The "professional lunch meeting" had a slight problem: the entire team had mysteriously developed other commitments.
"Sorry darling, deadline with a fashion client," Rhonda texted. "Statistical analysis running, can't pause it," from Phoebe. "Doctor's appointment," Gerald claimed, despite having lunch with Phoebe daily.
This left Arnold standing in his office, staring at his phone, with only Helga's message: Still coming. We need to discuss sharing protocols.
He'd spent the morning trying not to overanalyze this situation. They were colleagues. This was a work lunch. The fact that their friends were being incredibly unsubtle about giving them space was... unfortunate.
A knock made him jump. Helga hovered in the doorway, laptop clutched to her chest like armor, looking as thrown off-balance as he felt.
"I brought the data," she said, her carefully neutral tone betrayed by the way her fingers gripped the laptop's edge. "And lunch, since someone mentioned pastrami."
"Harold's best recipe," Arnold confirmed, clearing space on his desk. "I have the prototype updates ready."
They settled into what had become their usual positions—Arnold at his desk, Helga in what he'd started thinking of as her chair, with enough space between them to maintain the illusion of upholding a formal rapport.
"The sharing features," Helga began, unwrapping her sandwich. "We need to—"
"Balance safety with connection," Arnold finished. "I was thinking about what you said about organic therapy."
"Exactly." She pulled up her notes, then frowned. "You have mustard on your..."
Without thinking, she reached across the desk and brushed at the corner of his mouth with her thumb. They both froze.
"Sorry," she said, withdrawing her hand quickly. "workplace etiquette..."
"Right." Arnold wiped his mouth with a napkin, trying to ignore how his skin tingled where she'd touched him. "The sharing protocols..."
Helga buried herself in her laptop screen, her cheeks flushed. "The quiet boy from yesterday—his poem about the locked door. We need to make sure kids like him feel safe sharing."
"But also give them the choice," Arnold said, grateful for the return to work discussion. "Like you did with your po—" He stopped himself.
"Like I did with my what, Football Head?" Her voice held a warning note.
"Your high level of experience with patient confidentiality," he recovered, though they both knew what he'd been about to say.
Helga's fingers tensed on her keyboard. "My level of experience tells me we need clear boundaries." Something in her tone suggested she wasn't just talking about the app anymore.
"Boundaries are good," Arnold agreed, pulling up the prototype. "Like these sharing settings," I added. "Kids can choose who sees their work. Maybe start with just the avatar name—"
"Not their real identity," Helga cut in. "It's safer that way. When you're sharing... personal things."
Their eyes met briefly before both looked away.
"I've been thinking about what you said yesterday," Arnold ventured, scrolling through the interface. "About therapy happening organically. It reminded me of... well, how you used to help people. Even when you pretended you weren't."
Helga set her sandwich down. "Arnold..."
"Professionally speaking," he added quickly. "It informed your career choice, obviously."
"Obviously." She took off her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "And your pathological need to help everyone informed yours."
"I don't have a pathological—"
"Fourth grade. The peer counseling. The advice corner in the school paper. The time you spent three weeks helping Stoop Kid with his agoraphobia."
"You remember all that?"
"I remember everything," she said softly, then quickly added, "From a clinical perspective. Understanding childhood development patterns."
Arnold watched her put her glasses back on, using them like armor. "Is that why you became a therapist? To understand patterns?"
"We're not doing this," she said firmly. "We're discussing sharing protocols for the app."
"Right." He turned back to his laptop. "So if a user wants to share their work..."
"They need to feel safe," she finished. "Like there's someone who understands."
"Like you understood me?" The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Helga stood abruptly, her chair scraping back. "I have a patient in thirty minutes," she said.
"Helga—"
"This was supposed to be a team meeting. About the app." She gathered her things, movements sharp and defensive. "We need to maintain clear roles and stay within acceptable limits."
"You're right," Arnold said, standing too. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"
"It's fine." But her voice was tight. "Just... send me the protocol updates. I'll review them tonight."
At the door, she paused. "And Arnold? Get better at lying about having mustard on your face."
After she left, Arnold sat heavily in his chair. His phone buzzed almost immediately—the group chat:
Rhonda: How was the "professional lunch meeting"? Gerald: Did you maintain appropriate boundaries? Phoebe: The statistical analysis finished early if you need backup.
Arnold turned his phone face down and stared at his laptop, where the sharing protocols still waited for review. On the screen, a test avatar with a pink bow stood next to the volcano cave where users could share their deepest feelings.
Some patterns, it seemed, were hard to break.