Ava covered her face with his hand to hide her embarrassment. “He did suck,” she agreed, although she hadn’t felt too strongly about Amir. And he hadn’t brought up the divorce to her. Should he have? she wondered.
“So who else?” he asked.
“Who else what?”
“Who else did you go out with?”
“Oh,” she said, brushing the question away, “let me think.”
Mat looked at her hungrily. She told him about Rebecca’s cold, clammy hands and how the party had ended in Ava being shamed about her job. She exaggerated the bad parts of the night, crafting Rebecca into a boring villain, though really she had seemed perfectly nice.
“What about you?” Ava said, trying to sound offhand, although she was afraid to hear his answer.
“Clearly you haven’t been to Gambier,” Mat said. “Everyone’s either an undergrad or a middle-aged farmer. So that’s to say, it’s a total meat market out there. I slept with probably”—he counted on his fingers—“hundreds? Yeah, hundreds of women.” He kissed her. “I just missed you. That’s the only thing I accomplished out there. Missing you.”
The weekend continued like this. They left the apartment only to walk Brutus, who witnessed their reunion moodily from his Dreamy Dog Bed. They reached a level of domestic euphoria that made Ava’s horrible commute, Helen Gross’s nasal, droning voice, and her cat furniture mandate seem like a distant dream.
But by Sunday evening, as she lay on her Practical Sofa with Mat’s arms wrapped around her, Ava began to accept that she’d have to wake up and face another day at STÄDA, which she had come to dread for the first time in a decade.
“You’ll never believe who they brought on to replace you,” she said. “I don’t even know how to describe how terrible she is. She has me working on cat habitats.”
“Hold up,” Mat said. “What is a cat habitat?”
“A habitat for cats. Furniture, ladders, little perches . . .”
“Brutus, cover your ears!” Mat shouted. Brutus looked up, his tail wagging slowly. “Please tell me this is a joke,” Mat said. “Cat habitats? No.”
“Not a joke,” Ava said. “They’re hideous. This is what an intern should do as some sort of punishment.”
“I’m sure there’s something good about the new setup,” Mat said. “The Guys are always saying we have the power to find the best in the worst, no matter what. I mean, how else could we stay sane?”
Ava wasn’t sure who he meant by we. “If that’s the case, then we all have a lot of work to do,” she said. “Everyone is miserable.”
“What about all the cool stuff I set up before I left?”
“Helen Gross cut most of it. No more ‘Yes, And’ meetings. No more shuffleboard. The only thing she kept going was the SHRNK partnership, which we all need now more than ever, thanks to her. Oh, and your basketball hoop is still up.”
Mat stood and paced around the studio in his underwear. “That is the opposite of what makes a workplace ecosystem thrive!” he said, gesturing wildly. He was sliding into his professional character. “You need to give people a reason to come to work! The ROI on these programs might be less visible in the short term, but cutting them has gnarly long-term costs! This is like Management 101. We learned this on our first day at Wharton. Even that guy Amir Clay would know that, and he’s an idiot.”
“Cade,” Ava said.
Mat sat back down, his boxers riding up his thighs. She held his hand. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It’s not your problem anymore.”
He was quiet for a moment and then shook his head. “You know what? Yes it is. Or it should be. I did a good job in New York.”
He was right. He had brought Floor 12 to life. Things were monochromatic without him. Ava rubbed his shoulders.
“I’m coming with you,” he said.
“You what?”
“To work tomorrow. I’m coming with you.” He didn’t look at Ava when he said it—he simply strode to her refrigerator and pulled it open, as if the refrigerator were his car and he was about to get in. “Yeah,” he said, agreeing with himself. He opened a can of beer with a crisp hiss. “I’m getting my job back, Lamby.”
34
Mat was apparently unconcerned about the logistics of his decision. His inability to doubt himself amazed Ava. He hadn’t even used the word try.
