The waiter arrived with Samiah’s drink and took their order of three sharable appetizers. When he left, Samiah placed her forearms on the table and said, “So, other than the news station, have either of you been contacted by anyone else in the media?”
London shook her head.
“No, but I did find a couple of bullshit hot takes,” Taylor said, picking up her phone and swiping her fingers across it. She held it face out. “This one believes the three of us can benefit from a life coach who can help us build up our self-esteem, because the only way a woman would allow herself to be taken in by a guy like Craig is if she secretly hates herself.”
“The fuck?” London said, grabbing the phone from Taylor. “Who in the hell is Andrea Krammer, and who in the hell asked her opinion?”
“She’s not the only ‘lifestyle blogger’ with an opinion about us,” Taylor said.
“That pisses me off so much.” Samiah pitched the tortilla chip she’d just grabbed back into the bowl. “Everyone has a platform to spew nonsense these days. They make assumptions based on what they think they know about a certain situation without knowing jack shit about what’s really going on. And you know the worst part? People believe them! Just because this Andrea person has made a name for herself online, she’s considered an expert by random people who will now judge all three of us.”
“Forget her,” London spat. “Why should we care what this Andrea person or anyone else has to say?”
Samiah nodded her agreement. She shouldn’t care. She knew this.
She’d come up against this crap ever since she told her high school guidance counselor that she wanted to study computer engineering. It didn’t matter that she’d had the grades to back it up, or that she once took apart and then reassembled an entire circuit board in science class. People made assumptions about her based on what they thought she was—a black girl from inside the Loop in Houston who couldn’t possibly have the capacity to understand how microprocessors and custom integrated semiconductors worked.
She hadn’t allowed Mr. Sharp to attach his own labels to her back in high school and she’d be damned if she would allow some Internet blogger to do it right now. This situation with Craig would not define her.
She authored her own narrative. No one else had the power to write it for her. It was time she take back control of her life story. If she was going to be known for something, let it be a kick-ass idea that helped to create some good in the world.
Like her app.
Thoughts of it had bugged her all week long, lurking around the edges of her brain. She’d become a pro at talking herself out of giving that long-held dream a passing thought. The fear of devoting precious resources to her app without a guarantee that it would be a success had stymied her for years.
Not this time. This time, that nagging voice wouldn’t be silenced. This time she would take her normal excuses—she was too busy at work, she didn’t have enough seed money, it wasn’t part of her master plan—and poke a hole through each one.
Because there were no more excuses. If she was serious about ever seeing her idea come to fruition, it was time she make it happen.
Samiah had to breathe through the tightness suddenly gripping her chest. Was she ready to take that leap? Was she really prepared to veer so far off course from the plans she’d set in place?
“What about Craig?”
Samiah jerked her head back, knocked out of her preoccupied musings by London’s question. “What about him?”
“Did he contact either of you since we last talked? Did any other creeps contact you?”
“Just some guy named Timothy,” Taylor said.
Samiah and London both nodded and simultaneously answered, “Me too.”
“After the fourth DM from Timothy I forwarded his name to the feds,” London said. “That shit is harassment.”
“Other than Timothy it’s just been your run-of-the-mill, ashy dick pics,” Taylor said with a shrug. “But that’s nothing new.” She added a heaping of nachos to her plate. “I have to be honest, ladies. I’m kinda bummed I didn’t talk to that news reporter. I would probably have had even more weirdos flooding my inbox, but can you imagine the new clients that exposure would have brought?”
“You know, Taylor, it’s okay if you call the news station back,” Samiah said. “You’re in an entirely different position than either me or London. Neither of us would fault you for using this situation to plug your business.”
“Absolutely,” London said.
Taylor waved them off. “I’m still not sure I’m ready for that. But I do have to admit that this disaster hasn’t been all bad for me.” She gestured to both of them. “I met you two.” She shook her head and huffed out a laugh. “It’s ridiculous that it took something like this to finally make new friends. Shit, there has to be an easier way, right?”
Samiah had just bitten into a mini empanada. She stopped chewing, barely registering the taste of the food. She had to think back to the conversations they’d shared this week to figure out whether she’d mentioned the idea for her app to either of them. But she knew she hadn’t. She’d never told anyone.
She’d encountered the same difficulties Taylor mentioned when it came to meeting new people when she’d first moved to Austin. After downloading every dating app known to man, the dearth of options available to help make platonic connections—other than broad social media sites like Facebook and Twitter—had stood out in stark relief. She’d come up with the idea for an app-based way for those moving to a new city to meet people who shared their same interests. There were several apps on the market with a similar concept, but her idea went a step further.
Not only would her app pair newcomers with like-minded people; it would also give businesses a way to create one-of-a-kind experiences for all these new friends to share. A wine bar could put together a special wine-tasting event specifically for lovers of wine from a particular region of France. Or a fitness guru, like Taylor, could create classes explicitly for single mothers who wanted to get healthy.
