It's Not a Date

by Heather Blackmore

  The house smelled of Pine Sol, mothballs, and cedar, all of which reminded Jen of the many days she’d spent here in her youth. Of late, it also smelled faintly of urine because of Nana’s increasing incontinence.

  Jen greeted Doreen, and when she saw the empty lounge chair in front of the TV, she went into Nana’s room. A game show was on the television, and Nana’s eyes and mouth were closed, which meant she was dozing. When she slept soundly, she snored with her mouth open. There was nothing shy or cute or feminine about it—the small-framed woman became a wind tunnel who could scare crows if left in a field.

  Jen set about folding the few clothing articles and throws strewn about and went into the kitchen to refill Nana’s water glass. Doreen was putting away dishes, and Jen took a moment to inquire about Nana.

  According to Doreen, Edna was having a mixed day. She’d known who Doreen was, asked after Doreen’s children, and allowed her to assist her in the bathroom. But she had no appetite. Even at Doreen’s suggestion of whipping up a batch of Edna’s favorite cornbread, Edna had apparently shown little enthusiasm.

  Jen took out a handful of green seedless grapes from a bowl in the freezer, sliced them in two, and returned to Nana’s room. Her grandma loved frozen grapes, letting them defrost in her mouth and play on her tongue. She said they reminded her of the Popsicles she ate in the summertime as a girl, and Jen adored the goofy looks her grandma made as she worked them over.

  Jen set the small bowl on the nightstand and sat on the bed. She was fairly attuned to Nana’s sleeping patterns and knew she was simply resting. She took Nana’s hand, a small, claw-like thing that seemed of late to be made entirely of knuckle, and waited. When Nana’s eyes fluttered open, she smiled at Jen. “Didn’t expect you.”

  Jen kissed Nana’s cheek. “Wanted to check on you. Make sure you were behaving.”

  Usually Nana would return some quip, but she only shook her head. That tripped Jen’s internal concern sensor, but it was too early to really worry. Jen snatched a grape half and held it in front of Nana’s lips. When Nana opened her mouth to accept the fruit, Jen’s sensor quieted. After swallowing the third piece and keeping her eyes on Jen, Nana said, “Tell me.”

  When lucid, Nana could always ascertain when something was bothering Jen. Since those insightful moments came less and less frequently, Jen appreciated them all the more.

  “Work,” Jen said. Edna didn’t understand most of what Jen did each day. She’d lived her life without computers and smartphones.

  Nana kept working the latest grape, waiting.

  “We’re behind schedule. Cash is dwindling. I hired too soon.”

  “Says who?”

  “Someone who knows.” Jen fed Nana another half, and they fell into silence. Jen watched as Nana studied her.

  “Then listen and learn.”

  “What if I’m too soft to make the hard choices managers need to make?”

  “Treat your employees the way you want to be treated, and you can’t go wrong.”

  “I can’t lose this company, Nana. We can help people. I know we can.”

  “Then you will.”

  Jen hadn’t known it until that moment, but that’s what she needed to hear. Nana had always been in her corner. And even on days when she asked Jen ten times in a row whether the clothes were out of the dryer or if Jen had spoken with her parents recently, Nana always would be. Jen had tremendous faith in herself, but occasionally she needed to know that others had faith in her, too.

  * * *

  Jeremy entered the conference room with a “Whoa.” Jen was brainstorming, and it was never pretty. She could feel how low her ponytail had moved, a sure sign her hair was coming loose and giving her a disheveled, sleepless aura. The whiteboards were bursting with multicolored bullet points and asterisks, and sticky notes lined the walls, though many lay crumpled on the table and littered the floor.

  Jen had returned to the office and commandeered the conference room. She was in “beast mode,” a phrase Jeremy had appropriated for her shortly after they started working together. She’d put him on notice to expect to work late and summoned him via instant message.

  “I guess this answers how your meeting went,” Jeremy said as he continued to survey the battlefield.

