Thoughts of Kade wormed their way through Jen’s mind and into the conversation. She asked, “How did you know Grandpa was the one?”
Nana swallowed another bite of potato and smiled. “Such a handsome lad. I hope he remembers we’re out of milk.”
Jen often wasn’t sure what Nana remembered. Her long-term memory was excellent, short-term terrible, and mid-term, such as when her husband died ten years ago, hit-or-miss. While Nana actually was out of milk, her use of present tense suggested she could be thinking of an incident from thirty years ago. Since Nana was likely to forget Jen’s question before another minute passed, she decided to let it drop.
“Agains and tomorrows,” Nana said.
“Agains, Nana?” She was about to tell Nana it wasn’t a word but swallowed the correction. It meant something to Nana, and she’d hear her out.
“I knew Ben was the one for me because he was the only person I wanted to see again and again, tomorrow and the next day.” She grinned and lightly touched Jen’s nose. “That’s how he got his nickname.”
“Bennigan?”
“It’s actually Ben Again. I’d tell my friends, ‘I get to see Ben again.’ That’s how it started.” Then she grabbed the fork from Jen’s hand and scooped a bite of potato. “Ben Again. I can’t wait.” She smiled and closed her eyes while she chewed.
Peacefulness settled over Nana’s features, in sharp contrast to her agitation from earlier. Whether Nana was looking forward to Ben returning from the store shortly or their reunion in an afterlife, Jen hoped that one day, somehow, the universe would grant Nana her wish.
As much as Jen wanted to experience the kind of love her grandparents shared and had a particular individual in mind for the journey, in this moment, the serenity evident in Nana’s expression filled Jen’s heart. How lucky was she to have grown up in a loving, supportive family, surrounded by people who weren’t afraid to let their feelings show?
She’d told Kade the truth: she had no regrets. Tomorrows weren’t in their future, and the time they’d shared hadn’t been nearly enough. But she and Kade had experienced something raw and real, powerful and intimate. Breathtaking. Maybe she should be feeling bereft and heartbroken, but right now, having experienced at least a little of what Edna and Ben had, she felt grateful.
Chapter Thirteen
Monday afternoon, in the Creative Care conference room, Jen awaited Jeremy’s assessment.
“It’s really solid, Jen. Light-years from only days ago.” Jen had finished taking him through the revised fund-raising presentation, into which she’d incorporated Kade’s feedback. “I should be able to add the changes to the roadmap and product slides by end of day tomorrow, no problem.”
“That would be great.”
“How did you pull all this together so quickly? You look pretty good for someone who can’t be getting a lot of sleep.”
Jen blushed. “I got some help.”
“Jen-ni-fer Spen-cer,” Jeremy said in a sing-song tone. “Look at you. Exactly what kind of help did you get and from whom?”
She raised her hand defensively. “Before you say anything, it was a one-off deal off the record.”
Jeremy eyed Jen thoughtfully. “Tell me this doesn’t have anything to do with breakfast in bed with our illustrious board member. Strawberry pancakes perhaps?”
She could deny it, because it technically wasn’t breakfast in bed, but she knew what he was getting at. “Kind of.”
“She’s straddling a fine line when it comes to objectivity, isn’t she? That is, when she isn’t straddling you?”
Jen felt her eyes widen and her flush deepen. She grabbed a stack of sticky notes and tossed it at him in protest. “I can’t believe you said that,” she said, keeping her voice down.
He laughed. “It’s only us.”
“She came over to check on me Friday, after someone sent me home. You saw the state I was in. She swooped in and offered really helpful advice—as my friend, mind you. Not my boss.”
“And she left on…?”
“Sunday morning. But in terms of her objectivity, keep in mind that there aren’t any matters pending before the board, so it’s not like she’s in danger of bias. And second, she was very clear that we wouldn’t repeat this weekend.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“It’s the right thing for the company. Startups come with enough drama of their own.”
“What about for you?”
She toyed with a dry-erase marker, spinning it on the table top. “That’s harder, Jer. I really like her.”
“Then what’s the problem? Can’t she resign from our board so there’s no conflict of interest?”
“She could, but that would require interest on her part.”
“Then she’s not half as smart as her reputation gives her credit for.”
Jen smiled, appreciating Jeremy’s default reaction to err on her side. “In her defense, she has her reasons. Look, you and I are going into fund-raising mode, which means our already crazy hours get worse. It’s hard enough getting to Nana’s. I can’t take on relationship drama, too. Let’s focus on closing our funding round. I’ve started compiling a list of the VCs we want to try to talk to, those familiar with our industry who do a lot of early stage investments. I’ll ask Charles and Kade to add to it. We need to move quickly on setting up meetings.”
“Sounds good.”
“I also want to do that team event we talked about. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to join, but check with your guys and see if we can do it this week. They’ve been working around the clock and hit it out of the park this weekend. Giving them a play day is the least we can do.”
“Roger that.”
