When the HR manager offered me the role of PM, I was staring at the window, confused. They’d increased the salary to more than what I’d originally intended to ask for, leaving little room for negotiating.
“Am I your first choice?” I asked point-blank.
The HR manager sighed on the other end. “We can’t discuss that.”
I thanked HR for the incredible offer and asked for the weekend to consider before hanging up. Overcome with dread, I called Bane. Bane didn’t answer her phone, so I left a message.
“I just want to make sure that you’re okay. Can we talk? I have some things to tell you. I wanted to speak in person, but I’d take anything right now. Call me back.”
Maybe DMing through work chat and texting her was overkill, but this silence, this avoidance, this true return to reality…hell no. I wasn’t having it. Not unless she told me this was what she wanted in crystal-clear words to my face.
Had our company truly not offered her the role? Was she devastated? Had she applied elsewhere? Where would a new job take her? Away from me?
Shit. I couldn’t let her slip away, not without a proper discussion. Communication, right?
Sejal and I had diverted to such opposite paths that it was a miracle we’d ever been together in the first place. Our relationship was circumstantial and had fit our needs. It was a relationship of convenience. Our communication wasn’t the best. We’d grown apart, and that was fine.
But Bane? She had a way about her that made it easier for me to open up. I wanted to tell her things. I wanted to do things with her and for her. I wanted to be romantic and watch her light up, to push her buttons and get a rise out of her. I yearned for her comebacks and rebuttals. They, for a long time, had put a secret, quiet smile in me. Bane did that, without ever meaning to or demanding it. It just happened. Naturally. Organically. The way designers always said the user’s experience through a website should happen, as if they were made for each other and so perfect that they didn’t even know it was happening.
Bane and I happened, and I hadn’t even realized it.
Bane and I…went together like UX design and UX coding. One was beautiful and thought-out, thought-provoking with an interface arousing ideal emotions and actions. The other was meticulous and detailed, seemingly an endless facade of tedious work that brought ideas to life as smooth working interactions.
Bane needed to know how she made me feel, how normal and comfortable, how present and enough I felt. She needed to know how one look from her undid me. How she had my emotions all wrapped up and unraveled at the same time.
Her touch lingered on my skin, in my memories, despite how long it’d been, despite the distance between us. I could still taste her sweetness on my lips, knew the softness of her every curve, memorized the floral and fruity scents of her body tucked against mine. She fit perfectly against me. She was perfect for me.
And she needed to know.
Thirty-nine Bhanu
White miso ramen on chilly days was true comfort. Sautéed veggies with a sprinkle of green onion made it perfect. Comfort foods to calm down my rising anxiety about a new job, a new place, more in-person workdays.
I pulled my knee to my chest and blew on my bowl of noodles. I looked across the screens as I chewed. I ate while I worked, a blanket on my legs and lap, a cardigan around my shoulders, and answered all inquiries before checking on research feedback.
No matter how in the zone I was, my traitorous eyes kept returning to his virtual box. Sunny was sitting there, working, his eyes skimming across all billion lines of code, probably, while moving across multiple screens.
His stare stayed affixed to one section of whatever he was looking at and I tilted my head, slurping noodles. His background was different. Had he moved to a new room?
He looked at his camera before typing. A chat box popped up on my screen.
You’ve got something on your face.
What! I rubbed my chin and cheek to find sauce on my fingertips. I scowled at the screen, but Sunny simply leaned back in his chair and smirked.
Sometimes I really hated him.
Okay. Not really. It was impossible to hate that playful smile that made me feel so warm and wonderful.
At some point, he’d turned off his camera and muted himself. And then he’d logged off work early. I, however, worked until seven, fully aware that he’d left a voice mail, had texted, and had DMd through work chat. On the one hand, the idea of talking to him made me giddy. On the other hand, he probably wanted to clarify that we should be civil coworkers and nothing more. Thankfully, I was too busy catching up on work and doing extra for the weeks ahead so I could leave the company with their best product. Not to mention starting the daunting task of finding an apartment in Seattle without fainting from the price of rent.
It was dark, late, and chilly before I closed all the blinds. I was exhausted by the time I finally found the nerves, and common decency, to respond to Sunny.
Bhanu: We can chat, but maybe later? I’m not feeling well.
Sunny immediately replied.
Sunny: What’s wrong?
Bhanu: Been busy.
Sunny: Is that all? Not just avoiding me?
Bhanu: No.
Liar! Well, that wasn’t the only reason. Anxiety climbed ever higher. At least he didn’t push for more conversation.
The following morning, I’d drowsily taken a shower and slipped into fuzzy socks, sweatpants, a frayed T-shirt, and a cardigan before making coffee and downing ibuprofen for this mounting stress-induced headache. Finding a place in Seattle, much less within a reasonable budget, had evolved into a nightmare. There wasn’t much time left before being forced into soul-sucking commutes if I continued to live in Tacoma. I’d asked for two weeks, and was now kicking myself for not asking for more time.
I scratched my back and looked through the fridge and cabinets wondering what in the world I was in the mood to eat. Then realizing how daunting a task packing would be.
My phone screen lit up with a text.
Sunny: Are you home?
Bhanu: Headache holding me captive.
