the quickest of winks. Despite feeling like it was falling apart, it worked. We’re good.

Throughout the demo, he and I trade off better than we did when we practiced. We don’t interrupt or contradict; it just flows. I’m almost sad when it’s over, except for the part where everyone in the room applauds. That feels terrific.

“Did you tell them to do that?” I whisper to Jude.

“No, but it’s going to be required going forward.”

During the Q&A, a member of Kate’s team has more of a comment than a question, which I normally hate, but I change my opinion when he tells us that Roar is so much better than what our customers even thought to ask for. The sales team asks when we think they can start selling it.

As the meeting moves to other agenda items, Jude follows me to the back of the room to join Glenn and Trevor, who put their hands out as we walk past like it’s the end of a soccer game. I high five them both, then stand next to Trevor and watch Jude do the same. As he approaches, I put my hand out too. He doesn’t just touch it, he clasps it briefly in his and gives it the slightest squeeze.

Something weird about work is how much time you spend with people without touching them. You laugh and drink and fight and talk together, but you never touch one another. I’m not complaining; especially as a woman working in technology, I’ve been the recipient of enough unwanted shoulder rubs and hugs.

Jude’s hand around mine isn’t anything like that. It’s a fraction of a second, an expression of relief and gratitude. But I can’t help feeling more aware of him afterward when he’s standing next to me. Where his foot, in its gray sock, is in relation to mine. His chuckle at Kate’s little joke. The light woodsy smell of him that is most definitely deodorant; Jude wouldn’t make time for cologne.

Dammit, Carl in your KIA Sportage. You might be right.

CHAPTER TEN

JUDE

After the All Hands, I allow myself to feel a small sense of accomplishment for around ten minutes, and then it’s headphones on, back to work. Ella takes her computer and moves to a cube out near the engineers, but leaves her suitcase in my office. I told her she can stay with me while she’s here, but she shouldn’t expect time for sibling bonding, or for me to do much other than work even when I’m at home.

Unsurprisingly, she’s opted to stay with friends instead. I know I should be nicer, considering she’s out here to help save my company. I’m just trying to set realistic expectations. Ironic that I can do that with my sister, but not Edmund, whose calls I’ve avoided since the demo ended. I know his opinion is inevitable, but I’ve worked too hard and care too much to hear him trash our progress right now. With Edmund, the glass isn’t half-empty or half-full: it’s why are you worried about one glass when you should be concerned with every glass in the industry? what’s the total amount of liquid available? how did you determine that liquid is what you should be putting into the glass?

Jonnie force-feeds me a protein bar before I head to the conference room to meet with Lacey, Steve from the data team, and Irina the AI consultant for the rest of the afternoon, trying to figure out our next move. It’s become painfully obvious that we need to make this project smaller if we’re going to get it out the door in time, but every part of it seems equally vital to someone.

“Are we really going to turn into pumpkins at midnight on the thirtieth day if this isn’t done?” Lacey asks me, after Steve insists three new things are a must-have for his team.

Pumpkins would be a best case scenario.

Glenn comes in and grabs a chair.

“I heard from Edmund,” he tells me quietly.