The next morning, in the midst of making coffee, feeding and walking Brutus, showering, and getting ready for work, Ava asked him a few clarifying questions: How will you get the job back if it’s already filled? Where will you live? How will we handle our relationship at work? Do you have an official meeting with People? Mat looked at her as though she were asking abstract questions about life after death, or the possibility of a meteor hitting New York, or the merits of Scientology.
“It’ll be fine,” he said now, fitting into the driver’s seat of his car. “Remember, Lamby, I’m a solutions guy. Not a problems guy.” Ava wondered if this was a Good Guyism, and she detected an undercurrent of annoyance in his voice, as though her questions had disrupted his good mood. So she didn’t ask any more. She didn’t mind much anyway. She liked having him there, and if she doubted him too much, she worried, he might disappear.
She had missed the way he fit into his car—just barely, his hair skimming the roof, his whole body crammed, his knees at sharp angles. He looked like he was driving a toy. She buckled her seatbelt and stroked his hair. “You need a haircut,” she said affectionately.
He pulled onto the road. “I know, right?” he said. “Honestly, I didn’t care at all about my appearance when I was in Gambier. Too busy missing you.”
Ava felt the morning sunlight pushing through her, the pleasant spring heat warming her. She settled into her happiness. “I can’t tell you how bad my commute was,” she said. “I was always either stalled or rushing.”
“Why didn’t you buy a car?”
“I don’t know,” Ava said honestly. “I think since the accident I’ve had a hard time making decisions. Especially when they involve cars.”
“You missed me,” Mat said. She couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement.
“I did,” Ava agreed.
She was amazed at how relaxed she felt in the passenger seat. The possibility of a panic episode felt far away. Instead she felt the opposite of anxious—dazed from a weekend spent with Mat in bed, the surprise of his arrival now a happy fact, a buzz of caffeine, the warmth of his hand moving from the wheel to her lap, a new episode of Thirty-Minute Machine playing, featuring a woman who wanted a physical solution to her husband’s sleepwalking problem. She had even missed his stupid disco ball ornament and the way it swung wildly when he sped around corners.
He pulled onto the highway and a new question drifted into Ava’s head like a slow cloud, one that somehow had not occurred to her until now. “Who’s Emily with?” she said, turning down the podcast.
“Oh,” Mat said, leaning forward in his seat to check his mirror while he changed lanes. “Didn’t I tell you about that?”
“About what?”
“Emily,” Mat said.
“No, what happened?” Ava said. She remembered Emily’s graying snout and breathing problems. “Did she die?”
“No!” Mat said, forcing a laugh. “She’s fine.” He ran a hand through his hair, landing on the back of his head and rubbing.
“So . . .” Ava said when he failed to explain.
“I had to give her up,” Mat said. He fiddled with the AC knob.
“You what?”
“It sucked. I had to give her up. The apartment I moved to in Gambier had a no-dog rule. I asked, but they were really strict about it.”
“Why didn’t you choose a different apartment?”
“It wasn’t that easy, Lamby.” He returned both hands to the wheel. “You have no idea how limited the housing options are in Gambier.”
“I would have helped you,” Ava said. “I would even have taken her. At least for a little wh
ile.”
“You weren’t talking to me! I had to do the entire move alone, with zero support. I had to make some hard choices.”
“Didn’t STÄDA pay for your move?”
Mat ignored the question. “I did the best I could. We all do. We’re all doing our best, and what we all need is positive reinforcement. If you picture positivity as a human body—”
“Wait,” Ava said. “So where is she? Where’s Emily?”
“I gave her to a shelter.”
“Which one? I bet they still have her. It’s usually puppies that get adopted.”
“It’s just really hard,” Mat said. “It was a horrible decision to make and I don’t feel good about it. I just couldn’t take her with me.”
“Okay,” Ava said. “Well, let’s just call them. We’ll call the shelter. I’ll do it for you!”
“I already did,” Mat said, turning toward STÄDA. “Wow, they made a lot of progress on the Vision Tower.”
“What do you mean you already did?”