  She was ready for him. “We’re spreading ourselves too thin. We need to refocus. Instead of running tests in three markets, we need to stick with San Francisco until we’ve raised more money.” She outlined the new marketing game plan for him. “We need to cut two people. That will allow us to boost ad spend in San Francisco and give us another month to secure funding. Longer, if you and I take a pay cut.”

  Jen flipped on the projector and pulled up the product roadmap. “I need your entire team on the mobile app, rolling out the original design.” She walked to the screen and pointed at several rectangles, each of which identified a project. “Out of this, this, and this, what do we push out?”

  * * *

  It took another two weeks of planning and execution, but Jen and Jeremy completed what they considered Phase One of their fund-raising strategy. In large part, it meant scaling back what they’d originally intended to accomplish by the time they set out to raise their next financing round. As was typical in a startup, they had limited personnel with which to make headway. And now, after laying off two people, they were even more resource-constrained. Six-day workweeks with twelve-hour days were luxuries of the past.

  Jen had been particularly concerned about the terminations. She disagreed with Kade that their VP of sales had failed. True, he hadn’t signed any deals, but all sales hires had a learning period during which they weren’t expected to sign new customers. The company’s sales strategy wasn’t fully fleshed out, the product was still in beta, and limited leads were coming in from marketing efforts. It’s not like he had a lot to work with.

  She’d been less worried about laying off her product-marketing guy, who’d been fresh out of MIT with multiple job offers in hand when he’d accepted hers five months ago. The VP of sales was far more senior, with two kids and another on the way. During his hiring process, he’d expressed concern over the company’s medical benefits, which were fairly vanilla and couldn’t compete with the tech behemoths in the Valley. So Jen compromised. Instead of a lump-sum severance payment, she’d offered to cover up to six months of family medical coverage if he hadn’t found another job during that time frame. Even if everything went south, Jen was confident the company would have enough cash in the bank to make good on that promise. She would give up her own wages if it came to that.

  Jen had initially taken aim at Jeremy’s engineering group, too, wanting to shave the expense of three people in total, but Jeremy had asked her to allow him to meet privately with each member of his team to see if any might volunteer to join him and Jen in deferring a portion of their compensation until they closed their funding round, after which they would be repaid. Given the risk of bankruptcy, Jen was skeptical but granted Jeremy permission. He had surprised her with the news that all of them were on board and completely confident in Jen’s leadership. She was so moved by their gesture of good faith and so keen on keeping everyone motivated that she insisted they offer each person additional stock options above their current holdings. They would need to get board approval, which meant getting Kade to consent, but Jen would go to the mat for her team.

  In fact, Kade was part of Phase Two of their fund-raising strategy.

  Jen and Kade hadn’t communicated since their abbreviated board meeting. Kade didn’t seem the type to sit idly by and let one of her corporate charges go off the rails, but Jen hadn’t heard from her. She hadn’t heard from Andrew either, which meant that, to her knowledge, Kade was still representing the investors on Charles’s behalf.

  Jen was uncertain as to how best to contact Kade. She could take the easy route of sending an email, or she could call Kade’s assistant and try to connect with Kade via phone.

  Part of the problem was the complete lack of acknow
ledgment of what they’d shared on Maui. They’d spent most of a day together. They’d kissed. Not simply kissed—Jen couldn’t forget how Kade had welcomed her caresses. Did Kade indulge in such a vast number of affairs she didn’t even remember the names or faces of her conquests? Did Kade have any idea that it was Jen who had once caused her to shiver under her caress? What good would it do to remind her? Was Jen’s ego so weak that it needed the mighty Kadrienne Davenport to boost it? Would it scratch some itch if Kade conceded she’d once enjoyed the touch of a woman who was simple and plain in every way?

  The sand in her company’s hourglass was the ultimate arbiter. With cash running out, time was not a luxury she had these days. She dialed Holly Keller.

