Page 67 of Engineering a Love Story

Alice laughs, a big throaty guffaw that seems too large to have come from her small body. “Oh, but you can’t say that either. I met my husband when we worked together at Salomon Brothers years ago. He was my boss, and I had to quit that job. But we’ve been married almost twenty years and have two boys, teenagers now who seem unlikely to ever stop growing.” Her happiness just mentioning these boys is obvious in her face. “I couldn’t ever say I made the wrong decision.” She shakes her head. “I’m only advising caution.”

That night, I have dinner by myself at a tiny Italian spot near my hotel. I order an expensive glass of wine and a portion of pesto pasta that’s topped with something white and creamy that the waiter insists is mozzarella, though I think he must be confused.

The next morning, I have my first client meeting as an analyst on the application development team. Tracy, just returned from her honeymoon, asked me to join a call with American Airlines, which is attempting to retool its teams for web development. We speak with the airline guys about how they’re updating their department, spending a significant chunk of time discussing how they might retrain older programmers or at least try to contain them. It’s about managing their Donnys, is all I can think. How to recruit from more diverse schools. Build staff internationally. Hire more women.

It’s fascinating. And satisfying, like it might be possible for me to effect even some small change in the industry, advising guys like these.

After the call, Tracy and I remain in the conference room, sitting at the large table with our laptops open. She expresses delight that I’m now on Alice’s team, and we toss around ideas of how we might turn some of the topics from the American Airlines conversation into written research.

As we both work through email, Tracy tells me about her brief honeymoon in South Carolina and their plans to take a longer trip to Europe next year. She also jokes about her intention to retain her maiden name. “I already changed it once. And then back, which led to the worst conversations. Clients asked, ‘Oh, did you get married?’ And I had to explain it was the opposite.” She makes a face. “But wait, is Lefevre your married name? Didn’t you change it?”

“No, I never did. Ash, my ex-husband, his last name is Kelsey.” I give her a moment to process.

Tracy’s brow furrows briefly, then she titters. “You would’ve been Chelsea Kelsey.” She chuckles again, eyes on her screen. “Good call.”

“I always thought it sounded like the start of a nursery rhyme.”

“Chelsea Kelsey, short and stealthy,” Tracy sings. Her eyes flick to me. The details of my situation, the reasons behind my sudden transfer to Alice’s group, are known around the office.

“Yes,” I say. “Apparently.” And then laughter sweeps over us both. Tracy dabs at the mascara in the corners of her eyes and there’s a loosening in my chest. When did I last laugh?

Before I leave, I stop to see Alice.

“It was good to have you here.” She leans back in her chair. “What’s your appetite for relocating?”

“To New York?”

“Sure.” Alice sits forward. “It’s not mandatory. The team is distributed. You could live anywhere.” She pauses. “Like Walter. You know he’s in Amsterdam. But if you’re interested, quite a few of us are here and it does create good camaraderie.”

I say I’ll think about it but decide before I even leave her office that I’ll do more than that. I’m already five months into my lease, and while I love my apartment, moving suddenly seems like an excellent idea. I’ve never lived outside of Massachusetts. Moving across the small state once felt monumental, but now I recognize the world is so much larger than I realized, and I’m capable of being out in it. I could move to New York. Or peruse Gilroy’s list of worldwide offices and choose any spot. It feels like a gift, one I’ve given myself.

All that will come later though. Right now, I have to catch the mid-afternoon train back to Boston. There’s some urgency; it’s Election Day and I have to vote.

Forty

I skid into the community center two blocks from my building thirty minutes before the polls close. Casting my ballot isn’t really of great importance; there is little doubt that Al Gore will carry Massachusetts. Still, I want to do it.

After voting and grabbing sushi at the market, I return to my apartment and am listening to the news on the radio when Travis calls. “I’m at the Blue Note watching the returns. Come by?”

I put on a coat and am just leaning to switch off my stereo when an NPR reporter announces that Gore has won Florida’s electoral votes. I let out a cheerful whoop and pause to listen. There are various scenarios that could lead either man to the White House, but Florida is crucial for either of them to get there.

With that news, there’s a lightness in my step as I walk the few short blocks to the Blue Note, which is more crowded than usual. There’s the din of clattering silverware and heated conversations, and the TVs above the bar are all tuned to CNN. I exhale, relieved to be in Cambridge where there’s little doubt of the allegiance of most of these patrons.

Travis sits at the bar and Lars is on a stool beside him. There are no empty seats, and Lars stands. “Here.” He motions for me to sit and then towers behind us as we watch the TVs. I order a blue drink.

“They called Florida for Gore,” Travis says.

I tell him I heard before I left my apartment. “Where’s Daisuke?”

“Home. Studying. He couldn’t care less about this.” Travis motions toward the TV.

Florida is the start of a spate of good news. In the next hour, the network calls Michigan for Gore and after that, Pennsylvania. With California still to come and expected to go to Gore, the broadcasters begin speaking as if Gore has won the election, and the mood in the bar turns celebratory. There are shouts and cheers whenever a state goes into Gore’s column. Some people farther down the bar buy everyone shots after the Pennsylvania call.

Our attention shifts away as a feeling of relief settles over us. Al Gore will be our next president. The cheerful atmosphere is contagious and I stay to drink with many other patrons, all of us basking in the happy results.

And then, when most of us are only half paying attention, a CNN breaking news alert recants the earlier announcement about Florida, saying the state is now too close to call. They remove the electoral votes from Gore’s tally. The crowd quiets and we all stare at the TVs.

“What just happened?” I turn to Travis, whose eyes are on the screens.