“And, are you?”
She gave her head a slight shake. “Not really. I mean, I’m an economist too, but my mom’s influence means I’m here, studying health and the economy rather than making more money somewhere else managing a hedge fund.”
The firm’s wide-ranging studies and analysis into everything, including pharmaceuticals, economic policy and the environment, were aimed at improving social conditions around the world. A lofty goal that her mom approved of and father scoffed at.
As an adult, Marsie didn’t often think of that, the constant push and pull and tug from her parents. Baby boomers, both of them. They’d had this idea that love was enough to bring together their two disparate views on the world. And, if you counted that they’d made a baby who used a conservative-leaning social science to try to make the world a better place, they had brought their views of the world together perfectly.
If you considered “bring together” to mean stay married, that hadn’t happened. They’d gotten divorced when Marsie was two. Her dad had stayed in California. Her mom had run off, child in tow, to start an organic farm in Wyoming of all places. If her mom had decided to start a ranch, at least that would have made sense. But her mom didn’t believe in sense. She believed in signs and dreams and hopes.
Hopes didn’t grow enough vegetables to make money. They’d always had food to eat, and child support meant Marsie always had clothes, but she hadn’t just been the smart girl in a tiny school—she’d been the poor smart girl.
“Right. Better for me that you’re here and not at some hedge fund somewhere. You are one of the people who make my job interesting.” His teeth glinted through his easy smile.
She knew that smile, had seen him flash that smile at other people, and still it relaxed her, making her less interested in what might be happening in the dating app on her phone and what could happen if Jason sat down in one of her office chairs and leaned against her desk again.
Maybe she’d come around and sit on the edge, pull one leg up so that her skirt fell open just so...
No. Stop. Jason wasn’t tall enough. And that was only one strike against him. He was also too smooth and too charming and they worked at the same place. He didn’t have the kind of education she was looking for in a man. Or the type of career. Six strikes when only three were needed.
“Speaking of jobs, I’ve got to be on my way to one.” His voice was easy, but the twinkle in his eyes made her wonder if he knew what she was thinking.
Since he’d come to her first cubicle at this office to remove a keyboard tray she had banged her knees on, Jason had always been able to make her feel like the world under her feet wasn’t stable. Like if she moved too quickly or took a wrong step, she would fall. And she never knew what to do with that information.
There wasn’t a formula for social interaction. Not one that worked well, anyway.
“I’m going to grab a cup of coffee first,” he said. “Wanna come?”
“Sure.” She had wanted a cup before her next meeting. Plus, the world wasn’t stable when she was around Jason, but it wasn’t boring, either.
THE CONFERENCE ROOM her meeting was in was always either too hot or too cold—usually too hot. Jason said he’d done everything possible to regulate the room’s temperature, including adding the slight film that covered the floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the walking trail that connected many of the buildings in this part of the park. As she shrugged out of her suit jacket, she remembered that once, when she’d been complaining about this conference room, he’d told her to convince the VP to have blinds put in. “There’s only so much you can do for temperature control in a room that’s all windows and has no trees outside to provide shade. Especially in a building this old.”
Since this was the conference room closest to her office and where she usually had meetings, she’d taken his suggestions to heart, saying things like, “Wow, the sun is making the screen hard to see. Wouldn’t it be great to have roller blinds or something to provide a little better sun block?” whenever the right people were in meetings.
Jason had laughed when she’d told him of her strategy.
“Last time we met,” the grant writer, Roberto, was saying from his chair at the front of the room, “we said that we’d have the implementation and evaluation measures for parts one through four ready for the final document.” The mouse moved across the screen to the empty spot under “Implementation.”
Marsie wasn’t the only person who expected Roberto to keep talking, because the room was silent.
“Well,” Roberto said, “does anyone know why this area is still blank?”
Because the application isn’t due yet. Marsie didn’t say that. This grant was her baby, and she was pushing behind the scenes as much as she knew how. But she also knew that time pressure got work done faster than meetings and pointed silences.
The procrastination had driven her bonkers the first couple of grants she’d worked on. It still drove her bonkers, but she’d learned it was part of everyone else’s process, and letting it drive her to drink wasn’t a good use of her time or energy. So she’d gotten her portions done ahead of schedule and had been relying on relaxing breathing to help her wait for everyone else to work at their pace.
Roberto knew it, too. These meetings were a play, and they all had their parts.
“Marsie,” Roberto said, turning his attention to her and away from the rest of the people sitting around the conference table.
She looked over to the grant writer. “Yes?”
“Let’s talk about your budget.”
“Great,” she said. “I actually have some questions about your comments.”
God, it was boiling in this room. Her suit jacket was off, and she didn’t have anything else she could remove. My kingdom for a cold drink, she thought as Roberto scrolled down to her budget and started poking holes.
* * *
“HEY.” MARSIE LOOKED up from the grant application she was editing to see Jason leaning against the door frame, a cup of coffee in one hand and a bag of something in the other. She smiled at him, pleased when he smiled back.
“You look like you were studying hard. Should I say I’m sorry for interrupting?”
She shook her head. “I needed the interruption. All the lines are starting to run together. And I’m getting a headache.”
“How was your meeting?” he asked, taking a couple steps into her office. She shoved the papers across her desk, and he moved closer.
“Part of the headache. The grant application is due in two months. The meeting was a reminder of how far behind we are.”
“Two months sounds like a long time.” Marsie’s shoulders, which she hadn’t realized were tense, relaxed as he sat in one of her chairs.
“It should be enough, but we don’t have the data we need, I keep getting told my budget is wrong and...you don’t need to hear the rest.” She waved away the litany of complaints. “Anyway, it doesn’t feel like nearly enough time or that people are working nearly as hard as they should be.”
She shrugged. “But that’s always how these things feel.”
She should have waited until after this application was finally in before signing up for online dating. Except waiting was what got her into this predicament in the first place. Not enough time.
When she’d been thirty, she’d felt like she had all the time in the world. Silly thirty-year-old Marsie.
He looked at his phone.