  “Holly, it’s Jen Spencer with Creative Care. I’d like to set up a working session with Kade, sooner rather than later. Should I iron that out with her or you?”

  “Is this for Creative Care?” Holly asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then it will have to be after hours and offsite. Unless Matlock Ventures is considering an investment?”

  Jen hadn’t considered this wrinkle. Kade was helping Charles, who wasn’t associated with Matlock. But it hadn’t been an issue when Holly scheduled their meeting in Matlock’s conference room. Had one of the partners said something to Kade or Holly? Jen didn’t want to put Kade in an awkward position with her firm. “Not to my knowledge, no. You’re right. What do you recommend?”

  “Kadrienne often has meetings at her place because it has a conference room with whiteboards, poster board, projector, markers, you name it. I suggest ordering takeout and having a working session over dinner. I’ll add you to the building-security white list.”

  An air-raid horn sounded through Jen’s skull. Dinner at Kade’s sounded far too intimate for what she had in mind. “Sorry. To be clear, I’m not bringing my team. It would only be Kade and me.”

  “Then it shouldn’t take long to decide on takeout. Is there a problem?”

  Was this how these things were normally handled? What if Kade were a man? Would his assistant really be suggesting a tête-à-tête over dinner at his home? Of course, there was nothing romantic about the boardroom-like setting Holly had described. And Holly probably set up such meetings routinely. If others didn’t make it an issue, why should she?

  “No. That sounds fine. I’ll work around her schedule. Let me know when and where.”

  * * *

  Kade and Holly were sitting at the conference table in Kade’s office, going over Holly’s deliverables for several meetings on Kade’s schedule, when Holly mentioned Jen Spencer.

  Having heard Jen’s ideas, Kade understood why Charles had invested in Creative Care. Elder care was a multi-billion-dollar industry, and current solutions were poor and pricey. Jen was smart to adopt a marketplace approach to connecting caregivers to those needing care. Building a marketplace took time, and the company didn’t have to have one in place at this stage. But it needed enough proof points to interest investors in continuing to finance them.

  As Jen had pointed out during her presentation, the caregivers weren’t represented or connected in any way. They were siloed individuals, often with limited education, who didn’t have anyone to champion them. Additionally, those needing care weren’t typically utilizing the Internet in any meaningful way, if at all. So it was a challenge to get these two groups to find each other.

  According to Jen, Creative Care could change things. Younger family members were typically the ones on whose shoulders it fell to find care solutions for their older loved ones. The mobile app Creative Care was building would connect caregivers with those who needed to find care for elderly relatives. The app could match them geographically as well as by skill set required/offered. Family members who had used their services could review caregivers. The app could also set up and process electronic payments daily.

  But with only four months left until the cash ran out, the challenge would be to make the app work well enough to forge some connections, enable transactions, and create the feedback loop in time to generate investor interest in continuing to bankroll the company. Jen’s decision to let two more weeks pass without taking measures to reduce the red ink was exceedingly disappointing. Time was not on Creative Care’s side.

  Kade scoffed when Holly suggested rearranging an existing dinner engagement to accommodate a working session with Jen. “It’s taken her two weeks to decide to act, and now she wants to jump the line? Forget it.”

  “The line, as you call it, is a meeting with the same software rep you’ve successfully managed to push off this entire year. He’s not going anywhere.”

  “There is an order to things,” Kade said, more testily than she wished. “You, of all people, know this. She can follow the rules like everyone else.”

  “Why did you accept this job?” Holly excelled at rapid shifts in topic.

  “You know why.”

  Holly closed her laptop lid and crossed her arms. “Apparently I don’t. I thought you wanted to help get new technologies into the hands of folks who could benefit from them as quickly as possible.”

  “I do.”

  “Which is why you’d rather meet with the software rep of a mature technology you have no interest in than the head of a company building a cutting-edge solution to a large and difficult problem that could help millions of people.” Holly swiped her phone off the table, opened the text-messaging app, and moved her thumbs in a rapid dance across the touchscreen’s keyboard.

