Page 111 of The Revenge Game

It’s incredible to feel confident in this kind of networking situation. Like I’m finally playing a game where I know all the rules instead of fumbling in the dark.

When I get home, the smell of Thai food hits me before I even open my apartment door.

Drew’s on my couch with Tabitha on his lap and takeout containers on my kitchen counter.

His glasses reflect the soft lamplight as he looks up at me.

“Hey, how did it go?” he asks.

“Good,” I say. “It went really good.”

I can’t help the lump in my throat as I look down at him, noting his sock-clad feet and his laptop on my coffee table.

“You didn’t need to figure out dinner,” I manage to get out.

“I might not be able to cook, but I can at least order takeout,” he says. “I didn’t know how much you’d get to eat while you were schmoozing.”

I collapse next to him on the couch. “You’re a mind reader.”

Drew untangles himself from Tabitha, who gives him an affronted look as he heads to the kitchen. He returns with a plate piled high with pad Thai and green curry, which is exactly what we shared one night coming back from Tower Bridge. He’s even remembered my weird thing about wanting the rice and curry separated.

Drew is constantly doing nice things like this for me. It’s like he’s collecting data on everything that makes me happy.

“The app was incredible tonight,” I say, accepting the plate he hands me. “I didn’t blank on a single person’s name.”

“That’s great.” There’s something in his voice I can’t quite read.

“What are you doing?” I nod to his laptop. “Are you still working on optimizing the marketing system?”

Drew hesitates, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Actually, I was looking at what apps exist for people who are diverse in other visual and cognitive ways. For things like color blindness, I think it would be relatively straightforward to develop an app that could identify colors in real-time. And for hearing loss, an app could transcribe conversations so people can keep up with conversations around them in a group setting.”

“Oh wow. Is app development something you’re interested in?”

“Maybe. I mean, yeah,” Drew says. He looks down at the couch cushion, fiddling with the edge. “I like the idea of using technology to make people’s lives easier.”

Even though the idea of Drew leaving DTL Enterprises creates a hollow feeling in my chest, I want what is best for him. And there’s no doubt Drew’s talents are not being used to their full potential as a help desk technician.

“I think you can achieve whatever you set your mind to,” I say, and Drew rewards me with a smile.

While we eat, we brainstorm other conditions that could benefit from technology, bouncing ideas off each other.

Then, after we’ve stacked our plates in the dishwasher, we retreat back to the couch, where Drew continues to research what apps are currently available while I type some follow-up emails to customers I saw tonight.

“Oh, I almost forgot, a package arrived for you,” Drew says, nodding toward a brown paper package propped against the door.

I retrieve it, and my warm glow fades when I recognize my mother’s careful handwriting. I know what she’s sent—what I asked her to send—but my pulse still does that thing it used to do when I’d hear Bobby Ray’s truck in the driveway, like it’s going too fast and too slow at the same time.

I return to the couch, my stomach churning.

Drew’s steady presence beside me on the couch, the familiar clicking of his keyboard as he works, helps ground me.

The paper crinkles under my fingers as I carefully peel back the tape.

My mother’s note at the top is brief.

Hey darling,

Here are all the photos I could find. It was harder than I expected.