I’d been prepping for this meeting for three months. It wasn’t just any deal—it was the deal. The kind that changes your life, that makes your mom stop worrying about rent and your LinkedIn blow up overnight.
I woke up early, suit pressed, laptop charged, contract folder in my bag. I even left the house a full hour early just in case. Only, I forgot one tiny thing.
My garage.
The key snapped in the lock.
Not just broke—snapped. Half of it in my hand, the other half stuck inside like it was mocking me. I stood there for a second, blinking, like maybe if I stared long enough it would fix itself. It didn’t.
My car was inside, of course. And I live on a little side street where Ubers never show up without a 15-minute wait. I tried anyway. Opened the app, requested one. ETA: 19 minutes. Then it jumped to 22.
I paced. Tried texting Salome—she lives two blocks over—but she was mid-shift at the bakery and didn’t even see the message. I didn’t know who else to call. Everyone I knew with a car was either working or unreliable.
I called the client’s assistant, stammering some excuse about “minor transportation issues.” She said she’d “do her best” to stall. Her voice didn’t sound too hopeful.
At that point, I started debating whether I could bike there. Only problem? The last time I used my bike, it had a flat and the seat was all crooked. I didn’t even know if it was still in the shed.
I was just about to sprint out barefoot and try anyway when my phone buzzed—and it wasn’t the Uber.
It was Yves.
We hadn’t spoken in almost two years. Not since I accused him of screwing me over on that coworking space project. It wasn’t pretty. Lots of pride, lots of yelling, and one very public unfollow.
I stared at the screen. My thumb hovered. Then I answered.
“Hey,” I said, voice tight.
“You stuck?” he asked. Just like that.
“What?”
“You look stuck. I’m down the street. I saw you pacing like a cartoon character. You still trying to do that software thing?”
It took a second for it to click—he was parked at the corner. In that beat-up gray SUV I used to tease him about. I didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or grateful or both.
“Yeah,” I said. “I have to get to downtown. Client meeting. Huge one.”
“I figured. Hop in.”
Now, listen. Pride is a hell of a thing. But when it’s a million-dollar contract on the line? You swallow it like bad cough syrup.
I jogged over, climbed in, and we peeled out.
The drive started awkward. No music, no chit-chat. Just tire hum and tension. After a while, I broke the silence.
“Why’d you text?”
Yves shrugged. “Been thinking about reaching out. Figured I’d just do it instead of overthinking it.”
I nodded slowly. “Timing’s… pretty wild.”
He smirked. “Life’s weird like that.”
We hit traffic five blocks from the office. Classic. My meeting was in eight minutes.
That’s when Yves did something totally Yves—he pulled into a delivery zone, threw on his flashers, and said, “Run.”
“What?”
“RUN, man. Don’t make this weird.”
So I ran. In a suit. Through downtown. Sweaty, winded, and looking like a Wall Street crash meme, but I made it. Two minutes late, but I made it.
The client—Tajendra, a sharp but kind logistics CEO—looked me up and down, saw the sweat, the loosened tie, the wild eyes. He said, “Rough morning?”
I laughed, breathless. “Garage key broke. Uber bailed. Old friend drove me halfway. I ran the rest.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And you still showed up?”
“Had to.”
He leaned back. “Good. I hate people who flake. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
We went through the pitch. I stumbled once or twice, but I caught my rhythm. And when I pulled out the contract, his assistant handed him a pen without a word. He signed.
I stood there holding a signed deal worth more than I’d made in the last five years combined.
That night, I called my mom first. Then I Venmo’d Salome for a bakery box and told her I owed her one even though she hadn’t even seen my text.
And then I called Yves.
We met up the next night for drinks. Talked it out. Turns out, the whole coworking mess was a dumb misunderstanding we both handled badly. Two years of silence, just sitting there, waiting for one of us to grow up.
We’re talking about starting something new together now. Not just a project. Maybe a real partnership. One where we show up for each other—no matter what.
Pride can cost you everything. And sometimes, the people you cut off are the ones who still show up when it matters most. Don’t let ego rob you of second chances.
If you’ve ever had a day like this—or a friend who surprised you when you least expected it—share this post. You never know who might need the reminder today.
(Thanks for reading! Drop a like if this hit home.)