None of the social apps that constantly appeared in her phone’s App Store had the added element of allowing businesses to create the kind of in-person experiences she had in mind. It seemed like such a no-brainer, Samiah was still floored that another developer hadn’t put forth the idea.
It’s only a matter of time until they do.
Taylor slapped her palms on the table. “I cannot believe I forgot to tell you both this. The friend who sent me out on that date with Craig? She tried setting me up with another rando for this weekend!”
“And you didn’t punch her in the throat? How civil of you,” London said.
“I told her no more blind dates. Actually, no more dates. Period. At least for the foreseeable future. I have a business I’m trying to get off the ground. The video going viral gave me a boost, but the likelihood that any of those people will become long-term clients is slim. Once the ‘celebrity’ wears off,” she said, making air quotes, “I’ll be back to the client hunt.”
“Or they will become long-term and you’ll have so many clients you won’t know how to manage them all.”
“I like your version better.” Taylor made pistol fingers at Samiah. “Either way, I need to focus on work.”
“And I’m the opposite,” London said. “I’ve spent too much time focused on my career and not enough on me. And when I say me, I mean me.” She pointed at her chest. “It’s not that I’m anti getting-a-man, but I’m tired of taking what little extra time I have and putting it into someone who turns out not to be worth the effort.”
“I hear you,” Samiah said.
“You know.” London tipped her head to the side. “I took one of those silly online quizzes and when it came to the question about hobbies, I had no idea how to answer. I have no hobbies. I have nothing but the hospital.”
“Get yourself a hobby, girl,” Taylor said.
“That’s just it, I don’t know where to even start. Medicine has been my
life since my freshman year of college.” Her hands flailed haplessly. “Where does one even find a hobby?”
“You look,” Samiah suggested. “You try different things and see what makes you happy. Take a painting class.” She looked pointedly at Taylor. “Sign up for one of the fitness classes that someone will soon add to her business’s repertoire.”
“Fine.” Taylor rolled her eyes. “But she’s right. You need to find something you like to do outside of work.” She picked up her phone and started typing. “Okay, I’ll make the list. We each need to figure out what we’re going to do with all this new time on our hands.” She tapped on the screen with her thumbs. “Oh, wait! First we need a name!”
“Do we really?”
Samiah chuckled at London’s pained drawl.
“Yes, a name,” Taylor reiterated. “Something fun.”
“The Margaritas,” Samiah offered, saluting them both with her watermelon-flavored drink.
Taylor shook her head. “That sounds like a bunch of alcoholics. We need something that will make people jealous when they hear about us. Something that will make them want to be one of us.”
“Squad Goals,” London said. They both just stared at her. “What?” she asked with a dubious frown. “That’s what you call it, right? When you see a group of people who hang together and you wish you were a part of it. You say that they’re squad goals.”
“I freaking love that!” Taylor screeched. “Hashtag Squad Goals! That’s what the hell I’m talking ’bout!” She typed on her phone. “So, now that we have a name, we need to make a list of what we’re going to focus on now that we’re not wasting time on dating.”
“Wait. Is this no dating ever?” Samiah asked. She was already thinking about ways to both work on her app and tackle that last item on her original checklist. Thirty years old was too young to give up on finding a significant other.
Taylor rolled her eyes again. “Of course not. Let’s give ourselves six months. I bet we can conquer the world in that time. And once we’ve each taken time to work on ourselves, we can commit to jumping back into the dating scene.”
“So, the objective of this little project is to make ourselves better so that we can eventually find boyfriends?” Samiah asked.
“Hell no. It’s to make ourselves better because we deserve to be our best selves. The boyfriend is just a bonus.”
“Does the six-month hiatus we’re taking for this little boyfriend project include no maintenance dates?” London asked.
Samiah’s brow shot up. “You have a maintenance man?”
“No, but I was thinking about getting one.” She drank down the rest of her margarita and set the glass on the table with a pronounced thump. “You know what? Forget about the maintenance man. I just bought one of those megapacks of batteries at Costco. I’m good for the next six months.”
“And your goal?” Taylor asked.
“Easy. To find myself a hobby.”
“Samiah, what about you?”
“I have—” Samiah started, but then stopped. She couldn’t tell them about her app. If she actually spoke it out loud she would have to work on it. No more excuses.
If you commit to it, you wouldn’t need any excuses.
She mentally pointed her middle finger at the voice in her head.
“I’m in the same boat as London,” she said instead. “My job keeps me so busy that I never take time to relax and do something that’s just for me. I’m going to find myself a hobby too. One that will help me detach from the job.”
“All right,” Taylor said, typing again. She set the phone on the table and smiled. “We got this, ladies. We are going to rock this.” She motioned to the array of dishes. “So, are we making this a weekly thing, or what?”
“Tapas and margaritas?” London asked.
“Or dim sum, or hot wings, or whatever.” She shrugged. “Not that either of you should get a big head or anything, but I’ve actually been looking forward to this all week.”
“Aww.” London reached over and pinched her cheek. “I like you too.”