* * *
Thank God for Holly. The two startup co-founders Kade was meeting with showed no signs of understanding that their allotted time was one hour. Promptly on the hour, Holly interrupted their droning-on by knocking and entering, then standing in the doorway as a silent prod to Kade’s guests.
After walking them out, Holly closed the door and took a seat. “Wow. What did you think of her?”
“The meeting was interminable, and once again I owe you for saving me.”
“I mean Penelope, the CTO. So rare to see a woman in that role. And what a stunning one.”
Kade glanced at the doorway as if she could conjure the departed visitors. “Penelope?” Had one of them been a Penelope?
“Did you not notice the shapely legs, sculpted eyebrows, perfect olive skin, and flowing black hair?”
Kade reflected on the meeting. She couldn’t recall anything except for how bored she was and the growing number of seconds that seemed to be packed into each slowly passing minute, as if the minutes had eaten too many carbohydrates. “No.”
“Well, since you’re not dead yet, that can only mean you’re thinking about another woman.”
“Was she really that pretty?”
“Good God. Do you need to be hospitalized?”
“What I need is for people to stick to the schedule.”
“Why bother? If you’re not going to pay attention in your meetings, why don’t I just cancel the rest of your appointments today? Then you can focus on agonizing over Jen instead of pretending you’re not thinking about her.”
“I’m paying attention.”
“Uh-huh. Name one takeaway from that meeting.”
Kade gazed at Holly, ransacking her mind for a tiny foothold to whatever Penelope and her colleague had gone on incessantly about.
Holly inclined her head as if to say, “I rest my case.”
“It’s your own fault for encouraging me and rearranging my schedule,” Kade groused.
Holly laughed. “So you’d spend time with a smart, hard-working, attractive woman who seems genuinely nice. How horrible of me.”
Kade slumped in her chair and rubbed her temples. “She wants more.”
“Okay, scratching ‘smart’ from the list.”
When Kade refused to acknowledge
the jab, Holly became more serious. “Kade, women always want more from you. How is this different?”
“This isn’t a hookup at a conference in some random city.”
“Then what is it?”
“Important.”
“Exactly. So do something about it.”
“The problem is I want to.”
“The problem is you think there’s a problem. But you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t. Where’s your phone?”
Kade swiped it off the credenza behind her and held it up.
“Dry run,” Holly said. “Pretend I’m Jen. Ask me out.”
Kade gently set the device on her desk. “I already told her we couldn’t see each other again.”
“Which is likely preventing her from thinking about you as well as it’s stopping you from thinking about her. Now get your game on.”
“There’s no point.”
“You don’t have enough time between now and your next appointment to work out, and you’re worthless sitting here with your head between her—I’m sorry, head in the clouds. So channel your energy like you’re asking her out so you can purge your thoughts of her for a few hours. She’ll never know.”
“Pretending to ask her out isn’t going to help.”
“Then ask her for real.”
“Not an option.”
“Then what do you have to lose by indulging me?”
“This is a waste of time.”
“Okay. Tell me about Penelope’s company, and I’ll go.”
“Holly.” Saying Holly’s name in a threatening tone was as useful as telling an excited puppy not to wiggle. Holly was unfazed. Kade sighed and grabbed her phone. “Fine.”
What would she say to Jen if she were to actually pursue such a fantasy? She stared at the screen, but it didn’t provide any clues. Annoying. With all the technology she was exposed to, shouldn’t there be an app that lit up the screen with civilized suggestions? She sent Holly a text.
Holly studied her phone as if waiting for more.
“That’s pretty much all I’ve got,” Kade said.
“‘Hi?’ Hi is the sum total of what you say to a woman you can’t stop thinking about?”
“What’s wrong with a greeting?”
“You’re asking her out. Get to the point.”
“Don’t pressure me.”
“You do realize I can access every one of your accounts and jump into any conversation or start one as if I’m you, right?”
“You wouldn’t.”
Holly arched an eyebrow.
“This is you not pressuring me?” Kade went back to typing and was done nearly instantaneously.
“‘How’s your day going?’ You can’t be serious,” Holly said.
Kade tossed her phone down. “I’m terrible at this.” Holly started typing into her own messaging app. When her phone chimed, Kade read the message aloud. “You’re so fucking sexy, you make me cream my pants.” Kade laughed. “This is going in my personnel files in case I need to use it against you.”
Holly bent down and kissed Kade on the cheek. “I’ll call you Hot Stuff. Call me whatever strikes your fancy.”
Moments after Holly left her office, Kade’s phone chimed again.
Hey, Hot Stuff, want to come over for cake and I scream your name?
Kade replied,
You’re fired.
* * *
Jen had had a good run of late. The caregivers she’d found for Nana had been reliable and competent. It took more of Jen’s time to search for, contract with, pay, and schedule them, but the cost savings versus an agency or assisted-living facility was worth it. Nana didn’t have a significant nest egg, and every dollar counted. But every once in a while, things like today happened. One of Nana’s regular caregivers called in sick. Jen tried a couple of backup providers and left messages. Thus it fell to Jen because Nana couldn’t be left alone.
