Sometimes, she would see them at the end of the day when they were heading back to their apartment in West Hollywood, and she would notice Ant carry Simon’s bag or offer him some other small kindness, and she would think, It must be nice to have that, to have someone to share your life and your work with. She had been so lonely in the months since Both Sides had come out. But it was different for Simon and Ant, she decided: Simon and Ant were both men. If Sadie and Sam had been lovers, Sadie was certain she would have been seen as Sam’s helpmate, and not as an artist in her own right. Many people saw her that way already.
Because they had built the game using her engine, Sadie was intimately involved in the making of Counterpart High, and she knew the boys viewed her as a mentor. She had liked advising them, though it was a new experience for her to be generous in that way. It was strange to invest yourself in work that was not your own. She felt a new appreciation for Dov—for how willing he had always been to share his knowledge and his time, for what a good teacher he had been, if nothing else. When Both Sides had failed, the world had gone so quiet. One of the few people who had called her was Dov, and she owed him a callback. Marx was on the phone, so she went into Sam’s office.
“Brilliant one! I saw the California area code, and I was hoping it was you.”
Dov told her a bit about what he was working on: a new game, and he was consulting for an AI company in Silicon Valley. He asked her about her work, and she mentioned producing for Simon and Ant and how popular CPH was. “It’s to Marx’s credit,” Sadie said. “And to a lesser extent, Sam’s. They both wanted to use California as an opportunity to produce for other people. Maybe they knew before I did that Both Sides would tank? We’ve got seven games currently in production or postproduction.”
“And many of them are using your engine, yes?”
“Some of them,” Sadie said. “At least it’s good for something.” Sadie paused. “Were you ever jealous when Ichigo started to take off?”
“No,” Dov said.
“Not even a little?”
“I saw you as an extension of myself,” Dov said. “I have an enormous ego. Your accomplishments were my accomplishments. You’ll probably think this makes me a monster.”
“You were a garbage boyfriend—”
“Thank you. It’s not a lie.”
“But you were a great teacher. That’s what I was thinking today. No one took my work seriously until you did.”
“I just wanted to have sex with you.”
“Don’t say that!”
“It isn’t true anyway. You’re exceptional, kid. You know that.”
Sadie paused. She looked at Sam’s shelves, which were a veritable museum of Ichigo history and merch: Ichigo hats, books, comic books, coloring books, T-shirts, figurines, paper dolls, stuffed animals, dishes, rice cookers, cookie jars, costumes, handheld games, board games, bobbleheads, bedsheets, beach towels, tote bags, bath balls, teapots, bookends, etc. There was not a product in the world that couldn’t be stamped with Ichigo’s likeness. “I want your advice about something,” Sadie said.
“Of course.”
“How do you get over a failure?”
“I think you mean a public failure. Because we all fail in private. I failed with you, for example, but no one posted an online review about it, unless you did. I fail with my wife and with my son. I fail in my work every day, but I keep turning over the problems until I’m not failing anymore. But public failures are different, it’s true.”
“So, what do I do?” she asked.
“You go back to work. You take advantage of the quiet time that a failure allows you. You remind yourself that no one is paying any attention to you and it’s a perfect time for you to sit down in front of your computer and make another game. You try again. You fail better.”
“I don’t know if I have a better game in me than Both Sides,” Sadie said. “I don’t know if I can be that vulnerable again.”
“You do and you can. I believe in you. And you aren’t failing, Sadie. Your game failed, yes. But you just told me: your company is succeeding. This is a company built on your technology, your good judgment, your labors. Embrace that.”
Sadie picked up a squishy Ichigo stress ball and she squeezed until Ichigo was buried in her palm.
“Seeing anyone?” Dov asked lightly. “The guy in the band with the pretentious name?”
“Dov, that was a million years ago,” Sadie said. “I haven’t spoken to Abe Rocket in years.”
“Abe Rocket, gross. So, what else is new? You can’t be all games and no play.”
What had she been doing? Working on games that weren’t her own. Improving Oneiric. Endless office meetings about things she didn’t care about. On the weekends （mostly）， smoking copious amounts of weed. Playing Grand Theft Auto, Half-Life, Mario Kart, Final Fantasy. Reading Harry Potter or whatever book Oprah had told her mom to buy. Sneaking out of the office in the middle of the afternoon to go to the movies with her grandmother—Freda favored romantic comedies with the misadventures of “hapless goyish blond girls.” Weighing which breed of dog she should get, but not doing anything about it. Googling former rivals and games that had come out the same season as hers. Reading online reviews of her games （insisting that she wasn’t）。 Generally, obsessively, licking her wounds. What a funny turn of phrase, she thought. Licking your wounds would only make them worse, no? The mouth was filled with so much bacteria. But Sadie knew it was easy to get addicted to the taste of your own carnage. “My older sister is getting married,” Sadie said. She let the Ichigo stress ball return to its normal size.
Dr. Alice Green, in her final year as a cardiology resident, was getting married to another doctor, not coincidentally a pediatric oncologist, and she had appointed Sadie the maid of honor. Consequently, Sadie and Alice were spending more time together than they had since they were kids. Sadie was bored with the mundanity of wedding planning, but glad for the distraction and the time with Alice.
The prior week, the sisters had been at the stationer in Beverly Hills, looking at Oxford English Dictionary–sized binders of white invitations.
“There are so many variations on white,” Alice commented.
“But this white one is great,” Sadie said.
“It’s so different than the myriad other white ones. How will I ever choose?”
But Alice and Sadie did manage to choose a white invitation and then, to reward themselves, they went to lunch at Freda’s favorite Italian restaurant.
“Oh! I wanted to tell you!” Alice said. “I played your game!”
“I’m impressed. How did you ever find the time?”
“It’s my sister’s game. Of course I found the time.” Alice paused. “I didn’t know if I would like it when I heard what it was about. But it was so good, Sadie. I’m honored that you gave the character my name. I loved the Mapletown parts especially. I didn’t know until I played the game how much you understood about what I was going through back then. I thought you were just resentful that you couldn’t go to Space Camp and that Mom and Dad essentially ignored you for two years.”