“Yes?” I asked.

“Can we get the results of the CTA buttons ASAP? It may only take a day for you to get research done and about ten seconds to design, but adjusting any detail in code can cost us a week.”

“I’m aware of that,” I replied, swirling my coffee. He wasn’t going to get to me today, no sir.

“Are you, though?” he asked, chin on his knuckles, elbow on a chair arm as he swiveled back and forth. Oh, that familiar, dry look, like he loathed talking to me.

The number of black squares on-screen had diminished, leaving a handful of people still on camera, all team, all muted. Except Sunny. Because he loved his Denzel voice.

His hair was disheveled, like he’d just popped out of bed to make it to this meeting. I’d like to say that was a side effect of remote work, but he always looked like that. Devs were like little workaholics stuck to their many, many windows glowing with a billion lines of code.

Back at the office, when we occasionally had to meet in person, I’d often walk into his section of the floor, a large room with cubicles and glass-walled meeting rooms covered in Post-its and scribblings, to find Sunny typing away while studying three gigantic computer screens filled with a dozen windows in alternating coding languages for various pages of any given project. My soul sort of died a little every time I saw it. While I understood basic HTML, CSS, and JavaScript, and could yes, in fact, create working, responsive prototypes from thin air, that stuff wasn’t easy or quick.

Too many lines. Too many numbers and phrases and a hundred generational variants for one simple thing. Lord, I’d rather be working in a cubicle again. Spare me an even slower death.

I wondered if he had as many computers set up at home. Probably. And right now, he was glaring right at the virtual box my head was in. I smirked, imagining his bottled-up load of loathing and no Bhanu in person to unleash it upon.

Sarah, one of my researchers, came on video and unmuted herself to chime in. “Sorry about that! It’s my fault. I’m uploading to the system now. Results are pretty solid, and I think the design team will lean toward keeping CTA buttons as is. Good news, right?” she added nervously.

I scowled. No team member of mine should be groveling at the feet of anyone. That was what I was here for. No. Not to grovel! But to erect barriers around my team so they could work without feeling the weight of others’ demands.

“Thank you, Sarah,” Sunny said at the same time I said, “You don’t have to apologize.”

Sarah opened her mouth but didn’t respond.

Without missing a beat, Sunny added, “Bane’s right. You don’t need to apologize. It’s the lead’s job to make sure these things are on time.”

“Thanks, Sunny,” I replied bluntly, and then said in one breath, “And it’s the lead’s job to discuss this in private with fellow leads, which is the very job description of a lead, and not try to inflate an already gigantic ego that’s about ready to burst and splatter brain matter on our screens in some severely traumatic, yet ‘I told you so,’ sort of way.” I blinked. “Or did you bet in today’s pool?”

His face dropped. His swiveling came to a dead stop.

“Oh. Didn’t think I knew about the Bhanu versus Sunny office pool? You guys shouldn’t be betting during work and on coworkers. But lucky for you, I’m a chill pill today.” I toasted him with the coffee mug my sister had given me, making sure the decorative side faced the screen so he knew without a doubt that, just as the writing said: It’s Bad Bitch O’Clock.

Besides, I’d also placed a bet on today’s pool. I believed I’d just won thirty bucks.

“The research is live in real-time for the design team to look at and make their final decision.” I glanced at the time on the upper-right corner of my screen, adding, “And with an hour to spare on its deadline, nonetheless. I’ll be moving that Trello card to complete. Mmkay? Thanks. Hit me up if anyone has questions. Have a great day, teams!”

I went dark mode and muted myself but watched Sunny’s look of exasperation.

After Gabrielle spoke privately with each lead in a breakout room, she spoke with all of us together.

“Are you still going on vacation?” she asked.

“Yes,” Sunny and I said simultaneously.

She, and the other leads, eyed us like there was some naughty gossip to be had. Ugh. There wasn’t. Trust me, never would I in a million years hook up with the Denzel-voice grump.

I immediately piped up, “I’m still going to visit my sister, but will be working.”

Gabrielle frowned. “That’s not what a vacation is. Or proper work-life balance.”

“I’m sure I’ll get bored. It’s just my semiannual trip to visit my sister. She’ll be working half the time, and it’s not like we have a big agenda planned. Literally going to be sitting at a resort all week.”

She sighed dreamily. “Must be nice.”

“I guess.” I didn’t really feel like putting on “real clothes,” much less leaving the apartment. In fact, with grocery delivery and food delivery and even alcohol delivery, I could go a month without setting foot outside. “I didn’t know you approved two leads to leave at the same time.”

“We’re in a good place with the project. Junior researchers and devs can handle it for a few days.”

“Well, I’ll be—”

“Enjoying the beach,” Gabrielle said pointedly. “I better not see you logged on or working.” Then she said to Sunny, “You, either.”

“Ah…” he started, looking both perplexed and anxious. “Sure,” he conceded.

“Wow. For people going on vacation, you two sure seem to be dragging your feet.”

I shrugged. I couldn’t speak for Sunny—what with a name that surely indicated his cheery disposition—but I knew that I just wasn’t in the mood for a vacation. I wanted to stay busy and keep my mind off the big in-house PM job interview I’d had a couple of weeks ago. Moving up in the company seemed like the best next step.

Honestly, it was in the bag for me with the only other serious competition being Sunny…rumor had it that he’d applied. But my seniority crushed his. He couldn’t be that much of a threat. So then, why was I so anxious?

Except, while I loved my company, I’d kept an eye on bigger, badder game. Because Google could handle my big UX energy. And Google also had a position open, which was rare.

My parents kept hammering it into my skull that long-term stagnation was a slow killer.

“Do you want to become moss?” Mummie would chide. “Stay in one place for years, and you’ll succeed in becoming one with the rocks that never move, quietly fading from life. Don’t fade away, beta!”

Mummie could be a little over-the-top when we didn’t listen to her.

I’d gone over Google’s post for weeks, thinking that they’d surely have filled it the next time I checked. Hemming and hawing because I talked big game, but actual change? What was wrong with liking my life exactly as it was? I didn’t need a man or a house or an ambitious job.

But Google’s job posting kept calling to me. I met all their qualifications and then some. It would be a step back to UX design instead of advancing to PM. But their lead designers made up to two hundred thousand a year.

PM at my company was almost guaranteed, although not nearly as much pay, but staying close to my comfort zone. But Google was Google.

Sure. I’d applied to the tech giant around the same time as I’d applied for the in-house PM position. With Google, I’d interviewed nearly a dozen rounds over several months, from technical to portfolio presentation to whiteboard challenge. Two weeks had gone by since the team-matching round. So who the hell knew what was going on?

See what I mean? I had to keep busy to stay out of my head.

As soon as we’d finished our meeting, I logged off the chat, double-checked that my camera and mic were off, slid the cover over my camera, and went to the bedroom to change. Ah. Sweet T-shirt of mine. Even though I’d worn a blouse for an entire two hours, there was nothing better than getting back into pajamas.

I packed in between small meetings with my team and checking off work items. Hmm. What to pack? Tech was always a given. Undies and socks, sure. Toiletries, purse, wallet. Um…clothes? I wondered how many pajamas I’d have to pack for a week away, seeing that my sister didn’t think a long weekend getaway was enough this time.

Speaking of that little sneak, my phone lit up with a text from her.

Diya: You better get your overworked ass to the airport on time. Don’t try to ditch me. And for the love of all that is holy, please get out of sweatpants. It’s Hawaii! Better trim up down there, because I expect to see you in a bikini by the pool. See you tomorrow! Love you!

Ah. To be blessed by such sweetness.