Page 65 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

The blog post had seemed important this morning – a thoughtful piece about the real human cost of tech's burnout culture. I hadn't even criticized Drake Enterprises directly. Instead, I'd written about the industry-wide need for genuine support rather than meditation cushions and wellness journals.

It had exploded. Major news sites were picking it up, techleaders were sharing it, and somehow it had sparked a broader conversation about mental health in Silicon Valley.

And now, instead of having a private dinner with Alex to discuss all of this (and possibly continue what we'd started in his office), I'm going to have to?—

"Ms. Gallo?" Emma appears in my doorway. "Mr. Drake wanted me to confirm your dinner plans. Something about a 1982 Brunello and threat of grandchildren?"

For the love of all things humiliating…

My phone buzzes again – Alex this time:

ALEX:Your grandmother is formidable. I see where you get it from.

ME:I'm so sorry. We can raincheck?—

ALEX:And risk the tiramisu embargo? I think not. Besides, I hear the gnocchi is legendary.

ME:Alex, my family is... intense.

ALEX:Like revolutionary-developers-with-holiday-carols intense, or...?

ME:Worse. Much worse.

ALEX:I'll pick you up at 6:45.

Well. This is definitely happening.

I spend the next hour trying to work, but my mind keeps spinning between the viral blog post, the family dinner, and the way Alex had looked at me this morning when I'd stopped by his office to "discuss the TechCrunch situation."

We hadn't done much discussing.

My phone buzzes yet again – Sofia this time:

SOFIA:Nonna's making seven types of pasta. SEVEN. She says it's "casual" but she's broken out the good olive oil. You're doomed.

ME:Help me get out of this?

SOFIA:Sorry, sorella. She's already named three of the pasta dishes after your future children.

Another text comes in – Alex:

ALEX:By the way, I have a proposition for you. About this weekend.

ME:Is it an escape plan from family dinner?

ALEX:Better. My cabin in the mountains. Two days away from tech journalists and revolutionary developers. Just us.

Oh. Oh my.

Before I can respond, Nonna's text arrives:

NONNA:The Brunello is breathing. If you're not here at 7, I start sending your baby pictures to the entire tech industry. Including the one from that swimming lesson incident.

I groan, dropping my head to my desk. Through the glass walls, I can see Keith teaching what appears to be a revolutionary version of "Jingle Bells" to the development team.

My viral blog post has sparked an industry-wide conversation about mental health.

Alex has essentially invited me away for a romantic weekend.

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