Page 39 of Engineering a Love Story

There’s nothing wrong with any of that. Yet I can’t shake its dullness.

Before I can think too much about it, I’m back in my chair, writing to Seth, saying I’d love to see him again. Call. We can compare travel schedules.

I leave, buzzing with a new expectant energy. I know I made Seth wait for my email and maybe I deserve a slow response now, but this feels like a big step, taking this forward. I expect I’ll hear from him soon. Maybe our schedules will align and we’ll see each other in a week or two. I wonder if Seth might even call that night.

Twenty-Three

Seth, most surely, does not call. Not that night, when I’m puttering in my apartment, nor in the days that follow. I spend the whole weekend listening for the phone. Then, a week goes by and we’re into another weekend, and still I hear nothing from Seth.

I try not to obsess, to not repeatedly check my phone for missed calls, even though I have it always on and with me. To not continually refresh my inbox at all hours. I read and reread his email trying to uncover a way I might have misunderstood. Had my own reply not sent? Checking my sent messages (again and again) proves it had. As the days wear on, I’m increasingly uneasy and angry at myself for feeling like I’m missing something I never had.

Late Saturday afternoon, more than a week after I sent Seth my note and after a day spent artificially busying myself with tasks, attempting to distract myself from the gnawing discomfort in my gut, I break down and call Bethany.

She sounds frazzled. Dishes clink in the background and she says she’s just returned from one of her first shifts back at the library. “Gus was home with Madison, so it should be fine. But I leaked through my blouse and had a knot in my stomach all day.”

In the face of her challenges, I nearly lose my nerve, but Bethany presses me on what’s been happening since my move, and my head is flooded with nothing but Seth.

I spill the whole story, finishing with Seth’s silence. I’m short of breath and a little sweaty when I finally stop talking. Bethany’s dishes have quieted.

“Holy shit,” she says.

“Yeah.”

“Well, great sex is great sex. And I’m glad you’ve had some. Truly, I am—”

“It’s not just sex,” I say, wanting to explain how the museum, the tour, the talking, the fried chicken all seem somehow sexier in my memories than even the sex.

But Bethany cuts me off. “You know just about anything is bound to be tremendous right now. Right? Anyone.” She sounds impatient, and maybe this is only a leftover from her difficult day, but I feel it acutely.

“Maybe.”

There’s a long pause. Then Bethany says, “Remember how Gretchen went to India? She sent an email the other day. She’s staying there. She’s in love with her guru.” Bethany releases a low laugh. “So much for finding herself.” I flush, feeling the need to defend myself, but Bethany continues, her tone gentler. “You don’t want to think you’ve fallen in love. So soon? Life doesn’t work that way. And I mean, a guy like that? You know when he’ll call? When he’s in town looking for a bed.” I hear several taps, Bethany’s fingernail clicking against her phone’s mouthpiece. “He’s probably got you lined up all over the country.”

I can’t argue. I pegged Seth as a player from the start, didn’t I? Still, hearing her say out loud what I haven’t wanted to believe lodges a hard nut of pain in my chest. I murmur my weak assent.

As soon as I’m able, I change the subject, asking Bethany for tidbits about Madison. I’m relieved when she launches into the baby’s recent milestones, and when, a few minutes later, I hear Gus calling her in the background, and she says she has to go.

I regret sharing anything about Seth out loud. I only feel more foolish now.

After I lower the phone, I stand and am quickly out the door. The summer light illuminates the evening, and for the third time this week, I pull my old bicycle from my front hall.

The first time, I went to a bike shop in Central Square and asked a stocky guy with a braided gray beard to swap out the toe clips for normal pedals. Then, I rode. Ash would find my rides unimpressive as they’re only pleasant loops along the footpath that runs by the Charles. I dodge joggers, pretend I don’t know bikes aren’t allowed on that path, and enjoy the view of the river and skyline.

Tonight, I venture farther. I ride up Mass Ave until I hook up with the bike path and am well into Arlington before the light dims and I have to turn toward home. I feel I’ve burned off some frustrated energy, even if I’m satisfied with nothing else.

***

On Sunday, I wake grumpy and sour, anticipating another day of solitude and silence. I’m disgusted with myself for letting Seth derail me, but I also seem unable to stop listening for his call.

I go to the lobby to collect my newspaper and am just picking it up from the pile in the foyer when the door to my curly-haired neighbor Hector’s apartment pops open. He eyes me suspiciously. In the few weeks I’ve been in the apartment, Hector has accused me once of stealing his paper, even though it had been a day when the newspapers clearly had not been delivered. Hector says nothing now, and I clutch my paper, bid him good morning, and scamper back up the stairs.

I’ve just spread the newspaper on the floor when my cell phone rings. I lurch for it, knowing even as I do that it’s too early for a call from the West Coast. When I see my father’s number on the caller ID, I release an audible exhale.

It’s shocking he’s called my cell phone at all. He only accepted its new number begrudgingly when I first gave it to him early this year. “For when I’m traveling,” I’d said then. “You’ll always be able to reach me.” He’d shaken his head, as if he’d never need to do such a thing, but he’d shoved the paper with my number into the pocket of his jeans anyway.

Now, I realize he’s likely dug it out because he’s been calling my old house phone, which has been disconnected. I shouldn’t have let things go this long.

I say hello and apologize for not being in touch. As quickly as I can, without allowing him time to interrupt, I explain about my move.