Page 34 of Engineering a Love Story

Seth rests his chin to the left of my belly button. “Is that so hard to believe? Are there no Republicans in Massachusetts?”

“Not many.” I shake my head against the pillow. “They’re easily avoidable.”

Seth breathes a laugh and lowers his head, gently pushing open my thighs. I look at all those dark curls. This might deserve further discussion. George W. Bush?

But then his tongue is on me, and my breath goes, then my thoughts. I let W fall into a category with Manish, Ash, Alan Greenspan, my father, and all the other men I’m not thinking about today. Seth’s politics don’t matter. We’re not having a relationship, as he so clearly said just a little while ago. Seth’s mouth moves on me consistently, almost relentlessly until I make sounds that might be embarrassing if I were aware enough control them. The dizziness passes through me in an ecstatic whoosh, then Seth is above me again, and I’m lost to it, astounded that I ever tried to convince myself I could tolerate a life without this.

When I rest against Seth’s chest, he says, “You and I have spent the majority of the last twenty-four hours in bed. What do you say we put some clothes on and go get some fried chicken?”

Out the window, it’s nearly dark. I had only the pastries earlier.

“I have new clothes,” I say.

“Excellent. Do you feel like putting them on?”

I extract myself from the bed and find my new outfit. Seth bites the tags off my sweater, doles out an appropriate amount of praise, and we go to dinner.

Nineteen

Seth takes me to a restaurant housed in an industrial space with ceilings that soar. Dishes and voices echo, and we tuck next to each other in a half-circle leather booth. I glance at the menu, a thin paper pinned under the metal hinge of a clipboard, but Seth recommends the fried chicken so enthusiastically, I let him order. I’m less interested in what I eat than I am in resting my palm on the worn softness of Seth’s jeans.

A few minutes after our server delivers platters of fried chicken and Brussels sprouts, Seth points at me, his finger wet with chicken grease, and notes his pleasure at seeing me eat. “You’re … not a large person.” He twirls his finger. “Lots of elbows and sharp angles.”

“Pretty sure it’s the usual number,” I say, though I don’t like discussing my size. My whole family is small, but even so, over the years I’ve had to play defense. Early on, there was possibly genuine concern about a lack of food at home, and later, more spiteful accusations about an eating disorder. “I don’t have a problem with food,” I say. I think of all the times in recent weeks when I’ve forced down a sandwich or some other form of sustenance. “Food is only functional. I worry about a million other things.”

“Such as?”

I blow out a puff of air. “You name it. Money. Screwing up? Work. Did I already mention money? Making the wrong choices. Hurting people.” I think of Ash’s call this afternoon and fork sprouts around on my plate.

Seth brings a piece of chicken to his mouth. After he swallows, he wipes his hands on a paper napkin and leans back. “I get it. We never really know what people are dealing with.” He smiles wide. “Thus, the green apples.”

I laugh and pile a few sprouts on my fork. “So what is it with you?” I point at his nearly empty plate. “I’m guessing you don’t have food issues.” Seth reaches for another piece of cornbread and shakes his head. “What then? Is there no green apple?”

He chews, swallows, and looks at me. “I definitely am trying to not feel like I’m only pretending. You know: now starring Seth Murphy as VP of Sales.” He makes a face. “That I’m supposed to be here and not because I was Manish’s debate team partner.”

I question how that can be, when he’s the co-founder of such a hot start-up and not even thirty. What more does he expect?

“It’s Manish’s company.”

I watch him. “Tell me what you did before.”

Seth eats the last of his Brussels sprouts. Then he explains that he had a job at Qualcomm the summer before college. “They have a program, you know, a best-and-brightest thing, from local high schools.” That first summer he was an intern in a sales engineering group. When school started in the fall, since he was staying local, they hired him part-time. And he just worked, which isn’t hard to envision. He basically held a full-time job all during college. After he graduated, he assumed he’d remain with the company. “Like, I didn’t interview anywhere else or go to recruitment events. Or anything.” But then Qualcomm insisted he attend a new college-grad program, and he was so angry, he quit. “I’d worked there for four years and now I had to go to new-hire training?” Seth tosses a wadded paper napkin onto the table. “This was one of those periods when my dad was not … in a position to help at all. Not that he would have anyway,” Seth says. “And it was 1992. It’s been so different the last few years, but do you remember how difficult it was to find a job in 1992?”

I do, though I’m surprised to see the stress in Seth’s face. I assumed he was someone for whom everything had come easy.

“It was time for me to get out of Orange County anyway,” he adds.

“Then what did you do?”

He confesses to a few lost years. “I went to live with my mother in Tucson, tended bar, maybe just to piss my dad off. Or prove him right.” Seth rests an arm along the back of the booth. “Later I went to Park City, worked at a resort there. I met some guys that winter from Novell. When the ski season ended, they hired me to run a sales engineering team, which grew 150 percent in the two years I was there. That’s when Manish called and asked me to join Aurelian.”

The waitress clears our plates and recites a dessert menu. Seth orders an apple tart.

I again question how he can feel unqualified for his current role.

“I’m at Aurelian because of Manish. He vouched for me with the investors and with Vitalik. I feel pressure to prove myself every day. I’m there due to my connection to Manish, but not as a favor to him, you know? I can’t ever have anyone think I don’t deserve my position.”

Seth shouldn’t be here with me. Maybe for the first time, I consider what this means for him, lying to Manish and behaving in a way that could be seen as unprofessional or possibly detrimental to Aurelian. I don’t want to reconcile this with what’s gone on for the past twenty-four hours, but I have to. Neither of us should be here.