“I called them. I called the shelter. On my drive from Gambier. She’s gone. A family in Queens adopted her. I’m trying to forget about it, so can we just stop?”
Ava was quiet, and Mat continued. “I feel like shit about it, if you can’t tell. I’ll get over it, but I need to take some self-care measures. And that means just letting go of the balloon for now.”
Ava pictured Mat letting go of a balloon. Was this a Good Guyism too? When she pictured the balloon, Emily was inside it, a fuzzy shadow.
He pulled into the parking lot, and seeing his former spot occupied by Helen Gross’s old station wagon, he barked a laugh. “Of course she has a station wagon,” he said. He pulled into a space designated for Security.
“That’s a reserved spot, I think,” Ava said. She tried to sound relaxed.
“I’ll be quick,” Mat said. “In and out.” He’d brightened at the change of topic. “Hey, Judith, real quick, I’m gonna need my job back so I can spare STÄDA from this wet blanket who has replaced me. Cool?” He used a strange fake voice to imitate this version of himself.
Ava smiled at him, but she hadn’t completely shaken the tense ride. He had clearly been embarrassed about giving Emily up—he hadn’t even been able to tell her—and although Ava would have jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge before giving up Brutus, she felt partially responsible for Mat’s decision. She had broken up with him and iced him out. She hadn’t wanted to see him or talk to him, let alone help him plan the logistics of his move.
As they walked toward the Simple Tower, she took Mat’s hand. “You really think this is okay?”
“No more hiding,” Mat said. “I’m yours, you’re mine, and everyone can deal. Ask for respect, not permission.”
“Okay,” Ava said, cautiously happy again.
“Anyway,” Mat said, “I checked the fine print of my old contract. Apparently we are allowed to be together, as long as we sign some paperwork about insider trading and harassment.”
They joined a mass of STÄDA employees in primary colors filtering through the glass doors, bottlenecking at the scanners near the security checkpoint. A couple people glanced their way, then turned to each other. Ava squeezed Mat’s hand, then walked with him to the Security desk.
“Reason for visit?” the security officer asked without looking up. He was a big man with greasy forked bangs.
“I have a meeting with People,” Mat said, “in . . .” He checked his watch. “Ten minutes.”
“I’ll call up,” the security guard said, reaching for the phone receiver.
“That’s okay,” Mat said. “I used to work here. She knows to expect me.”
“It’s protocol to call up first if you’re not registered,” the guard said, looking at Mat. “We’ve had issues lately.”
“Oh,” Mat said. “The Vandals, right?”
“That’s right.”
Mat shook his head sympathetically. “When I was here, they wreaked havoc. But the Vision Tower is looking amazing. I see they’re already testing out the vapor cloud.”
“Who’d you say you were?” the guard said. He squinted at Mat.
“Mathew Putnam,” Mat said.
“Mat Putnam,” the security guard said, suddenly enlivened. “I know about you! You’re a legend, man.” He pulled Mat forward with a double-handed handshake.
“That’s so nice,” Mat said, releasing his hand from the guard’s grip. “What’s your color?”
“Green,” the man said proudly. “I’m the only green in Security.”
“That makes you one of the most essential, least disposable members of the Security team,” Mat said. “Don’t ever forget that. What’s your name? I’ll get in touch with the head of Security and tell him to expedite your next raise.”
The security guard beamed. “Ivan Strong. And you can go on up,” he said, pulling a receipt with a QR code from a little machine.
“You are unbelievable,” Ava whispered as they waited for an elevator.
Mat grinned. “Sometimes all you gotta do is ask!” he said.
Although Ava wouldn’t call what had happened “asking,” she was still impressed. They joined a cluster of engineers at the elevator bank, next to the screens, which rotated through their usual slides, beginning with Vision Tower. Mission: Possible! A large green checkmark appeared over the rendering. The next slide showed a photo of Jaime looking unamused, his iSight glasses tucked into his shirt pocket. Thank you, Jaime Rojas, for keeping our campus safe!
“Looks like Jaime is crushing it!”
