Page 38 of Engineering a Love Story

I attempt to catch Ash’s eye. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen him, the longest we’ve been apart since college. He won’t look at me though, and when I remember all his recent silence, as I’ve scratched and scrambled to get here, my anger returns. I lower my eyes.

We sign and sign. Periodically, one of the lawyers takes papers from us and pushes over new stacks, with a brief explanation each time. Everyone jumps whenever Denny shifts and his watch slams against the table. After a while, to distract myself, I count his bangs and as my tally passes ten, I realize our realtor does this on purpose, so that everyone notices his shiny watch. When we finally finish signing, Denny collects his commission check and is gone.

As the buyers’ attorney also packs up, I look from Ash to Boops, wondering if I should simply slip out too.

I know my marriage is over. I’m no longer part of the Kelsey family. But what does that mean? Will I just never speak to any of them again?

There were so many unconventional family dynamics in my neighborhood growing up. People living with grandparents and step-grandparents, aunts, siblings, half-siblings, friends—all kinds of odd arrangements, some awful, but many functional and at times even effective. Given the friendship Boops and I shared, I can’t seem to fully release my hope that it might continue.

Once we’re in the hallway, Ash excuses himself to use the rest room, and Boops and I move toward the elevators. Side-by-side, we stand and watch the numbers above the elevator tick up, and I decide I want to let her know what she’s meant to me.

I thank her for her kindness. “I always—”

“I’m not sure what you think is happening here.” There’s a barely contained anger in her voice, a tone I’ve never heard Boops use with anyone. She shifts her weight toward me. “You need to leave Ashton alone.”

Heat leaps to my cheeks. “But—we’ve hardly spoken.”

“All those calls to the lake. And who knows when else—”

“I haven’t been—”

“We tried with you, Chelsea, we really did.” Her voice goes whispery. “I’d hoped that whatever gaps you had, I could fill them. I never blamed you for seeking a mother, and Ash’s dad tried to be a father to you—”

“I have a father.”

Boops makes a dismissive sound, and I’m flooded with an unexpected defensiveness. I try to remember when Boops even last saw my father. I think it was on our wedding day, though I don’t gain any reassurance from that memory. Boops and Ash’s dad had insisted the whole production cost almost nothing, because they hosted it at their club. But all that food? The flowers? My father probably didn’t buy their story either, but he didn’t argue or try to pay—he couldn’t.

I hadn’t even been in a good mood that day, ostensibly because it was drizzly, and that poor weather came after a string of gorgeous, blue-skied days, and I’d felt cheated. Probably, I wanted the pomp of a perfect party, the excitement of a big celebration to make up for the lack of emotion I felt about what I was actually doing.

And I was embarrassed. Of myself and of the Lefevre men in their funeral suits, so noticeable in the sea of pastels and blue blazers. In retrospect, my father and his brothers displayed remarkably good behavior that day. Still, I can’t even remember thanking them for making the drive all the way to the North Shore—a huge outing for any of them.

“No more phone calls,” Boops says. Over her shoulder, I see Ash exit the men’s room and make his way toward us. The elevator dings its arrival. “Just leave us alone.”

“Hey.” Ash arrives and looks from me to his mother. “What’s up?”

Boops says nothing. She turns her attention to the elevator as its doors glide open, but she doesn’t move.

I wonder if she ever liked me at all. Maybe she only made the best of what she saw as the bad situation Ash thrust them all into. As she would.

I step in and turn. “Nothing,” I say, realizing I’ll likely never lay eyes on Boops again. “I have to get back to work.” Neither of them joins me in the elevator, and I exhale as I push the down button.

***

Back at the office, I bury myself in the blur of a busy afternoon. I plug away at the Market Spotlight, and I have a call with a new client, a regional bank in the Midwest just beginning its first online project. I let myself relax into competency, providing this guy an overview of the market, the vendors he should evaluate, and pitfalls he’ll want to avoid.

The office is quiet in the way it always is on Friday afternoons in August. Both Evan and Lian are gone, but Travis is next to me until late in the day, and his patter about networking gear soothes me. He stops by a little after five, his bag across his body.

“How’d it go?” he asks.

“Good enough. It’s over.” I shrug, not wanting to rehash any of it. “What’s up with you? Any Daisuke news?”

“Labor Day. Almost definitely.” The saga with Daisuke’s visa and financial aid has dragged on. “Though, believe it when I see it.”

I ask Travis if he wants to get a drink, thinking I’ll feel more upbeat if we can go to the Blue Note. Unpacking and working can carry me through the weekend.

But Travis says he’s heading to Provincetown, a friend waiting downstairs for him already. I paste enthusiasm onto my face and encourage him to have a great weekend.

At six, the office is empty. I slide my laptop into its case and lift my bag, which is heavy with my copies of the papers from Monty’s office. As I pack up, I anticipate the evening ahead. I found there’s a nice market near my apartment, one that has prepackaged meals. I’ll stop there, do some more settling in, maybe read. The Sox are on the West Coast, but I can catch the start of the game on the radio later.