Page 73 of Engineering a Love Story

“You don’t need it? Aren’t you going home?” I told him I’d already visited my father. “But then what will you do?”

As I explained, Travis gave me a painfully sympathetic look, and I told him to knock it off. “I’m accepting the holidays are going to be trying and weird this year no matter what, and so I’m just going to sit this one out. I’ll visit my dad at Christmas. It will be fine.”

I’m actually looking forward to the long weekend alone. A string of quiet days with nothing but books, music, and the food I want to eat. Plus, I think if I spend the holiday alone, at least I won’t feel like anyone’s child.

Travis and Lian insist on taking me for a birthday lunch. Over noodles, Lian informs us she broke up with Ryan.

“Last night,” she says with an eerie calm. “I finally worked up the nerve to tell my parents about him. I invited him for Thanksgiving, but he called to say he could only stop by for a couple of hours on his way to Vermont with a few of his bros—that’s actually what he said. All at once I knew he shouldn’t bother.” She never wanted to move to Texas anyway. Travis and I both gush about how glad we are she’s staying in Boston.

By early afternoon, it’s silent in the analyst pen. I finish work on my latest piece of research, a collaboration with Tracy on recommendations for staffing engineering teams for the new decade. Talking to programmers every day in this new role, thinking about how applications are constructed again, has been unexpectedly pleasing—like running into an old friend. I steeled myself for Alice’s first team meeting, when I had to be on the phone with Walter, but he greeted me graciously, and I swallowed my pride, determined to put that episode behind me. I’ll do The Symp right next year.

By the time I send Tracy my final edits, it’s mid-afternoon and nearly dark out. Certain I’m the only person here, I pack up, leave the analyst pen, and switch off the overhead lights.

“Hey!” The shout of protest comes from several cubes away. I turn the lights back on and go to see who’s there.

It’s Evan.

“Oh,” I say as I arrive where Evan is standing in the opening of his cube. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”

He rests a hand on the back of his chair. “I’m going soon. I’m on the five o’clock to New York.”

“Thanksgiving with your parents?”

“You bet. Turkey with the ’rents on the Upper East Side. Always a good time.”

I haven’t spoken to Evan since I yelled at him in this exact spot. I was in New York meeting with Alice, and in the weeks since, Evan must have been away. Or we’ve simply managed to avoid each other, something I’ve also been able to do with Howard.

“Evan,” I start. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that here in the office.”

“I should be the one apologizing.”

“Can I ask why you didn’t tell me? About the conversation you had with Jason?”

“I started to.” And I do remember Evan bringing up Seth at Simon and Tracy’s wedding. I hadn’t wanted to discuss it. “But then it seemed like everyone knew.” His lip curls a little, and he slowly spins his chair, his eyes watching it go. “I don’t know. Maybe I was pissed. Or I just got drunk. I can’t remember. But I am sorry.” Evan lifts his gaze to me. It’s a poor excuse, obviously selfish and immature. “I hate that you lost your job and I got it—that wasn’t my plan.”

“Whether you told Jason or not, what happened to me—and to you—was going to happen. I wasn’t angry about that.” I reconsider. “Or maybe I was. And I was mad you didn’t warn me. But I took my frustration and embarrassment out on you too.” I think of all the selfish and immature things I’ve done in recent months—years. I want it all behind me. “Let’s forget it. Alice is great. I’ll probably end up liking it more than the e-banking stuff.” I adjust my bag on my shoulder. “How’s that all going?”

Evan grimaces and pushes the chair into another spin. “It’s a big load without you. Howard thinks the banks are slowing online projects, but I don’t see it. Seems to me it’s all going online sooner or later.”

***

When I leave Evan, I go outside, where a light snow is falling. I decide to walk home, fluffing white puffs with my feet as I trudge up Broadway. The market is insanely crowded, and I try not to feel self-conscious as I load my small basket with creamy soup, a carton of chicken salad, a baguette, expensive fruit. I even stop at the package store and ask the older man behind the counter to recommend a decent bottle of wine.

In my lobby, I leave a small bag for Hector. After the altercation with Lars, Hector has nodded at me several times when we’ve passed each other. This seems like progress. Twice I’ve left him little thank you gifts—a bottle of wine to replace the one Seth took, and on another day, some Puerto Rican candies I noticed at the convenience store near our building. I don’t leave him any food today, in case he’s away, but I tie a plastic bag containing the latest issue of Boston Magazine, which previews top vacation spots for 2001, to his doorknob. Who doesn’t like dreaming of travel?

I make my small dinner, pour a glass of wine, and settle on my sofa with Jane Eyre. This one I’ve read before, and I look forward to losing myself in her improbable love story all weekend.

I’ve just finished eating when my phone rings. I find it on the floor, hold it above my head, and am startled to see that it’s Seth. I stare at the tiny screen for several seconds, then bring the phone to my ear, close my eyes, and say hello.

“I just wanted to say happy birthday.” His breath comes in hurried puffs.

“Wow. Thank you. Good memory.”

“And happy Thanksgiving. I hope this is okay. You don’t mind my calling?”

Seth’s voice is already flowing like warm liquid through my veins. “I don’t mind. Happy Thanksgiving.”

Neither of us says anything for a moment. His breath is active in my ear. I pull a lightweight blanket I purchased recently, soft and cozy for winter nights, up and around me.