Between taking care of Papa, being there for all of his testing and medical discussions, grocery shopping, running errands, catching up with work to ensure product launch, there was literally no time for anything else.

I’d dismissed Sejal’s antics and the PM position.

But I hadn’t forgotten Bane. Was she busy? Back to real life without any further thought of me? Ignoring my calls to give me a hint?

Perhaps.

Thirty-seven Bhanu

I’d returned home late Monday night and, on Tuesday, dove straight into work to take my mind off Sunny. He’d called several times on Sunday, but there wasn’t much else to say. He called a couple of times and texted on Monday. Today, he had stopped. Maybe he just wanted to make sure I was clear on where we stood.

I chastised myself every time I thought a notification was from him. Spoiler alert: Most were from my mom wanting to know when I’d bring him around.

Don’t become moss.

I hadn’t seen Sunny’s face in a virtual box yet, nor was he present at any of the meetings, but I knew he was working because of movement in Jira and Asana.

Attempting to unhinge the tentacles of anxiety, I focused on important things. Like career movement. I wanted to become PM because it was the logical next step, and to prove that I wasn’t stagnant in life. But maybe this wasn’t it. It seemed that a person should feel less anxious, less unsure, when facing a big decision like this.

There wasn’t much time left to waste waiting for Google.

My heart was palpitating when I finally called the HR manager about the PM offer.

“Congratulations on the promotion! As I mentioned in my email, we held off on making an official offer until we knew what the budget increase entailed,” she explained.

“Thank you. This is wonderful news!” Yet I kept thinking back to Sunny. Had they offered the job to him first? Had he declined? Of course not. He wouldn’t do that, not for a week-away fantasy girlfriend.

“Did you consider anyone else?” I found myself asking.

“We had several applicants and strong candidates, but your skill level and seniority and relations with coworkers and clients are exemplary.”

“Was the second runner-up a dev, by chance?”

“Ah, you know we can’t discuss that with you.”

“Of course.” But I knew.

“Shall we begin paperwork?”

Did I want to accept? Did I want to be PM at a midsize company? “Let me think about this.”

“Of course. Please let us know as soon as possible.”

I hung up the phone and returned to work, glancing at a black box on my screen where Sunny should’ve been. I found myself missing his face. The way he’d furrow his brows when reading messages, how he’d lean in close to the computer to cross off code, and how goofy his expression turned when I assumed he was watching cat videos.

Biting my lip, I chased away the ache in my chest, knowing time would alleviate the intensity. Slowly, but surely.

After a long, hectic day, I fell into bed glowering at my phone. I should call him, but man, had it been a brutal day with catch-up and deadlines and work emergencies. It was already eleven. Instead, I listened to his voice mails. I loved his Denzel voice and how, even over the phone when all he said was that he wanted to chat, it made my toes curl. His voice was sleepy, gritty in several messages, like he was lying in bed. And my imagination filled with images of his shirtless body barely covered by sheets. Those arms.

I sighed.

Those wonderful pecs and abs and…I know, I was torturing myself. This wasn’t helping me to get over him, much less forget him.

Fortunately, I’d taken a sleeping aid to calm my thoughts from the still-present anxiety. Before I knew it, my eyes had drifted closed.

The next day, as I studied color-coordinated spreadsheets on the pros and cons of taking this PM position, Google called!

I’d almost vomited from the excitement and fumbled for the phone. Crap. They really knew the meaning of a dramatic resurrection from ghosting. No word for weeks and then bam!

Of course, I took the call with adrenaline raging through my system, my hands shaking, my feet padding against the carpet as I paced my living room, reiterating that I’d just received an offer but wanted to take my time in making the right decision.

They not only made an offer but came in strong. I carefully negotiated. With plenty of research under my belt, I knew what to ask for and what I was worth. And Google not only matched my counteroffer but added bonuses on top of amazing benefits.

Well, shoot. I hadn’t been expecting this to go so smoothly, but as my parents and Diya had often said, I was worth every penny. When you believe it, companies believe it, too.

Google. No one declined Google; I certainly didn’t. Unless Apple came calling, which they had not.

Google offered a UX role, a step back from PM, yet with significantly more pay and considerable prestige. Adding Google to my résumé, should I ever leave, would put me at the top of any candidate list. They were the right move. They were a perfect fit. Not only as one of the best companies to work for, but they had several subdivisions and branches to learn and grow and spread my big, beautiful UX wings.

My entire body was trembling. I couldn’t wait to tell Diya and my parents and…

I swallowed. I wanted to tell Sunny. I wanted to talk to him, to hear his voice. Would it be weird for me to call? To tell him this news when I hadn’t returned his earlier messages? Was that selfish?

Google came with a price, though. Relocation to Seattle. They wanted me in office more than remotely. And while my current company was close enough to Seattle (Renton) that I didn’t mind the commute from Tacoma, the Seattle lifestyle was nothing to dismiss.

A big move.

A huge change.

Moving forward meant astronomical adjustments for someone who had become settled for so long.

It also meant a colossal tidal wave of anxiety.

Thirty-eight Sunny

On Wednesday, the hospital released Papa. I’d meant to text Bane about seeing her in person to talk, because there were things I needed to tell her and it couldn’t be done over the phone, but there was a lot happening on release day. Paperwork, detailed discharge instructions, medications to pick up along with recovery-specific items Papa needed, getting him showered and settled, cleaning, cooking, serving, stocking…

I was exhausted and stressed, even though he was better. Even though my mother and sisters were here to help. Despite all of that, I took as much of the load upon myself as possible.

That night, I slept at my parents’ house. Tossing and turning and walking to their bedroom in the middle of the night to make sure everything was well. Now that things were settled and my levels of stress had simmered, I went to the guest bedroom and crashed. With an arm over my head, I automatically took the phone to call Bane.

But it was nearing midnight. She was probably asleep.

I yawned, my eyelids heavy with exhaustion.

Tomorrow. I would definitely call her tomorrow.