Call Me Coco

Prologue

My alarm shrieks. 6:43 AM. No bleary-eyed scavenging for my slippers and cozying up for a Fraiser rerun with my first chug of coffee for the day. I hit the cold floor in a familiar panic, scrolling emails and cursing the belly bloat that means I won’t be wearing trousers this week.

Fucking Mondays.

It’s time to pack myself into J. Crew’s plus-sized line of neurotic neutrals. Time to be “professional”. Time to suck it up and become Colette, the no-nonsense VP of Tech Integrations. She’s the shareholders’ dream; a minority leader with a perfectionist streak and no social life to get in the way of those all-nighters when the offshore coding team mistranslates our feedback.

God, I hate her.

- - -

Coco

“Welcome to Coco’s Channel! If you’re new here, I’m thrilled to meet you. If you’re a regular, you know what to do. DM me with your quirks, questions, quandaries and quick-fixes. And, as always, no normies allowed!”

Sighing, I shut off the ring light and watch the messages roll in. People from all over the world DM once a week for my thoughts on their most pressing problems. I’m no therapist. Just an ADHD gal living loud and loving my miswired life.

Or so they think. It isn’t catphishing ... not exactly. It's more like cosplaying the me I want to be. It's not what you think. No size four, bleached blonde, doe-eyed candy here. Certainly no hocking of a minimalist lifestyle featuring a $100 water bottle. This me, ahem, the virtu-real me is a funny, flirty, unmasked goofball dancing in her underwear, serenading a bowl of ramen with Elvis' love songs.

And besides, I’m really recording myself! OK fine, I upload it through an AI software I'm beta testing and it may enhance some of my Ruben-esque assets. Oh, shut up — if you could transform your waist from plus to plump, your ass from booming to bouncy, and your face from sallow to satiny in real time, you know you would.

So yeah. I've transformed myself from the Type A, overthinking, group project savior with a cardigan for every occasion. At least, that's what my 783,526 Instagram followers think. They'll never meet that masked un-me.

Colette, that master of disguise, is absolutely unwelcome here.

Colette

It’s exhausting trying to hide in plain sight. The group think is mind-numbing but the small talk … annoyance claws up my spine like ragged fingernails. Unfortunately, the hybrid office policy doesn’t accommodate hands-on subject matter experts who are childfree.

Score one more for the normies.

“Oh, hey, um,” Jason stumbles while trying to close my office door.

“Aren’t you late for a SCRUM standoff?” My sharp reply bites back with one look at his disappointed eyes.

“Same problem, different day. They want the work done faster but haven’t given us more time to complete it. I, uh, was hoping you could fix it. Talk sense into the upper management, I mean?” Jason rushes the last sentence and rakes a self-conscious hand through his spiky, red tipped hair.

All hail Colette, keeper of the obvious solutions.

Coco

I take a break from Googling how-tos for social cues and stretch my neck. I love helping my followers but so many of the questions have the same answer. “If you’re struggling with daily tasks, it’s time to see a psychiatrist.” It’s genuine but the reality is that masking ADHD, especially in women, creates a gamut of complex health issues that can’t be remedied with a smiling Coco-ism.

I adjust my floral caftan and tap record.

“Hey babes! If this vid came across your feed it’s probably for you. Do you smile for pics like you just smelled a fart? Do you get a brain high after coffee only to find yourself fatigued within an hour? Does every big task begin by taking a break? Is that stack of unused planners taunting you from the junk drawer? Welcome to Coco’s Channel! Let’s break down the burdens of ADHD and live our best lives.”

As the hearts roll in and my DMs go into overdrive, one notification gets my immediate attention.

The DM reads, “Hello Coco. I, uh, think you’re really pretty and would love to take you to dinner but I’m bad with public places. What should I do?”

I reply with a laugh emoji. Then the app shows those tattletale typing dots.

“Wow, that’s not helpful.”

Shit. It wasn’t a bot.

“Hey @RedRanger86, my fault. I get hit on by a lot of bots here.”

“Oh OK. Cool. I thought you were blowing me off. I do that a lot. Misread situations, I mean.”

“LOL it’s not you. The normies fake so many interactions assuming it’s just polite. For ADHDers, it’s a minefield.”

“So what do you suggest I do? About asking you to dinner, I mean?”

“I don’t meet followers in person, @RedRanger86. Safety y’know.”

“Well, like I said, I’m bad at public places.”

I consider closing the messages but tap to his profile instead. Gamer, works in tech, likes Power Rangers fan art, has an addiction to chili cheese fries, and — that’s weird … he never shows his face.

I swipe back to the messages.

“What makes you the most uncomfortable @RedRanger86?”

“It’s usually so loud and the menus are constantly changing. I annoy a lot of waiters by asking for something they had last week. I don’t drink much because it’s too hard to mask while intoxicated and my dates never call back. It just sucks.”

“Wanna know a secret?”

“Hell yeah.”

“I puked at a fancy restaurant when someone proposed to me.”

Oh … my God. Did I just say that?!

“Oh wow. That is by far so much more embarrassing.”

Thanks for the sympathy, you twit.

“Yeah. Well, I need to wash my hair. Have a good night.”