Similar struggles Jen had faced early on were the impetus for Creative Care. Jen was convinced there was a better solution out there than the DIY strategy she was employing or the home-care-agency option.
Since a gap in coverage for Nana was relatively infrequent, Jen could often take it herself. She’d installed high-speed Internet at Nana’s house for that reason. She wasn’t even half as productive on such days as when she was in the office or worked from home because she largely had to keep to Nana’s routine. But Nana did have a number of hours in her day when she could rest, watch TV, garden, or otherwise occupy herself with proper direction. Jen did call an agency when she had outside commitments on her calendar, such as her meeting with Kade today. Unfortunately, since Jen wasn’t a regularly paying client, she was low on their priority list for fulfilling last-minute needs. And so she waited.
Many times during the past year, as Nana’s dementia had become more pronounced and Jen was slammed at Creative Care, Jen weighed the additional cost of using a home-care agency. But she’d already performed that spreadsheet exercise a number of times and always returned to the same conclusion, which didn’t require any math. Nana came before Creative Care. And Jen felt obligated to help Nana “extend her runway,” as Kade would say—lengthen the amount of time before she ran out of cash.
As she prepared Nana’s breakfast, Jen hoped at least one of her backup options would come through before her meeting. She knew Kade was going out of her way for her not only by connecting her with people in her network, but by attending herself as well as allowing Holly to take time away from Matlock business to do the scheduling. She also knew punctuality was one of Kade’s hot-button issues, and she wasn’t eager to press it.
* * *
“She’s still not here,” Kade said to Holly after excusing herself to make the call. Jen was late to their meeting with Brian Marshall, one of the hospital executives who had agreed to discuss Creative Care. Kade was stressed enough about whether she could play it off in front of Brian as if she were completely indifferent about her colleague. But she had poor coping skills when it came to being late. When things ran off schedule, things went wrong.
All of that festered within Kade as worry. Was Jen all right? Had she been in an accident? No. It was too premature and apocalyptic to start thinking that way. Nothing good came from doing so.
“I understand, but she doesn’t work for me,” Holly said. “I don’t have her schedule and don’t know where she is. I’ve sent an email, a text, and left a voice mail.”
“So have I. Have you tried Jeremy Corbin?”
“Yes, and to the best of his knowledge, Jen was planning to meet with you and Brian.”
Kade’s phone buzzed. “Hold on. Let me see if this text is from her.” Kade switched applications and clicked on the most recent message.
Kade—something’s come up. I’m so sorry I can’t make the meeting with Brian. Will reschedule posthaste. Please apologize for me. –J
Instant relief at knowing Jen was alive and apparently well flooded her, then vanished as quickly. Jen didn’t seem any worse for wear, which Kade was grateful for, but the poor—rather, complete lack of excuse—chafed. Several seconds passed, yet oddly enough, Kade’s continuous scowl failed to change the contents of the message. She swiped it off the screen and returned to her call in progress. “Something’s come up. She’s cancelling.” Kade took a deep breath, and it, too, failed to change the fact that they were late, a situation she loathed.
“At least she’s okay,” Holly said.
Kade ended the call. Yes, she was thankful Jen seemed to be in one piece, but Kade had put her reputation on the line for her. A big deal. Kade’s word was her bond. Her word meant far more to her than any object she could own. She wasn’t about to let someone who obviously didn’t share her priorities negatively affect her standing in the industry.
No, it was wrong to jump to conclusions. Jen cared deeply about Creative Care and wouldn’t jeopardize its future for something trivial.
Kade returned to Brian’s office with a choice to make. Having gotten up to speed on
Creative Care, she could take the meeting herself with the same goals of getting his hospital to refer patients to the company and spreading the word that his part-timers could likely find supplemental work by registering on the platform. Or she could do what she should have done in the first place: get off Creative Care’s board and focus on the job she was paid to do at Matlock.
It was like having a little cartoon angel on one shoulder to Kade’s devil on the other. The angel’s argument was aided by Kade’s loyalty to Charles, since his unresponsiveness to her messages likely meant he wasn’t bouncing back as well as he’d hoped. And so even though part of her wanted to remove all traces of having ever been associated with this meeting, she listened to the part that fundamentally believed in what Creative Care was building. “Brian, unfortunately Jen has to deal with an emergency and won’t be able to make it. She apologizes profusely and would be here if she could. If you’ll indulge me, I still think it’s well worth your time to learn about the Creative Care platform, even though I’m a poor substitute for her.”
The satisfaction that usually accompanied a successful meeting eluded Kade that evening. Picking disinterestedly at lukewarm leftovers, her mind refused to give her reprieve from thoughts of Jen.
Chapter Fourteen
Kade deserved an explanation. Two, now. Jen’s failure to show up for the second of their scheduled meetings this week infuriated her.
One of the most important things in a VC’s arsenal was her network. Success in the industry was predicated on knowing the right people to connect at the right time. Kade made introductions between company executives when she saw a match between the technology one of her portfolio companies was building and a more mature company looking for ways to drive revenue or innovate on a number of fronts.
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