Page 22 of Engineering a Love Story
Things are going so well here at Aurelian, our customer list changes almost daily. I want to make sure we get you the latest! I’ve copied Seth Murphy, our VP of Sales. He’ll send you our current list.
Don’t hesitate to reach out if we can do anything else!
Regards,
Claire
I hardly have time to react before I receive an email from Seth, my whole body tensing at the sight of his name nestled among the others in my inbox.
June 23, 2000
To: Chelsea Lefevre
CC: Claire Sanchez, Evan Feinberg
From: Seth Murphy
Subject: Re: Current Signed Customers
Hi Chelsea,
Our latest list of signed customers is attached.
Seth
I stare at the perfunctory email, a small knot of embarrassment tightening in my abdomen. I know Seth can’t say anything more, not with Evan and Claire copied. Still, his all-business tone deflates me.
I’m readying a brief reply of thanks when there’s an additional email from Claire.
June 23, 2000
To: Chelsea Lefevre
CC: Seth Murphy, Evan Feinberg
From: Claire Sanchez
Subject: Re: Current Signed Customers
Thanks Seth! Given that we’re growing so quickly, could you update Chelsea with our new deals for the next couple of months, until she publishes this report?
Thanks!!
Claire
Monthly updates aren’t really necessary, though I’m not going to contradict Claire. I wait to see if Seth will accept this task, wondering if I’ll be receiving emails from him for months, each arriving with a weird combination of excitement and shame.
Seth doesn’t reply, and I’m unable to spend much time worrying about this because at five that afternoon, Denny calls. “Took a young family through your place just now,” he says. “They’re relocating from the Midwest.” I hear papers shuffling. “Ohio? It’s a business transfer, so they’re pressed for time. You’re about to get an offer.”
Knowing we’re likely to accept almost anything, I feel a weight lifted. Though my next thought quickly brings me down: I need to find somewhere to live.
July
Twelve
I see so many awful places. There’s the basement unit just north of Harvard Square that smells of wet dog and has a half inch of black mold on its bathroom ceiling. The third floor of a triple decker on the Cambridge-Somerville line that reeks so badly of natural gas, even the realtor is concerned. Worst of all is the shiny-new modern building on Mass Ave that isn’t like Cambridge at all. That one is only a studio, and despite the fact I hate the idea of sleeping in my living room, I’m considering it—until I ask the leasing agent for the paperwork, and she calls her office and finds that the unit has already been rented. There aren’t any others available in the building.
I completely underestimated how difficult it would be to find a new apartment. I forgot that leases in Cambridge—and most of Boston—run from September, the start of the school year, not the end. I hadn’t planned appropriately. But then, I hadn’t planned any of this at all.
