Your Flight Will Leave Soon Read online

  Rebecca kept helpfully suggesting that waxing was a longer-term solution, but Darcy refused to go there for numerous reasons. Guilt. Cost. Familiarity.

  Darcy still wore the same clothes (okay, not entirely the same things, her jean size changed once) she had in college, but most items still fit without totally starving herself or having to suck in when she got dressed. She liked vegan dinners out of her Ninja blender. A rock star for convenience and speed. Not to mention clean up. Her weight kept in check thanks to that beauty. Darcy would have Kim beat in trunk space if she ate whatever tickled her senses.

  “You’re still in your twenties, Darcy,” she said to her reflection, and she smiled, checking her teeth yet again. She didn’t mean to be a perfectionist, but she valued a good smile.

  Where had her life gone? It’s like she lived in a coma. The last five years were a blur. Her life, in a few days, had escaped like when she had the flu and slept on the sofa, watching Friends reruns. Life had happened. But nothing happened. Sadly and suddenly. But not so suddenly, she found herself eight months away from thirty. Okay, seven months and 27 days but she was rounding up.

  Thirty wasn’t so bad. Not if you had a career, either glamorous or at least a substantial paycheck. She had wanted to be an actress when she was in college and gave it a real go, but it never found legs. She only wanted fulfillment, like anyone else. Maybe even find a happy place, which always felt like she was looking for a mental institution when she spoke with friends about being happy at work.

  That was another rule she held to: don’t talk down about work while at work or to work people.

  Darcy’s degree was a tragedy. And she never wanted to talk about that season in her life because she was entirely somewhere else. Blissfully happy, latched onto Tyler, her best friend and soul mate. Blah. Blah and blah. When people pleasantly asked about her education, it always brought up why she wasn’t in her field of study she spent a fortune on. That subject still felt raw, like a surgical site. Her wounds needed to heal and she was powerless, clueless about how to heal them. Her girlfriends, always with a glass of wine which made everyone’s suggestions improve as the night went on, offered suggestions ranging from dating and sleeping around to hooking up with Tyler’s best friend on a revenge campaign. While both extremes had merit, Darcy felt at a loss since Tyler left her side.

  Several of her classmates, who she really only saw on Facebook anymore, got a double major of an MRS along with their BS, but whatever.

  Darcy smiled. Examined. They were her best feature. Well, other than her eyes, which were hazel. Her auburn hair took silver. Her smile was her calling card; if you saw them, it might be an invitation. Might. Such a powerful and underappreciated word. Ripe with possibility. It could be laced with sarcasm. Or overtly pretentious. Or even when you were genuinely polite. So much potential.

  Darcy’s phone vibrated.

  A text message from Rebecca: ‘Can you pick me up?’

  Of course, Darcy would. Why not. Rebecca was friendly, in the cube beside Darcy at the office and a direct line to the department head because she clearly held some big secret on the woman. Seniority was just an excuse when they outright ignored things that mattered, like job performance, right?

  ‘Don’t I always?’ Darcy texted Rebecca, smirking at her phone while her thumbs working.

  Swain gave a push notification on her phone. New messages in her inbox.

  Darcy pursed her lips, contemplating. She didn’t quite know if she wanted to dive in.

  Swain was a trendy app by an even trendier company where more than half the employees walked to work and hung out at the local watering hole one block from the office and got a company rewards program at the soup and sandwich joint on the first floor of their building. Started by a former Google employee and funded by venture capital, everyone knew each other, so ironically, no one dated, for everyone feared the gossip that would ensue.

  Darcy, however, wanted, no, needed, a promotion. The number three person in the company had been lured away by a bigger competitor, creating movement. Opportunity.

  For Darcy, a promotion could mean a starter home in a chic neighborhood. If only she didn’t have so much student loan debt, she could squeeze without a pay bump. The last loan officer said as much, explaining that her ‘ratios were slightly off target’ for buying a house. Either she didn’t have enough down payment, or her credit score was great but still not quite high enough or something about her debt amount.

