Page 18 of The Single Dad's Guide to Recreation

“If he’s the director, why is he taking out the trash?”

Van shrugs, likeWhy wouldn’t he?“Everyone takes out the trash.”

They steer me around a corner into what Van calls a studio. On one end, a few people confer in front of an oversized monitor displaying what look like architectural plans. Easels face a bank of windows overlooking the river, complete with painting supplies. A backdrop, lights, and a camera on a tripod huddle together like a fancy version of a yearbook photographer’s setup.

“This is my domain.” Van grabs my hand and whispers, “Would you like a makeover?”

“You do makeovers? At work?”

They point to a set of mirrors surrounded by bulbs. “I do them for clients before we take their headshot photos.” When I open my mouth to protest, they hold up a finger. “Whether you’re a member of our globally sourced, diverse pool of entrepreneurs, or a small-town girl with sad eyes, anyone can benefit from a makeover.”

As I wonder what about my eyes looks sad, they deposit me in a chair and cover me with a drape, murmuring something like, “We’ll take care of that later.”

“May I?” Van meets my gaze in the mirror, hands hovering over my head. When I give them the okay, they run their hands through my hair. “This color is unbelievable. Do you know what people would pay to achieve this cascade of blonds?”

They don’t wait for my answer. Dropping the hair, they move on to my face, taking my chin and moving it side to side. “I wish all my clients were as faithful with their sunscreen as you obviously are.”

They sigh and turn the chair so we’re both facing the mirror again. “With your permission, I’d love to show you a couple makeup tips. I want to take all the beauty you’ve got and make itpop!” Their hands open like fireworks, and I can’t help but get swept up in the moment.

Still, as Van starts fussing around with foundation and blush and eye shadow palettes, I have to ask, “Don’t you have, like, work to do?”

Hand on their chest, Van meets my gaze in the mirror. “Honey child, this is my life’s work.” They gesture around the airy room. “All of it.”

As they dab my face with a cleansing wipe, Van continues. “Each person at Trede is assigned a primary role to fit their strengths—for me that’s design, obvs—as well as additional roles that give them a chance to take on new challenges.”

“So, what are IS and OS exactly?”

Van slaps their hands to their faceHome Alonestyle. “Eek! I’m supposed to explain that. Is it obvious that giving tours is not my core competency?”

Before I can politely protest, they continue. “IS stands for Inward Service, and OS is for Outward Service. Because Trede is a pre-seed global tech builder, we balance service with growth. Our accelerator programs offer entrepreneurs the tools they need in the planning stages”—he waves a hand at the studio—“which includes all aspects of design.”

Whatever any of that means, they must also be growing money. None of what I’ve seen could have come cheap. Before I can ask what the horse feathers a pre-seed tech builder is, however, they tell me to close my eyes and relax. “Time for me to play!”

Van’s touch is gentle, and their voice is soothing, so I relax into the chair and just enjoy the experience, opening and closing my mouth and eyes as instructed, and wait to look in the mirror until they’ve finished.

“Ta-da!”

After Van turns the chair to face the mirror again, I can’t quite believe what I see. My skin glows, my cheeks blush, and my eyes are somehow bigger and rounder. I look exactly like myself, just… more.

“Thank you for trusting me with this gorgeous canvas.” Van hands me a small cloth bag. “Product samples and instructions.” They fan a set of color swatches in front of me. “This is for you to take home. I want you to throw out anything in your closet that isn’t in this palette.”

Before I can thank them for working their magic on me, we’re interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Van! I’ve been looking for you. I need you to move the needle on the Pegasus group mockups. The Tiger team on that project wants to whiteboard before sending them over the wall.” Eli, dressed in an outfit I bet he thinks is casual—a tie with a vest instead of a coat—turns his attention to me. “Who’s your friend?

Van squeezes my shoulder and whispers, “Face blindness.”

At least I’m not the only one who’s invisible. “Eli, I’m Avery Mills. From Climax Parks and Rec? And from high school?”

“Of course. I didn’t recognize you out of context.” Tapping his head, he murmurs, “Tamagotchi.”

I pause, halfway out of the chair. “Tamagotchi?”

“I apologize.” He bows again, but only halfway. It’s really kind of a nod. “Did I say that out loud? Because I don’t recognize faces, I employ mnemonics to file people in the cache.”

“What does that have to do with Tamagotchi?”

“You run children’s programming at the center, and you were the girl who got people to pay her to babysit their Tamagotchi’s in high school,” he says, likeDuh.

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