Ava’s stomach dropped at the mention of Jaime. She imagined his reaction to Mat’s reappearance. Well, he’d have to deal with it. She preemptively felt annoyed about having to defend herself. Mat pushed the button for Floor 12.
“I thought you were going to see Judith,” Ava said.
“I am,” Mat said. “But first I wanna say hi to everyone.”
“You don’t think that’s premature?”
“What do you mean?” Mat looked at her as if she’d begun speaking Danish. But before she had time to respond, the elevators opened onto 12, and she stepped out behind him onto the brightly lit floor.
35
Ava braced herself for Mat’s big entrance, which she was sure would have the theatricality of a football player charging through the team banner at homecoming. But instead he walked calmly to the Wellness Kitchen. His posture mirrored that of everybody else settling into their unremarkable Monday mornings.
She watched as he opened the refrigerator and casually plucked a Zing! Ginger-Turmeric Tonic from the top shelf. He took a long swig, his lips fully covering the opening of the bottle, while the refrigerator door gaped open.
Didn’t he want to mentally rehearse his conversation with Judith? This type of planned confrontation would have kept Ava up at night for months in advance. She kept her head down and tried to focus on pouring her coffee as Mat prepared himself a Friendly Bowl of cereal with oat milk and slurped a few spoonfuls. The tension hung heavily over Ava, threatening to crush her at any moment.
“What’s up?” he said, looking at her.
“Nothing,” Ava said, looking away quickly. “I guess I just wondered how you . . . well, I guess you should know, Helen is . . . not the easiest. You might want to have a game plan if you want to unseat her. That’s all.”
Mat seemed to consider what Ava was saying, and nodded. “Gotcha,” he said. He put his bowl in the sink, left the Wellness Kitchen, and walked toward Marketing. Ava followed a few feet behind, gripping her coffee tightly.
A half-dozen members of the Marketing team stood in a semicircle around the miniature basketball hoop—one of the last relics remaining from Mat’s tenure as head of product— passing the plush ball around. Each person took a shot at the net after sharing a priority for the week. When Mat arrived he jumped in, intercepting a shot by violently smacking the ball into a display of Sensitive Teacup prototypes lined up on a nearby Diligent Table. He then slam-dunked his empty Zing! G
inger-Turmeric Tonic bottle through the net, picked up the ball, and walked into Helen Gross’s office.
“Brooooooo!” one of the guys said, following him in, going for a bear hug. The rest of the team huddled around Mat, exchanging pats on the back and fist bumps.
The hubbub had attracted attention, and Ava could see the news of Mat’s return spreading in a murmur across the floor. It stopped cold at Jaime, who stood from his desk and walked to the elevators.
Ava watched as Mat propped himself at the edge of Helen’s desk, his butt gently pushing one of her cat figurines to the side. Soon many of the Floor 12 employees were huddled around him. He fielded questions as if he were holding a press conference, tossing the ball in one hand.
“What’s Gambier like?” one woman in yellow asked. “I’ve always kind of dreamed of leaving the city . . .”
“Do you have, like, a garage?”
“Are the STÄDA offices there huge?”
“Does this mean you’re coming back?”
At this last question Mat lit up. “If they’re lucky!” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “The thing about it is—and what I’ve always said is—that sometimes you need to remove yourself from the equation to demonstrate your value. They’ve asked me to come back, and I’ll hear their offer, but it’s gotta be good. You can’t put a price on your personal growth, and I won’t come back for anything less than a director-level position. You don’t get what you deserve, you get what you negotiate for, right?”
Ava considered the brilliance of the maneuver. If Mat didn’t get his job back, it would appear to be his choice. It would be because he had dared to demand more for himself. In STÄDA’s new bootstrapping culture, this was heroic.
The crowd hushed and turned to face Judith, who stood just outside the door with Helen Gross and Jaime.
“Mathew,” Judith said dryly. “What a nice surprise.”
“Hey, Judith!” Mat said, tossing the plush ball to her.
The Very Nice Box Page 21