The Many Daughters of Afong Moy(62)
Greta gently touched his cheek. “Maybe.”
“Samsara is also Dukkha,” Sam lamented. “Which means suffering. It’s a karma thing. Sometimes we just don’t get it right at this turn at bat. But there’s a lot to be learned along the way, especially by how we treat others. My parents always stressed that karma is transpersonal. It’s not about doing good or bad, making wise of foolish choices, for our own karmic benefit. It’s about how our choices can improve the quality of other people’s journeys. Our family’s, our children’s, our partners’, romantic and otherwise. That being stated, I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t nervous about dating again.”
In that moment, Greta felt safe. No, she didn’t just feel safe. She felt strong. She felt in control, something she realized she’d never had enough of. She also felt grateful. For Sam’s complexity, his kindness, his gentleness, his tenderness, his patience, his honesty, his spirit. She leaned forward, raised an eyebrow, and he smiled and nodded as she gently, softly, felt his warm, full lips. Their heads tilted, their lips parted. He tasted like fresh mango. Then she sat up, kissed her fingertips, and touched them to his lips, as though that gesture could somehow update the firmware of her heart, overwrite the bad memories, upgrade her expectations of what was possible.
“Thank you,” Sam said, amused. “Just don’t do that to your assailant.”
* * *
A week later Anjalee caught Greta in the hallway on the way to her office. “The reporter from Bitch Media is here. I sent her back. I hope you’re ready.”
“Ready for what?” Greta asked.
“Um…” Anjalee hesitated. “I guess we’ll just find out, won’t we?”
Aside from struggling to accept that there was a news outlet called Bitch Media, Greta was as ready as she’d ever be. The week had been surreal. From sitting in her parents’ living room and watching the opening bell of the New York Stock Exchange on CNBC, to moments later seeing SYRN scroll by on the ticker, followed by an eye-popping stock price of $34 per share. Her parents smiled, but stoically didn’t ask what all this meant. They were suitably impressed that a company she worked for was on TV. They even called some of their friends and told them to tune in. Greta watched the stock price gyrate up and down as she wondered how she was supposed to feel. Her stock options were worth millions, yet she felt the same. Nothing else had changed. She didn’t feel happier. Her coffee didn’t taste better. Traffic wasn’t easier to navigate as she drove to work. Even as she walked into Syren that morning and everyone acted like they’d won the Powerball, the Nobel Prize, the Super Bowl, and were awarded the title of prom queen all at the same time. Amid the celebration, she found herself wondering what Sam was doing and when she could see him again. They’d spent a part of every single day together: jujitsu lessons at Green Lake, Cambodian food at Phnom Penh Noodle House in the International District, wandering around the Seattle Central Library. She wondered what he would think of her interview. Had his feelings for her increased, diminished, or simply been distorted by the possibility of new wealth? She was struggling for an answer when she arrived at her office and found a tall woman with a guest badge waiting for her.
“Hi, I’m Sophia Blessing.” She shook Greta’s hand. “Thank you so much for making time to meet with me, I’m sure you’re incredibly busy right now.”
“That’s my new normal, I’m afraid,” Greta said. “Please, come on in.”
Instead of sitting behind her desk, Greta sat at a small meeting table across from Sophia, who pulled out a digital recorder. “Do you mind?”
“Be my guest.” Greta hoped her polite smile would hide how nervous she was.
“I guess I should begin with offering my congratulations,” the reporter said. “It’s a unique occasion that a tech company helmed by women has such a breakthrough moment. Let alone one that focuses on dating and relationships. How’s that going?”
Greta relaxed. “Sign-ups continue to reach new highs on a daily basis. We’ve added some new back-end functionality that not only improves the app, but also allows us to add a whole suite of monetized features.”
“And how is it going for you, personally?” Sophia asked. “I don’t mean business success, that’s pretty obvious. I guess I’m here because, like so many people, I’m wondering how, or why, the creator of this app has remained single for so long? Have you ever considered putting yourself out there on Syren?”
Greta thought about her secret account. “No, I need a bit of distance from my work, and my personal relationships are one area that I steer clear of the actual app.”
“Really?” the reporter asked. She raised her eyebrows as she made a few notes. “It wouldn’t be because you have someone special on the side, would it?”
Great, they know about Sam. That’s all I need right now, my social life to become news.
Sophia looked around the office and at the photos on Greta’s desk, which were of her parents. Then the reporter pushed the recorder closer to Greta and asked, “I’m going to be blunt, Ms. Moy, is it true that this company is primarily funded by Carter Branson, a man cloaked in rumors about malfeasance with women?”
Hearing his name made Greta feel ill all over again. She hadn’t told anyone about what had happened that night. The only person who even knew about her dinner was Anjalee. Yet Greta had been ready for this question. She nodded. “It’s true. One of his holding companies gave us our initial seed capital to get off the ground. I wasn’t part of that deal, of course. I arrived after he’d taken a majority interest in the company. To my knowledge, we’re one of dozens of investments in his tech portfolio. In fact, to my knowledge, he’s only visited our offices one time, and that was more of a courtesy call.”