It was a wintry Wednesday evening in New York, and I was in a hotel room winding down from another day of work. Jeremy, one of the other product managers, had summoned us here to do an impromptu sketch of next year's feature roadmap. Normally we all work from wherever. We were one of those companies where everybody was remote, and our headquarters was not in one physical office, but in this ineffable matrix of video chats, cloud storage files, and collabjects. And for all of the virtues of that line of work, of not having a commute and of working with sharp minds from all over the world, there was still something to be said for just getting together in person and hashing things out face to face.
Gabe came up from Austin, Magnus and Anira took the train down from Cambridge, and it was, of course, convenient that two of our lead devs, Mindy and Ivan just lived over in Queens. So we'd all get together in Jeremy's Brooklyn loft to sketch out plans for the next year, then keep it going in bars afterwards, until eventually I'd go back to my Manhattan hotel room, fall asleep and start it over again. Yet, this evening I was feeling a little too keyed up from the conversation and not quite ready to call it a night.
My tablet was in my lap, and I was passing some boredom by surfing through my various social feeds, though it was the usual assortment of predictable mediocrity. Outrage piece. Cat video. Someone's baby photos. Someone's photogenic plate of food. Oh, but wait, who posted that plate of food? Ah, yes, Rachel.
I haven't seen Rachel in person for about four years. We used to work together, in a past life at a past company, and she was one of those bright young things that had the mixed fortune of being a pretty face in a really male environment. She was a smart one, but her looks combined with her youth made it hard for her to be taken seriously. We got along mostly because I didn't hit on her and I treated her professionally. It was my policy back then never to hook up with coworkers, and she appreciated that.
Of course, one is always tempted to make exceptions.
Eventually Rachel left, backed the wrong side of a political shuffle and sent on her way. She left town, moved across the country to the East Coast. I thought that was it for us, another pair of colleagues gone on their way, but then she reappeared in town to visit her parents for the holidays. We met at a bar, talked as friends, and, well, realized that we were no longer coworkers so we didn't need to hold back on certain rules.
That was five years ago, and then a year later, she came back to introduce me to her new beau, a big, athletic lunk of a guy named Josh. We only met once but I don't think Josh and I got along all that well. I don't think Rachel told him about our little fling, but of course there's certain things that will set off another guy. Little bits of chemistry between us that would hint at something more. Ways that we'd hold a hug a little longer than was casual. Josh may not have been the most sophisticated fellow, but he was savvy enough to pick up on some hint of history, and, well, he could've gone a couple of ways with that. One way was to talk about it, agree that the past was the past, and that he'd trust his girlfriend to be honest with him with her expressions of love and devotion. Another way was to be possessive, and always suspect or dislike someone who slept with his girl before he did. I guess Josh was more of the latter.
That may have been one reason why Rachel and I didn't see each other much since then, and that was a bit sad, but life was life and I got on with mine. Still, we kept each other linked on various online social networks, and our friendship was like this:
Rachel posted a photo, caption: "woo-hoo! finally taking the plunge and moving to New York with the boyfriend! Go big or go home, bitches!"
Jake liked this
Jake posted a photo, caption: "sunrise, Day 2 camp overlooking the Milford Track in New Zealand."
Rachel commented: "*dreamy sigh*"
Rachel posted a photo with Josh, caption: "one thing about living in NY is that it's always drunk o'clock somewhere."
Jake liked this.
Jake posted a photo with Elise Douvre at Sam and Amanda's Wedding.
Rachel liked this.
Josh posted a photo of Rachel, caption: "Moon over the beaches of Mallorca and I am the luckiest man in the world"
You know, friendship in the 21st century. I guess she must be 29 now.
It was not a surprise to see her getting engaged. It was a year ago, and they seemed pretty happy. But then, she had gone silent online recently. I hadn't really noticed until now. There was a pretty steady series of updates about getting ready for the wedding, but that gradually faded until she dropped out entirely. Now there was this photo, a plate of chocolate cookies surrounding a square of cake with chocolate sauce artfully drizzled over it.
Caption: "sometimes the prescription is chocolate."
I pulled up the commenting interface and was about to type something, but then thought of it and closed the commenter. I should leave her alone. Let the past be the past. She may not even be interested in seeing me again. Or maybe she is. Maybe I should just see if she'll respond. I opened up a universal messenger, and just sent her something private asynchronous. Just between you and me. Not urgent. Reply when you're ready.
"A second medical opinion would say that the prescription is whisky. Hey, Rachel. I'm in town for a bit and was wondering about catching up. Are you around?"
Her reply came back in ten minutes.
"Jake! How are you? Of course, we can totally catchup. Can you switch to chat?"
I toggled my messenger into chat mode, and watched as the usual word balloons materialized and a little status window showed that Rachel was online and typing.
"Hey, Jake, so I'm just finishing up at this restaurant, but I can probably meet for a drink somewhere. Where are you staying?"
"I've got a hotel room in the Lockwood, over in the Upper West. But I could meet you anywhere, though."
"Oh! Actually I really like the bar in the Lockwood. The agency's done events there in the past. Their Old Fashioned is pretty great. Meet you there in 30?"
"Sounds like a plan."
The Lockwood's bar, Mavis & Dean, was by all accounts, not as painfully hip as one may fear from a New York cocktail bar. The look was still pretty distinctly early 2010's aesthetic. Plaid-shirted bartenders, lots of beards and spectacles, artisanal everything. Not quite as minimalist and engineered as the current zeitgeist was. At least they weren't trying to pass themselves off as a speakeasy. I had just pulled up a stool when Rachel walked in.
It had been five years and her hair was different - shorter, more asymmetrical, but she was still Rachel. Slender, graceful, with a subtle set of womanly curves hidden beneath a veneer of professional attire. Those sapphire eyes still glittered against her pale skin, though they did look a little heavier, sadder. I pulled her into a hug, and felt her cheek press against mine.
"Hey stranger," she whispered.
"Hey yourself. It's been a while."
"Oh yes, it has. Last I saw you, you still looked more like my best friend's hot older brother. Now you look like my dad."
"All the grey came in last year."
"Don't get me wrong. The silver streaks look good on you. It gives you some much undeserved dignity, even if it's probably a sign that life's burdens are taking their toll. Girl, work, or family?"
"A little of each, I guess? Maybe not so much with the work, but the other stuff has been crazy."