  The customer service team was only nine people and at least four of those girls, always the same four, showed up late every day. New excuses, same old reasons. It was the dinner equivalent of having a chicken dish every day in slightly different variations. Always with rice.

  This time, in defense of Rebecca she had a car breakdown, and as the only CS rep who commuted to work other than Darcy, Darcy always stepped up and helped Rebecca when things happened. The girls had to stick together. At least, that’s what Darcy told herself.

  Darcy kept wanting to ask Rebecca about why she insisted on driving the old Saab her parents gave her which cost her more per year than a new KIA?

  ‘Are u ready?’ Darcy texted, twisting her lips and hoping Rebecca wouldn’t make her late again. Darcy knew she was optimistic, watching the clock and skimming emails at the same time.

  Three things about Rebecca: She was always cute, always late and always dating. Oh, a fourth fact: she never wore the same thing twice.

  Rebecca, par for the course, would insist on listening to rock music on the drive. Darcy would tell herself she was fine with it. The commute wasn’t long, just boring if you drove it alone.

  ‘Sort of’ Rebecca had replied, which meant she was still in a state of disrepair. Rebecca talked about her 1994 Highlander with over four hundred thousand miles on it, in various states of disrepair and the conversation always ended with a lacking desire to buy a new one. There was no way for Rebecca to afford her clothing and entertainment wants if she had more going out each month. Rebecca would say things like, “who cares about a sweet new ride if I can’t afford to go anywhere in it.”

  Rebecca was chatty about the latest Justin Bieber headlines while waiting in line and going through the motions at building security, gesticulating at opportune moments. Her mind ran in its own commuter lane as though she had crushed two Adderall over her Cornflakes and while Darcy was mildly curious what shot her up so well in the morning, she was afraid to ask. That and she never knew how to phrase that question, like, ‘Gee, do you take drugs in the morning? Hit a quad shot espresso to start the day?

  All anyone at work talked about was the Swain app. Yes, it was their job. But still. Swain was great and had been a beta version until three months ago. Company cash burn was getting intense as they developed and marketed their fee-based services. The app, of course, was free. Swain’s development team was constantly adding new features and customizations, and it was part of Darcy’s job (which had the added benefit of tons of hats she had to wear) to test the software. The company CEO and founder, Tamar Donalson; Stanford grad, Google executive, left the company wealthy and yearning for an impossible task. Something fresh. A startup with someone else’s money at risk sounded perfect.

  For Darcy, the small nature and visibility plus the experience, it was impossible to pass up. Pay wasn’t great but above average for her position. Her degree warranted her to do very little without going back for graduate work, so what the heck, it was worth a shot.

  All staff members used the app, most only interacted with customers through the messaging system, like a non-committal chat. It was Swain’s way to warm up people up before going on a date, for familiarity and comfort before meeting in public. Otherwise, it was a total blind date. The software made recommendations, then polished those recommendations based on your actual experience.

  The app had high privacy features and didn’t give out names, addresses, numbers, anything. That way, if a date went sour, they could split and know that the other party couldn�
��t just look them up. Customers didn’t always follow Swain’s guidelines, but they were there for a reason.

  Part of Darcy’s job was screening people who got blocked after going on a date, which often involved talking to the customer in a more hands-on approach. She didn’t like it, but she was the best at it. At least, that’s what Tamar always said.

  Matchmaking on paper made perfect sense. On paper.

  Darcy had told the development team, all four men who worked essentially from home until they were summoned to an office meeting and bribed with pizza and chicken wings, “Until you know the person’s real intentions, you have zilch. It’s about intentions. Then we match core beliefs. Soul to soul.” Two programmers had to hold their breath to keep from laughing out loud. Hysterically. Darcy accepted the road she had to conquer.

  Darcy went on, a little more bluntly, “The system in our testing, as a group, wasn’t accurate at identifying guys who just wanted to fool around versus those looking for a lasting relationship. That’s big. If the app isn’t fixed, we will keep getting negative reviews, like this one,” as she began to read snippets of customer reviews. Spurned people who got used and recycled by someone they met through Swain.

