Back at my desk, I read over her email with all the logistics. Most of it is straightforward, and the hardest part is going to be conveying all this information to Celeste.

I start composing a new email message.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: First Set of Interviews

Hi, Celeste. Sorry again about what happened over the weekend. We got our first set of interviews…

I stop. I’m being too casual. Since I don’t know how private our work emails are, I can’t risk sounding so suspicious.

I delete everything and try again.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: First Set of Interviews

Hi, Celeste. We got our first set of interview assignments. See the below forwarded message from Evelyn for more info. Are you available to do the first set of interviews this week?

Best,

Gem

I delete and rewrite a few sentences. I groan, wondering if I’ll ever be able to communicate normally with Celeste again.

I’m so preoccupied by my predicament that I only realize I wrote “Gem” and not “Gemma” after I hit send. I don’t get much time to dwell on it, though, because Celeste’s response comes in five minutes.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE: First Set of Interviews

Yes.

-C

I let out a breath, simultaneously relieved and disappointed by her response. On one hand, since we’re communicating via email, I’m glad Celeste is being succinct and professional. But it also feels weird, especially after what happened last weekend.

I play along, anyway.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE: RE: First Set of Interviews

Great, I’ll reach out to the couples we’re interviewing and see what times work best for them.

I woke up in her bed this past weekend, and now she’s barely saying anything in response to my emails, I think.

I let out a small, exasperated laugh before I hit send.

Because the first group consists of college students, both the couples we’re interviewing ask if we can do Friday afternoon, after they get out of their classes for the week. It’s a little tight, but I make it happen.

Luckily, Celeste’s rented studio is close to our office. It’s in the Mission District, away from the tall skyscrapers and surrounded by colorful murals, trendy restaurants, and fancy bakeries.

When I follow Celeste’s emailed directions to the third floor of the building, I’m instantly hit with bright light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The studio is compact yet efficient, with a large open space and a small kitchen near a red-painted staircase. Celeste’s lights, stands, and other equipment are currently set up in the main area, and there’s also a pink tufted sofa for the guests and a sleek white armchair by the cameras for me.

“Hey.”