Zeke is in the middle of drinking his coffee and sprays it all over Geek and Geeker, who jump up and howl in protest.

Nick, Chloe, and Amanda all begin speaking at once, ignoring the coffeefest.

“What about bundling the fee — ”

“How about a gratitude-based message rather than — ”

“If we added a video component, maybe we — ”

“If you turn to page three, you’ll see I’ve addressed all of this,” Carrie interrupts calmly.

My phone buzzes. So does Carrie’s. We simultaneously ignore our phones.

“If we make this about how the woman feels, we’ll nail it from a branding perspective,” Carrie begins.

“Nail it,” Zeke says, snickering again.

I really kick him. “What are you? Twelve?” I hiss.

Carrie gives me a look that says, You too?

No. Not me, too.

My phone buzzes again, though. I grab it and look.

It’s a text from my oldest sister Ellen. Did you finish the grad school application?

I ignore it.

“Go on, Carrie,” I say loudly, trying to clear some of the static from the room so poor Carrie can finish. I don’t sit in on meetings other than staff gatherings managed by Henry or Chloe. This is a snoozefest.

“We focus on how she feels. Thank her for her call. Talk about how privileged O is to provide this support to her in a time when she is working on personal growth. Have the masseurs emphasize their gratitude to her.”

Sanjay makes a mock gagging motion.

“What does that have to do with the tech angle, though?” Amanda muses. “How do we design a tight system that gives us permission to charge their credit cards and keep chargebacks at a low rate?”

“What about a follow-up?” Carrie mentions, pointing to page four of her handout. “We have an automated check-in later in the day. Opt-in. We could text her — even have the master masseurs write a personal text and the system could schedule it. We would have strong return business, too. Build a relationship between the masseur and the client.”

“This is so fake,” Justin says with a sour look.

“Can you do it from a tech standpoint?” Amanda asks, giving Justin and Sanjay a challenging look.

“Of course,” Sanjay says. “Not hard at all. We’d need to connect customer records with phone and texting systems. Do you want email integration, too?”

“Absolutely. VR as well,” Chloe adds.

“VR? Virtual reality?” Sanjay’s eyebrows go up.

“We’re experimenting with it. If we could have synergy between all the systems, that would be optimal.”

“Great idea, Sanjay!” Zeke says, pretending to clap. “I like it.”

Everyone nods. Carrie’s face falls. Sanjay beams while Justin pats him on the shoulder.

“It was Carrie’s idea,” I say, clearing my throat. Carrie looks at her phone as I talk and frowns. The skin at the corner of her eye starts to twitch, then tighten.

Oh, no.

I know that look.

She’s about to cry.

“Well, she had the general idea, but — ”

I put Sanjay’s protests to an end. “She had the entire idea fleshed out.”

Zeke snickers.

“And you need to leave if you can’t stop acting like a teen boy in his first sex ed class,” I tell Zeke in a calm, cold voice that makes it clear I’m not fucking around.

Carrie won’t stop looking at her phone. What was in that text?

Nick Grafton speaks, splaying his hands on the table, leaning in and looking at Geek and Geeker with the eyes of a closer.

“Can you accomplish the autoresponder sequence with texts and emails that are customized by the master masseur to the customer? Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Justin stammers. “But it’s complex, and all the new requirements are going to take longer and cost more. ”

“No, it’s not,” I bark, reluctant to jump in, but they’ve given me no choice. “All you have to do is customize the branding to feel and sound like the O Spa. You already paid for a phone service product that does the heavy lifting for you,” I add, giving Chloe and Nick a pointed look. “The rest isn’t that hard.”

Nick looks back at me, grabs a pen, and jots something down on his notepad.

Sanjay shrugs. Justin scowls.

The room goes silent. Carrie’s looking at me, lips parted, teeth separated, her face filled with surprise.

I shrug. “I have coding experience.”

“The man braids hair, dances beautifully, keeps the customers happy with his hands, and can code. Is there anything you can’t do, Ryan?” Chloe jokes.

I look at Carrie.

Yeah, I think. There is.

Chapter 5

CARRIE

We knew Saturday was going to come, right? A gorgeous Saturday in late September, the month when New England in general — and Boston in particular — comes alive with events and energy and impossible natural beauty. In a city full of universities, the new year really begins on Labor Day.

We — the old ‘we,’ Jamey and me — were going to drive out to the country today and pick apples. Then we were going to come home and bake a pie. A beautiful pie, with a perfect fluted crust sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, and a little slice of cheddar cheese on the side. Or homemade ice cream. Whichever we felt in the mood for.

I feel more in the mood for applesauce. You know, where you peel off the skin and cut up the fruit with knives and then boil it until you end up with mush. So it matches your heart.

For our apple-picking date, I was going to wear a cute little corduroy miniskirt and a bright quilted vest. Instead I am wearing plaid flannel pajama bottoms that say Northville Polar Bears across the seat (Christmas gift from Mom and Dad), and slippers with polar bear faces on the toes (Christmas gift from Teddy). The slippers scuff and slap as I trudge up and down from the basement laundry, four flights down. For those of you with elevators, that’s sixty steps each way, times four (wash and dry), for two loads. Two hundred forty steps, half of them carrying a basket of clothes. Who needs a gym membership?

BUT if you are five minutes late for your cycle? (No, not that cycle!) Someone will have removed your wet laundry and left it on top of the machine. Either add one hundred and twenty more steps or wait forty minutes in the windowless, humid laundry room, so you don’t miss your chance.