Taylor scrunched her face and stuck her tongue out at London. These two reminded Samiah so much of herself and Denise. It was amazing to think they’d all met just last week.
“So Hashtag Squad Goals will have a standing date every Friday?” Taylor asked.
“Yes. And these are to be our only dates for the next six months,” London said. “We’re working on ourselves.”
“I’m in,” Samiah said. “We get together once a week and update each other on how things are going. Sounds like a plan.”
Sorta. She still wasn’t 100 percent sure about this no-dating thing.
They finished off their tapas and margaritas, then parted ways with reminders already set in their phones to meet at the Mediterranean place across the street at the same time next week.
As she made her way to her car, Samiah couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had settled in her stomach since Taylor started making that list. She should have told them about her app. Saying it out loud, having others to hold her accountable—it was the kind of motivation she needed to finally see her dream through.
She slid behind the wheel of her Mustang and gripped the steering wheel.
“What are you so afraid of?” she whispered.
What else but fear was stopping her from pursuing the dream that had once been so important to her? If she weren’t serious about developing her app she would have tossed out all those notebooks when packing up her apartment earlier this year. She would have put that box out with the trash instead of stashing it in the back of her hall closet once she moved into her condo. Seriously, what was stopping her?
You know what’s stopping you.
It took a lot more than just an amazing idea to bring an app to market. It took money to develop it and man-hours to work on it. Her handsome salary was enough to allow her to live credit card debt–free and save well for retirement, but it wasn’t enough to launch an app.
Maybe she should just do as she’d said she would and find herself a hobby. Hobbies were more realistic. If a hobby didn’t work out, she wouldn’t feel as if she’d wasted all her time and money. She wouldn’t feel as if she’d failed.
“Okay, so that’s a lie,” Samiah said. She’d always been notoriously hard on herself, regardless of what she was trying to accomplish. But she had a feeling that failing at this particular thing would affect her differently than if it was some random hobby she’d decided to take up.
She caught every red light on her drive home. On the way in, she stopped at the alcove of chrome-plated mailboxes just left of the elevator bank. She opened her mailbox and slid out a bundle of letters and magazines. Standing next to the recycling bin, she threw away the flyers and junk mail. When she got to one of the half-dozen tech magazines she subscribed to, Samiah stopped short.
On its back cover was an advertisement for the Future in Innovation Tech Conference. One of the hallmarks of the FITC was the opportunity for start-ups in the tech world to showcase their products and secure venture capital.
The conference would be held in Austin next spring.
“Seriously, universe?” Samiah grumbled.
On the way up to her floor, she leafed through the magazine until she found the two-page spread listing the highlights of the upcoming conference. Once in her condo, she dropped her purse on the kitchen island, grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, and went into the living room. Samiah kicked her heels off, plopped onto the sofa, and spread the magazine open on her lap.
Her grandmother used to say that God always sent you signs. And for the really stubborn ones, he knocked you in the head.
God had used a sledgehammer on her.
“Okay,” Samiah whispered as she looked over the magazine. “I guess I’m doing this.”
She squelched the panic that bubbled up in her chest. Would it be a risk? Maybe. But what good was she if she wasn’t ready to risk it all for something she believed in?
&nb
sp; She could do this. She would do this.
She was going to make the Just Friends app happen.
Chapter Eight
Daniel sat hunched over his keyboard, a Philadelphia 76ers hoodie covering his head, Wu-Tang Clan blasting through the headphones covering his ears. He was dimly aware of the activity going on around him, but his brain’s focus remained locked on the continual string of white letters and numbers flying across the black screen. The feeling that came over him when writing code like this was a natural high.
Writing code was part of what he would be doing if he’d gone into the private sector. But that wasn’t the path he’d chosen and he was okay with that.
He didn’t regret his decision to join FinCEN after graduation, despite it costing him his ex-girlfriend. Joelle had assumed his four years with the Marines would be the extent of his commitment to embracing his family’s long history of serving the country. She left after he turned down a lucrative offer from a tech firm in Boulder, Colorado, claiming she didn’t sign up to be with someone who wanted to live as a pauper in some government job.
Yeah, his bank account would look better if he’d gone with any of the offers he’d received after finishing at Stanford, but Daniel knew he would never feel fulfilled in those jobs. The obligation to serve had been ingrained in him since birth.
Not to say he didn’t enjoy plunging into some ColdFusion or Python or any of the other programming languages Trendsetters allowed code heads like him to indulge in. And when one of his new coworkers clued him in to a new programming language being developed by some hotshots on GitHub, Daniel realized just how out of the loop he was. He wondered what other cool things he’d missed while spending the past couple of years on assignment at FinCEN.
He straightened in his chair, stretching his neck from side to side to regain his focus.
Learning about new innovations in coding wasn’t the reason he was here. He was here to catch a criminal.
At this very moment, someone in this building was using Trendsetters as a front to launder money. If only he could find a way to breach their airtight security so he could uncover the intricacies of how they were doing it and bring in the bastards running the thing.
The Boyfriend Project Page 7