Chapter 5: Linda
Evening, Midtown
Veronika leaned over the kiosk counter, her body language almost aggressive, her voice honey-laced but sharp.
“Are you saying you’ve never had a crash error when syncing it to your store inventory?” she asked.
The guy behind the counter young, twitchy, in a branded polo fumbled with his words. “I... I mean, not really. Maybe once or twice. But it was rebooted.”
Veronika stepped back, arms crossed. “So you’re okay with a system that has memory lapses and handles financial data?”
Gary stood nearby, watching the exchange like a quiet conductor monitoring a soloist veering off script. But the guy was talking now — confessing issues, even opening a diagnostics menu on his screen to prove it.
By the time they left, Veronika had four pages of notes and a grin that bordered on smug.
Outside, the city buzzed under yellow streetlights. A faint chill crept through the wind tunnels between buildings. Veronika walked fast, energized. Gary walked beside her, hands in his pockets.
“You push too hard,” he said after a pause.
She glanced at him. “You mean I got results.”
“You also almost gave the guy a panic attack.”
She shrugged. “He’ll live. He’ll also call tech support now instead of pretending his system’s perfect.”
Gary cracked the faintest smile. “You're arrogant.”
“You’re not?”
They both laughed just a little, just enough to shatter the crust of friction between them.
As they reached the office building again, the conversation softened.
“Where’d you learn to handle people like that?” he asked.
Veronika’s smile thinned. “My father used to run a global marketing firm. Very successful. Very condescending. I learned early on how to navigate... expectations.”
Gary glanced sideways. “Let me guess. He wanted you to be in finance.”
“He wanted me to marry finance,” she replied. “When I said I’d rather code, he disinherited me. So I packed a bag and learned to swim.”
Gary didn’t respond right away. But in that moment, he understood something: she wasn’t just smart. She was forged.
They reached the lobby, where Miles leaned against the wall, scrolling his phone.
“There they are,” Miles called. “Took your time.”
“Someone had to get real data,” Veronika shot back.
Miles chuckled. “And someone had to handle angry customers yelling about delays. I think I will win.”
The three of them rode down in the elevator, banter easy and sharp. But when they reached the parking lot, Miles’ mood shifted.
He walked a little ahead, keys jingling, his smile gone. Gary noticed the slump in his shoulders a kind of quiet defeat — as they approached the cars.
“Need a ride?” Gary offered.
“Nah,” Miles replied. “I’ve got it.”
He pulled open his car door, hesitated, then turned to Gary. “You know, that girl’s going to step on someone’s neck eventually. Just make sure it’s not yours.”
Then he got in and drove off.
Gary arrived home just as Linda was setting plates in the kitchen. The house was quiet, Jesse in his room, music muffled behind closed doors.
“How was your day?” she asked, trying not to sound too eager.
“Fine,” Gary replied, hanging up his jacket. “Busy.”
“I applied for a few jobs,” she said, following him. “Got turned down twice.”
He didn’t respond.
“And Maya invited us to dinner. She and a few friends are grilling.”
Gary stopped. “You said yes?”
“She asked nicely,” Linda said, her voice edging with defensiveness.
Gary grabbed a glass of water, his back to her. “I don’t like social games. Especially the neighbors.”
“It’s just dinner.”
“Still.”
She waited for something else. An opinion. A suggestion. A compliment. Anything.
None came.
A car rolled to a slow stop in front of the house, headlights washing across the driveway like stage lights before fading. Jesse stepped out, his hoodie half-zipped, a crumpled party favor in one hand. He waved once and shut the door; the car pulled away without a honk or goodbye.
Linda stood by the front door, arms folded as the night settled like velvet around them. She watched him approach, his face unreadable, as always.
“How was school?” she asked.
“It was good,” Jesse replied. “We had cake. Someone's birthday. Played football during lunch.”
“That’s nice,” she said, her voice soft but distracted.
Her gaze drifted across the street. Maya’s house glowed warm under string lights, laughter spilling from the open back door. A trail of wine glasses sparkled on the porch railing. She could hear jazz and clinking plates.
Inside, Linda had already changed a tasteful dress, subtle makeup, the kind she used to wear on date nights. A perfume she hadn’t worn in months ghosted the air around her. She walked into the living room where Gary sat, tying his shoe.
He was dressed in a plain button-up and jeans the kind he wore around the house. No jacket. No effort.
“You’re not changing?” she asked, tone carefully flat.
“I’m dressed,” Gary replied without looking up.
Linda stared at him. “You know they’re having people over. You could try to—”
“I don’t do costumes for strangers.”
She wanted to say more, but Jesse appeared behind her, tugging at his sleeves. “Can we go now?”
Gary nodded, taking Jesse’s hand. They stepped outside together, Linda locking the door behind them. The trio crossed the street like polite guests entering enemy territory.
Maya opened the door before they could knock. Her smile was instant practiced, luminous.
“There you are! Come in, come in.”
Inside, the house was alive music low and stylish, platters of food spread across the counters, wine flowing into half-full glasses. Calvin stood near the fireplace in conversation with a man and woman, both holding cocktails. He glanced up as they entered.
“Gary, right?” Calvin said, stepping forward and offering a hand. “Glad you could make it.”
Gary returned the handshake. “Thanks for having us.”
“And this must be Jesse,” Maya said, crouching slightly to the boy’s level. “Luca’s in the den. Go say hi, sweetie.”
Jesse nodded, slipping away into the hallway.
Linda hovered by the edge of the room, unsure where to land. Maya offered her a glass of wine with a practiced flick of the wrist.
“Love your dress,” Maya said. “It’s vintage?”
Linda blinked. “No, I just haven’t worn it in a while.”
“Well, it’s got a retro thing going on. Charming.”
From across the room, the other couple joined them. “I’m Mark,” the man said. “Law firm downtown. And this is Dana—she’s in fashion PR.”
“Linda,” she said, shaking hands.
“And I’m Gary,” he added. “I work in industrial systems. Automation design.”
“Oh!” Calvin’s eyes lit up. “You’re into smart architecture?”
Gary gave a small nod. “Actually... I’m designing my own house. Full integration. Energy autonomy. AI-managed interiors.”
Calvin raised his glass. “Now that is a conversation I want to have. I’m a structural architect. Been experimenting with hybrid builds. We should talk shop.”
The two men drifted into an animated discussion buzzwords flying: load-bearing cores, self-healing concrete, embedded algorithms.