  Kade sighed. She never won these battles. “You are an insufferable, impenitent, self-righteous—”

  “Truth-telling.”

  “Manipulative—”

  “Creative.”

  “Bullying—”

  “Seven o’clock this Thursday at your place. In and confirmed.”

  “Wait. What?”

  Holly held up her phone’s screen to Kade. “She accepted instantly.”

  “No meetings at my place after hours. It’s your own damn rule!”

  “And she has your cell-phone number in case anything comes up.”

  “Fuck.”

  “You’re on your own there. Some things even I can’t do for you.”

  Chapter Six

  Jen gave up after the fifth outfit. She went back to the low-rise jeans and dark-blue sweater she had originally tried on. This wasn’t a date, and she needed to stop acting as if it were. She could wear a trash bag for all Kade cared, so why did Jen? She didn’t. Well, she did, but she was fully aware of how immature she was being.

  The time she’d spent with Kade had meant something. During their day on Maui, Kade had maneuvered her way past that of a casual acquaintance and tucked herself into a small corner of Jen’s heart. Seeing Kade again was like returning to a beloved old summer home and removing the furniture coverings, revealing a place of comfort, warmth, and fond memories. It hurt to think Kade hadn’t felt similarly.

  She was being childish. Foolish. She was one of millions of people throughout time who felt more for someone than that person felt in return. There was nothing new or special about it.

  And if Kade had felt the same back then, would it change anything now?

  Of course not. All it would accomplish to get Kade to admit it would be a little ego boost. A woman like Kadrienne Davenport could have anyone she wanted. She wouldn’t settle for the struggling CEO of a tiny company with mixed prospects.

  Bringing up their past time together would only add discomfort to an already awkward situation. Either Kade had forgotten, which would leave Jen silently bearing her embarrassment, or she remembered and hadn’t wanted to mention it because she wouldn’t want Jen to think she was open to rekindling things.

  Jen needed to focus only on her mission of getting Kade to contact those in her professional network who could help Creative Care. The company’s future was in the balance and needed to command Jen’s sole attention.

  Kade lived in a luxury condominium in Atherton, one of the wealthiest zip c
odes in America, only fifteen minutes from her Menlo Park office. A shard of sadness shot across Jen’s chest when she imagined Kade inhabiting a utilitarian environment so devoid of warmth that it housed an actual conference room. She scolded herself not to arrive with preconceived notions. Whether Kade surrounded herself with objects, colors, and furnishings Jen would find homey and inviting, or with maddeningly modern starkness, was none of Jen’s concern.

  Jen exited the elevator on the top floor, which opened to a wide hallway with wood floors and wall sconces, and followed the signs to Kade’s unit, which apparently was one of only two on the entire level. A mat that said Welcome in eight languages rested outside Kade’s door. Jen pressed the door bell and smiled when she heard an electronic chime of “Whistle While You Work.” At least Kade hadn’t entirely lost her sense of humor.

  After several seconds, the door opened, and Jen’s breath caught at the sight of a barefoot Kade, toweling dry her hair, wearing straight-leg trousers that hugged well-muscled thighs and a sleeveless V-neck blouse that highlighted toned arms.

  Jen was immediately swept into the memory of Kade, beverage in hand, walking onto their lanai. Dissatisfied by and keyed up from their chaste good-night kiss, Jen had entered the shared living space in search of the minibar, hoping to find something to take the edge off. The mai tai she’d ordered earlier had failed to deliver any punch, and she wanted something to knock out the thoughts threatening to act out in irrational ways, such as heading straight for Kade’s bed.

  Then, as now, Kade’s hair was damp but not dripping. That night, Jen had caught Kade’s outline in the dim outdoor lights and could tell the bounce in her hair was gone due to a recent shower. As Kade had headed outside, the only sounds were the tinkling of the ice in her glass, the sliding of the door, and the ocean waves that became louder as it opened.