Page 14

It’s already ten o’clock at night, and we are still struggling with the ins and outs of transactions, firewalls, and networks.

The feeling of desperation is creeping in.

I helped Roxanne search through every directory she could think of, leaving no stone unturned.

I granted her access to more information than I am comfortable with, but at this point, I’m not sure anymore what to keep confidential.

“I’m done for today,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. They are red-rimmed, and she looks tired. I am too.

“We can pick this up tomorrow. Do you want to have dinner? I can order something delivered. It’s the least I can do after keeping you hostage all day,” I suggest feeling a bit guilty.

I liked picking her brain so much that I didn’t want today to end.

Finding someone who intellectually challenges me like she does isn’t easy.

She’s more than just brilliant. She’s a brainiac in the most unique way.

She uses her intelligence to think through the most ordinary things and gives you a new perspective on those problems. She can turn all your certainty upside down with simple reasoning.

She’s used to thinking outside the box, and I love that in a person.

She seems to consider my offer and then she finally nods.

“If you don’t have somewhere else to be, I mean. I didn’t even ask,” I add, not sure if I’m disrupting her night.

I’m used to not having plans for the night, and sometimes I forget that other people may have other things to do.

“No, it’s fine. I usually work during the night.” She dismisses my concern, revealing a glimpse into her nocturnal routine.

“Really? How so?” I’m genuinely intrigued, my curiosity piqued by her unconventional work schedule.

She shrugs. “When you always have a bunch of people playing video games in the other room with no regard for others, you get used to working when it’s quieter.”

She doesn’t seem happy about that living arrangement, and I can understand why. The place, from what I saw, was a chaotic den of video games and noise. I can’t fathom why she doesn’t move out, but it’s none of my business, and I don’t pry.

I nod and turn to my computer to browse the restaurant website. “If you trust me, I can order from my favorite restaurant. Italian”

She grins. “Go ahead, I’m sure you have good taste.”

I shake my head at her, teasing, but a smile rises on my lips.

“So, why Roxanne? Out of all the names you could have chosen when you had to change yours?” I’m curious about it. I always wondered where it came from.

“It’s one of my father’s favorite songs, one he listened to all the time when I was a kid. So it stuck with me, and when I had to choose, I thought, why not?”

It’s a very sentimental choice that makes perfect sense coming from her.

“You know it’s about a prostitute, right?”

She rolls her eyes. Brat .

“Do you have something against prostitutes? They’re just normal people who decide to make money that way.

Why demonize them? Because they don’t live up to your moral standards?

Did you ever think that maybe judging people for having sex is wrong and normalizing it would put an end to all the slut shaming toward women? ” She is cute when she is all riled up.

“Jesus, it was just a question. Don’t make me out to be a sexist prick because I’m not.”

“So, why ask?” she challenges.

“Because most people don’t know. It’s mortifying when people think it’s just from the Moulin Rouge soundtrack and don’t know the story behind it. How it was banned from BBC, and how it launched the band into stardom,” I explain. It’s painful, every time, to listen to those things.

“Did you know that the name Roxanne comes from Cyrano’s unrequited desire for her? They were in Paris, playing in a club and there was this poster of the play in the hotel.” She almost beams, telling me this.

“I heard that too!” I agree.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Jack knocks at the open door, startling both of us.

“Come in!” I wave at him toward the chair next to Roxanne.

He gingerly sits and puts a bag over my desk. “They delivered this for you and I told them I would bring it up.”

“Thank you. It’s our dinner.”

He looks at Roxanne with a fatherly gaze.

“You should take him out or tell him to go home. I find him here day and night, seven days a week. It doesn’t matter when my shift is; he’s always in this office. Tell him that life is short and it’s a waste to spend it in here.” He winks at her.

She smiles and looks between us.

“You’re wasting your time with her. She works more than me and during the night too.” I chuckle.

He shakes his head. “What happened to you youngsters? You should enjoy life, travel, and have a family, not spend your best years in an office.”

She sighs. “Capitalism happened. We have to work to pay bills and don’t have time to enjoy the small things.”

She says it playfully and without any trace of bitterness in her voice, but I know this is a cutting remark toward me.

“So, Jack, how is your daughter doing? Is she ready to go to college?” I divert the topic to something safer.

The attempt is successful, and Jack starts to talk about the frenzy, the excitement, and the challenges. Roxanne laughs, asks questions, and seems happy about the situation. She almost looks proud when he tells her all his kids went to college with a full scholarship.

It’s such a grounded, common conversation that it feels almost homey to be here, with the two of them, discussing our private life like we are old friends.

When Jack goes back to his job and I start to open the boxes of food, I find Roxanne looking at me with a smile on her face.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

But it feels like anything but nothing. I feel like I shared a part of my private life with her that I jealously keep to myself, and I haven’t even realized it. I don’t know if I’m angry or scared about it.