She comes to my office the next morning with a coffee she made herself, not from the machine, from the small pour over kit she keeps in her desk drawer because Saoirse has opinions about coffee that she does not impose on anyone but quietly maintains for herself.
She sets it on my desk.
Sits down.
Looks at me.
"You are leaving," she says.
"Yes, I am."
"Priya too," she says.
"Yes," I reply.
"You are both starting something together?" she asks.
"Yes," I reply.
She wraps both hands around her own cup. "Tell me about it," she says. "Not the version you told Helena. The real version. What it actually is."
I let her be ready for it.
Then I tell her.
Not the document version, not the structured pitch. The actual version, the one I told Rhys in the kitchen
