Page 14 of Engineering a Love Story

As our unexpectedly personal talk goes on, I mentally compose the email I’ll write to that IBM product manager begging off a follow-up call with Russ Boyer. I’ll simply state, truthfully, that I don’t have enough information about Aurelian PayNow for a call right now.

“Seems you were brave,” Seth says at one point.

“If I’d been brave, I wouldn’t have gotten married in the first place.”

Manish pushes his plate away and leans back, hands in his lap. “I don’t know how I’ll ever manage to get married. There’s too much to do right now, you know? Making our mark, living life to the fullest. Choosing one path and forgoing others? There will be plenty of time for all that later.”

“Or maybe neither of us has our shit together enough to get married,” Seth says.

Manish laughs, though Seth didn’t sound like he was joking. “True, true. Seth thinks it’s time for us to grow up. But most days? I can’t even find my car, as Seth has already helpfully pointed out. And I mean, a house? A wife?”

Manish sits forward all in a burst and looks at this watch. “Shit. Elise,” he says. “It’s later than I thought.” He sets his napkin on the table and turns to Seth. “Elise can be—”

“Don’t look at me, man. I’m not filling in that blank.” Seth lifts a beer bottle, squinting as he attempts to peer into it with one eye. Manish’s attention swings back to me.

“My fault. As usual. I should have arranged to meet her later, but … I can’t be late again.” He looks at Seth. “What if I go? Would that be okay? I’ll give you the keys and you can take Chelsea back to her hotel.”

Seth’s eyes meet mine and he raises a brow slightly.

I return my pad to my bag, telling Manish it’s no problem. He should go meet his girlfriend. I can call a cab.

Manish slides from his seat. “No, no. Don’t do that. Seth is right here. He can drive you.” He pulls keys from his pocket and pushes them to Seth. Then he gives me his hand. “It was such a pleasure, truly.” And he’s gone.

***

Seth and I sit quietly for a few moments after Manish’s departure. He reaches for the keys and stretches to tuck them into his pocket. That smile overtakes his face again, though now he seems nervous or maybe a little embarrassed.

I lean back, swinging my feet under the table. Sharing all those personal details has left me feeling light.

“Apologies again,” Seth says. “But that’s classic Manish.”

“Which part, exactly?”

Seth splays his hands. “All of it. Running late. Cramming more into a day than can reasonably fit. Veering off into … unexpected topics.”

“But … what even was that? Where was the sales pitch? He told me almost nothing about your products.”

Seth seems to consider. “The hard sell, that’s not Manish’s style. It’s not Aurelian’s style.” I remember that big deal they signed today and recognize this as an arrogance; these guys think they’re so good, they don’t need to sell. “Besides, Manish never does anything quite as you’d expect. He’s easily bored, likes things to be interesting.” Seth pushes away his empty plate. “No one should ever underestimate Manish though. He’s one of the smartest people you’ll ever meet. And so competitive.”

The waitress arrives with the check and begins clearing the dishes. Seth gives her his credit card and when she returns with it, he signs his name and tosses the pen on the table.

“You ready to get out of here?”

Outside, Seth holds the car door open for me. “I’m happy to still give you that tour,” he says. I stop, facing him over the open door. He strums his fingers along its top. “Shame to waste this nice night.”

The San Francisco wind whips my hair, and I pull a few chunks from my face to inspect Seth. This city is startlingly beautiful, but there’s no way this can be considered a nice night. This whole week has been shockingly cold—I’d thought it was summer—and I’m wearing the only thin sweater I packed.

“You don’t have to,” I say. “Please don’t feel obligated.”

Seth shrugs into his coat. “No obligation. Really. You’d be saving me.” He adjusts his collar. “If you leave now, all I’ll do is go back to work. We could, you know, live life to the fullest. All that?” He smiles, but he’s mocking Manish at least a little, and his grin remains tight-lipped. “And I promise not to pepper you with personal questions like my roommate.” He extends a hand. “Deal?”

Eight

Seth is different in the car. At dinner, he’d been quiet, sort of watchful over Manish. Now he’s a little boisterous. Almost bouncy. He narrates and points things out as he drives. We go through Chinatown and he shows me Dragon’s Gate and his favorite dim sum spot—I don’t bother mentioning I have no idea what dim sum is. “Though the best Chinese food is in the Avenues,” he adds. We drive down curvy Lombard Street, which he mocks as touristy. We agree this is nearly always the case: The must-sees from guidebooks are all wrong. “Yet here I am taking you down this stupid road,” he says, downshifting.

Maybe it’s only the activity of driving. Or maybe he’s intentionally amped his charm, becoming more of the salesman I anticipated. A wonder, Manish said.

Seth wants to hear about sights in Boston, where he’s only traveled for business a couple of times.