Page 75 of Engineering a Love Story

He spins toward my voice. “Oh, thank Christ. Chelsea.”

I push my bike across the street. “You’re here.”

“Jesus fuck, it’s so cold.” Seth stands on the cement stairs of my building surrounded by plastic grocery bags, and there’s alarm in his voice. His laptop case cuts across his body. A duffel hangs from one shoulder. His jeans are caked with snow halfway to his knees, and he’s wearing only a lightweight green fleece. “I didn’t know it could get this cold.”

“What are you doing here?” I reach the stairs and lean my bike against a railing.

“Were you biking?”

I step over two grocery bags and stand before Seth, putting one gloved finger out to poke him. His smell—cinnamon and maybe a little airplane—reaches me. Having him so close makes my stomach twist in the best and worst ways. I want to yell, bang his chest, and squeeze inside his shirt all at the same time. I take the sides of his fleece with both hands and rest my head against him.

“I had to,” I say. “It’s such a nice morning.”

Seth laughs and I step closer. His bag juts into my side, and he shifts it back as he folds me in his arms. A few tears slide from my eyes, and I quickly wipe them. We stand together on the steps for several moments. Then he kisses the top of my head and says, “Do you think we could go upstairs? Honest to God, I can’t feel my hands.”

Wiping my face, I say, “Yes. Sorry.” I reach for the grocery bags and he lifts my bike. “What is all this stuff?” We pull the door open and start up the stairs.

“I didn’t know what I was going to do, if you weren’t here. If you decided to drive to your dad’s after all—I didn’t see your car anywhere. My grand romantic gesture and I was going to freeze to death on the sidewalk. I was about to ring Hector.”

I shake my head. “He would not have let you in.” We round the hall from the stairs and walk toward my door. “Travis and Daisuke borrowed my car.”

“I don’t understand how it can be this cold. I was just here, what, two months ago? And it was hot as Hades.”

“Welcome to New England.”

In the apartment, Seth places my bike in the hall and we put all his bags down on the living room floor. I straighten and look from the bags to him.

“I couldn’t take it,” he says. “The thought of you here by yourself, eating some kind of terrible food. I didn’t get on that flight to Tucson. Obviously. I took the red-eye, got a taxi, convinced the driver to take me to a grocery store. There weren’t many options at six in the morning, but this guy took me to a place in his neighborhood—which is called Chelsea! That felt like divine providence, though I was punchy at that point.” He motions to the spread of bags on the floor. “But I got everything.”

I look again at the bags and back at him.

“Shit.” He falters. “I had this planned out. I thought about it all night on the plane, but now I’m just so cold.” Seth crosses his hands in front of his body. “Maybe we could sit?”

We go to the sofa and I toss him my new blanket. He buries his hands in its softness and inclines his body forward. “I know you said we can’t do this,” he begins. “And I hope you don’t feel I’ve encroached by coming here. I don’t mean to ignore your wishes. So first and foremost, if you want me to leave, I can go back to the airport right now. Not a problem.”

“No.” I run my hand against the wet leg of his jeans. “I don’t want that.”

“Fantastic. I don’t want that either. Clearly. Second, we can simply have Thanksgiving.” Seth motions again to the bags on the floor. “It’s all there. Turkey, the fixings, salt and pepper, a knife, even an aluminum fucking roasting pan. And I bought what I think must be the ingredients for a maple syrup cake, though I also bought the most expensive chocolate that Chelsea grocery store had because maybe chocolate cake would just be better?” He lifts one palm and a brow.

I laugh. “Never.”

“Either way. A birthday cake for you. We can eat. Enjoy ourselves. And it doesn’t have to be anything more than that.” Seth weaves cold fingers through mine. “But you should know. I’m very interested in the full deal.”

I laugh again and rest my head on his arm. “You were always interested in that. You didn’t have to fly all the way out here to tell me about it.”

“I don’t mean sex. Or, not just sex.” Seth runs an icy finger along my chin. “Have you ever heard of a fiat? It’s a thing from debate. You agree at the start of a debate that something is true. Often, some improbable or irrational thing. And then, you debate with that unlikely thing as a declared truth. It’s not up for debate. So to speak.” His fingers move into my hair. “I want us to start from the shared truth that we love each other.”

My tears start again, quietly escaping my eyes.

“We don’t have to decide anything more than that now,” he continues. “As I said, I’m in for all of it—the full deal, the great love—whatever we want to call it. But we can go as fast or as slow as you want.” I start to speak, but he lifts his hand. “I know you’re not even divorced—”

“Actually, I did. I mean, I am. Last month.”

“Really? You didn’t tell me.”

“We weren’t talking then.”

Seth dips his head. “I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry about all of it. And I want you to know. I can quit my job. I thought about it all night. I’ll just get a different one. What does it matter? Then this can work for us.” He puts his hands on my legs.