“Wai…”

I close the app. Whatever. It’s time for cereal and Jeopardy.

Colette

I’m sitting in yet another shareholder meeting, explaining for the umpteenth time why launching an untested product is bad business.

The bald guy with a wrinkled tie interrupts me. Again. “Yeah, yeah. We heard you the first time. Look lady, I don’t really understand what’s confusing you. We’re losing money. You’re the hold up. Make it happen.”

What’s confusing me? I tighten my eyes against the sheen of rage threatening to flow. No way in hell is this fool going to make me lose my cool.

“As the Vice President of Technological Integrations, I assure you nothing about this conversation confuses me.” I correct the insolent bastard and straighten my beige pinstriped blazer. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’m done here.”

Striding from the conference room, I can’t think of anything else except that DM. More than anything, I want people to see the real me. I want to throw on bikini bottoms with a sweatshirt and write poetry on the beach. I want to smell like a smoldering campfire and eat s’mores for a midnight snack. I want to dye my hair geode pink. I want to catalog the evolution of Tarot over the centuries.

God, I just want to like myself.

Coco

“Welcome to Fri-yay!” I beam into the camera, bold lipstick splitting into a big grin. “Congratulations to all you alt-brained babes who made it through another tedious week. If you’re new here, follow for more normie hacks. If you’re back for more, DM on the count of four! One, two, three …”

I roll my eyes. Before the countdown finishes, @RedRanger86 has returned. “Coco, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I told you, I’m really shit at social cues.”

“Look. I don’t interact with followers outside of my channel. I’m sorry.”

“Coco, wait.”

Damnit! What is it about this guy? I know I should just block him?

“What is it, @RedRanger86?”

“What happened when that guy proposed?”

Colette

Slumping back in my desk chair after shattering the Marketing Director’s dream of a June 1 launch, I consider inventing a family. At least then I could pretend to have a life after hours. We’d live in a cute little bungalow, with a dog big enough for good snuggles, and a kid who wants to dance ballet on the moon. MIT should have a think tank for that.

Too bad I blew the chance to have the real thing. Literally. My serious boyfriend, rather, my boyfriend who was very serious with no sense of humor, or adventure, proposed to me by candlelight in a French restaurant. It should have been perfect.

It was all wrong. I opened my mouth to answer but threw up instead. Garlic buttered snails splattered the white tablecloth as disbelief splashed across his usually stoic face.

I never saw him again.

Coco

It’s 3 AM and I’ve been DMing @RedRanger86 for hours. He might be bad at public places but he’s a great listener.

“OK @RedRanger86, truth or dare?”

“Uh … truth.”

A little thrill makes me shiver as I type, “What’s your real name?”

“I can’t tell you that. I choose dare instead!”

“What! There are no take-backs in Truth or Dare.”

“Seriously, Coco. No. Not yet.”

That’s the line in the sand? We’ve talked for hours about our worst dating disasters and what it’s like to be diagnosed with ADHD in your 30s. It’s freeing to know you aren’t just a lazy loser without enough self-discipline to finish a task. It’s also so depressing to realize life truly isn’t that hard for neurotypicals. I have to let him slide.

“OK, I surrender. I dare you to … plan the perfect date night.”

Whoa, girl. Where did that come from?

“You’ll think it’s stupid,” he replies.

“I might. Or I could think it’s the most romantic thing ever and do a whole Reel on turning up the heat for neuro-spicy dates.”

“LOL How are you so comfortable with your batty brain? It’s like you have a superpowered shield from all the bullshit.”

Because I hate the fake me that gets promotions and wears bland clothes and … I shut down that pity party for one and reply, “Fitting in was hard and I got a lot of negativity thrown my way. I refuse to waste another second on being anything except exactly who I want to be.”

Colette

“Colette, I don’t understand. This resignation letter, is it a joke? And what the hell are you wearing?” Fletcher, the Chief Technology Officer, stares at me and shoves the paper across his desk.

I look down at my orange palazzo pants, vintage band tee, and white loafers. “No Fletcher, it’s no joke. I’m unhappy here and the shareholders only think of me as a talking point on the agenda.”

Fletcher blusters, “But the launch! What am I supposed to do without you to fix the bugs?”

“You have an entire tech team. Let them split the overnights for once.”

He stares as my orange pants billow out of the room.

Coco

A DM from @RedRanger86 pops up. I tap it open and find an anime drawing of ramen. “Send noods?” is written underneath in a slurpy font. I laugh and reply, “My favorite!” Are we still talking about soup, here? Another DM from him pings, with a Venmo request to send me $20.

“I know you did not just offer to pay me for naked pics @RedRanger86!’

“What?? Oh my God, no. It’s a date. Just go with it.”

I am so not dressed for a date. What is he thinking?

“Coco?”

“I’m not wearing pants, dude. I need to reschedule.”

“Nope. You said plan the perfect date. Order your favorite delivery and meet me on Zoom in 45 minutes.”

- - -

I open the Zoom link and wait. The camera snaps into focus as @RedRanger86 lights a few candles. Through the steam from my bowl I catch a glimpse of red tipped spiky hair.

Oh. My. God. My date is Jason.

“Hey Colette, surprised?”

“Call me Coco,” I smile.