  Darcy understood they needed feedback or nothing would get better. Tamar was behind it, though she was rarely at the developer meetings. Rebecca treated giving feedback to the programmers as though walking on eggs. Darcy broke the eggs with tact because she knew they wanted to make it better and being blunt was the only way to accomplish all that.

  Darcy was only one who didn’t hate dealing with the development team, because no one else really spoke in code or could tell the development team what wasn’t working.

  “People are so phony,” Rebecca had said, elaborating about a guy she met the night before through the Swain app. Or two nights before. Darcy lost track. Rebecca’s dating habits snowballed into one conglomerate scene in which no one left satisfied. Holding her tongue, Darcy let Rebecca vent.

  Bridgette sat two cubes down from Darcy, chatting away with Lea, all highlights everyone knew because they posted everything they wanted to broadcast on Facebook with a hashtag. Most of the girls saw one another over weekends and most weeknights, starting with those famous power team events Tamar would host, using company money to buy the first round and finger food. Most stayed for hours.

  It was good and bad, wonderful and awful. Everyone got along, and everyone fought. They were like family. And like family, sometimes people hurt each other just for the sake of fighting. Sometimes people didn’t say anything, even when they should.

  Darcy found it was best to speak up only when she had to. Otherwise, what if she said the wrong thing, and everyone knew how she really felt? She couldn’t handle that. Besides. It was hard to get a word in edgewise, with all the girls, sitting in cubes that formed a big round circle all because Tamar had a thing for circles. The office was all of a lobby where the receptionist and assistant to everyone sat, the main office area where the cubical circle was and then the conference room, which was all glass and overly open, as was Tamar’s office. The circle cubicle setup was both hated and loved. Zero privacy. When they got busy, everyone on the phone talking with customers, it was like ten women in a circle competing for the same airspace. Unlimited ammo and invincibility.

  Swain worked like a team. Tamar was hands-on and loved to try new ideas. Experiments.

  Stalker situations in their customer base, though rare, where a seemingly good relationship turned obsession and one person, not always the guy, could not move on. Never fun. Complicated, loaded with liability like a pressurized propane can. Always fascinating stories during smoke breaks, which the non-smokers joined because only three people, Darcy being one of them, didn’t smoke. She didn’t really drink either, except when she got stood up because other people’s sudden plan changes didn’t always include her.

  Britney, a team lead for customer service, would throw her arms up and scream, which got everyone going when they hit the conference room for a long meeting. Then gossiping. Mild cattiness. Thank God it wasn’t exactly like high school reborn, save for when girls shared details about their weekend hookups. How romantic.

  On a smoke break, Rebecca got everyone going and went on about her latest impulsive purchase, a Tory Burch handbag. Latest design. Super cute with an outfit she got a week ago. Shoes were next as if Rebecca needed another excuse to go shoe shopping.

  Was a woman defined by her purse? Darcy had a leather bag which showed it’s four years and everything had a place. Well, sort of. Lipstick. Mascara. Mirror. Foundation. Wallet. Phone. Fifth case? It had been a steal of a deal. That was her thing. Cheap cases. It felt like an upgrade.

  Darcy had a voice in her head, which she thought of as the mature and budget-conscious version of herself. With each dollar she even considered spending, she heard that voice. That same voice. That’s her older and wiser self-talking.

  That night, after work, long past sunset, Darcy arrived at her 830 square foot living space, which, all in with utilities and association dues, ate more than half her monthly income. She just didn’t feel especially comfortable there, as though it weren’t her place. It was theirs. Tyler had moved out three months ago, but it never felt that way. Without him there, a staple she thought would always be in her life, sharing her space, her hopes and dreams, it was as if all her furniture had been stolen and her heart was taken with the lot.

  And like her heart, she told herself he was missing.

  Well, he wasn’t exactly missing, Darcy had to remind herself, hours later, after she’d had a good workout and a bath.

  As normal, her mother called, always Wednesday nights it seemed, though Darcy never remembered agreeing to talk every week on a set schedule, right on time as Darcy walked in from her downstairs gym, towel over her shoulder, hair tied back in a ponytail and sweaty, having just finished a stress relieving forty-five minute run. Darcy kicked the door closed, hardly waiting for the latch to hit before she yanked off her sports bra, happy to have her sides freed and wishing the store had carried her size at the time of the sale. She considered throwing the yellow and black zippered thing and feeling its grimy sweat decided against it. Darcy considered telling her mother she would talk later on that night, but it was already late, and she didn’t have a fresh excuse that didn’t sound like outright avoidance.

  Then, as normal, while Darcy laid on her vinyl floor she knew she could sanitize later on while feeling gross and pulling her running shoes off, her mother said, “Honey, you should move in with Hanna. You know she would love you as a roommate. As an added benefit, she’s closer to your work.” At which time Darcy considered how it would go if Hanna were to walk in at this precise moment and get a sweaty boobie show.

  Darcy had been seeing Tyler since she was sixteen and because of that stability and his overly staunch parents who let nothing slip past them, had behaved herself through her teens and twenties, passing up all those opportunities to do inappropriate things. She wondered on occasions like this if she had really missed out on much.

  “Not really, mom. Actually, it might take longer, thinking about it,” Darcy said, neglecting to mention the idea of living with a multitude of younger women wouldn’t help Darcy’s self-esteem. Yes, Hanna’s rent was lower and would split four ways, meaning Darcy could cut her living costs and save money, but at the same time, her mother didn’t understand there was a monetary value on Darcy’s mental health. Hanna’s apartment was in a highly congested area at rush hour.

  “But dear, it’s the same street,” her mother had said as though Darcy didn’t know her office location. What had been on television? Some infomercial? Was it the morning news show when they had those cute rescue cats on? Darcy had wanted to drop everything and rush over to that clinic. Or wherever they were. Seriously. She would love a cat. They were all cute when they were that small. But her building didn’t allow any pets. None. No exceptions. She had lost two neighbors due to not so secret pets, and the word was the la
ndlord kept your security deposit automatically. In the plus column, she never had to deal with a barking dog, unless it was walking past on a leash. If she moved to Hanna’s place, she could have a pet, in theory, if the animal wasn’t suicidal because of it’s living conditions.

  I told my mother my reasons for staying put. Was she really listening? At all?

  “Oh. But Hanna would be elated. Besides, her place would save you money. Quit paying those utilities alone, Darcy girl.”

  “You just hate that I live on my own,” Darcy said, putting emphasis on my own for her mother’s benefit. She hated to say she lived alone because she didn’t think of herself as being alone, she thought of herself as an independent. “And you’ve never liked this apartment.”

  “Now, why would you say a thing like that? I don’t dislike your apartment at all. It’s quite charming.”

  Charming? That word made Darcy think of old buildings, antiques, relics from a generation who thought of cars as new technology. Her mother was stretching and didn’t have the body strength for that move, like attempting a Peacock Pose in yoga class and getting a face full of the mat when gravity reminds you that you’re not good enough. Why did her mother have to act so pleasantly demeaning?

  “Look, let’s accept I’m staying here at least another year and I’m better off for it. I’ll renew my lease in two weeks.”

  “Darcy, be reasonable. It’s too expensive, and it doesn’t make sense to live alone.”

  “I can spell it out for you. Hanna has a two bedroom, and three people live there. That makes me Quattro. So I’d bunk with Hanna’s anorexic friend who is like twenty-one. No way.”

  “Oh, give it a chance, would you? Life is about taking chances sometimes. If it doesn’t work out, then you can move. You know we have space here. Then you could save, rent-free.”

  No. No way. She didn’t suggest that. Move back home? Darcy’s mother had discovered (she mentioned this several times on prior phone calls as though relaying useless information) she had substantially less to get up for each day after her kids moved out. To Darcy, moving back home to Wisconsin was sounded like signing up for a great depression. Had her mother forgotten that Darcy worked in Dallas, Texas where she had been living since her freshman year when she was eighteen? Moving back was a public declaration that you had ruined your life–check the social media rumors.