Page 77 of Engineering a Love Story

“Singapore. You could come with me.”

“To Singapore?”

“It’s the most amazing city. The water is an incredible shade of blue-green and skyscrapers rub right up against it.”

“Seth, I can’t …” I’m not even sure I can find Singapore on a map with any degree of certainty.

“Or you could visit. Either way.” He stops and breathes in. “I know I need to make some changes. Like, no more blowing off hard decisions and floating along, assuming life will sort itself out, acting like I can’t fail if I refuse to grow up, like none of the things my father says are true if nothing’s decided yet. I don’t want to hide from it all anymore. You know?”

It hadn’t ever occurred to me that Seth’s avoidance, his casualness about everything, was a form of hiding, but now his words resonate. All those years I hid.

“I get that,” I say.

He pulls me closer. “Mostly, working like a fiend allows me to not think too much about any of it. But I can’t do that anymore. I want this, to build a career for myself, work abroad, be an adult—all of it. But I want to do those things with you. I don’t want to spend the next two years just hunched over a laptop, shutting out real life. If you join me, for whatever amount of time, we can travel together. Experience the world. And maybe that’s also the grown-up way, seizing an opportunity when it arises. How many chances will either of us have to do something like this?”

I take in Seth’s face, which looks so young and full of hope. I want to soak up that optimism, but it’s a lot to take on all at once. Singapore?

“Everything is better when we’re together,” he continues. “We’ll see Asia. Eat noodles from street vendors. And the chicken and rice, my god, you won’t believe—” He stops and takes a deep breath. I tilt my head. “Sorry,” he says. “Talking about chicken and rice was not part of my plan. My point—or I guess my hope—is that we can agree that this improbable thing has happened. We’ve fallen in love.” He stops. “But I shouldn’t … what do you say?”

“About which part?”

“Any of it. All of it.”

Seth’s jeans are defrosting into wet puddles on my sofa, and I take his cold hand. “Definitely yes to turkey. And my cake.” I squeeze his hand. “And yes to your debate thing.” He’s smiling, encouraging me. “I don’t know what to say right now about Singapore.” He dips his head, conceding that one. “But I do love you.”

Seth pushes the blanket away and kisses me. I shed a few more tears and he wipes them with the back of his hand, which is slowly thawing. After we sit close for a few minutes, I ask if he might want to remove any of his wet clothing. He agrees this is a good idea.

When we get to the bedroom, he motions to the ice-encrusted windows. “Whatever that is, I have no clothes for it. Everything in my duffel is for Tucson, where it’s supposed to be eighty degrees today. I am basically going to be your prisoner here for the next few days.”

“We can make that work.”

May 2001

Forty-Six

I’m flying west to Singapore this time after a one-night stop in San Francisco. I had meetings yesterday, and Manish took me for Indian food last night before my late-night departure. Confessing my absolute ignorance about everything on the menu, I let him order. It was just the two of us, but there was enough food on the table for six, all delicious, though one orange dish was so spicy, it turned my nose wet and runny. Manish laughed and teased me too about my trip to Singapore, wanting me to know he takes credit.

“For?”

“Introducing you!” He’s tickled with the whole situation and told me he’d never seen Seth as happy as he’d been in the weeks after Thanksgiving.

Manish is living alone now, since Vitalik moved out late last year and Seth has gone to Asia. He’s looking for a new place. “Much easier to find an apartment in San Francisco these days,” he reported. “Everything has changed from a year ago.”

It’s dark outside, as it has been for all the eight hours this plane has been fleeing the rising sun. I look at my watch, trying to comprehend that we have another eight hours to go. It seems impossible that any place can be so far away.

When I flew to Singapore the first time, back in March, I went east from Boston via Europe. Client meetings took me to Paris, Milan, and Munich before I made it to Singapore, where I was slated to speak at The Symp, APAC edition.

Alice pulled strings to get me on the agenda for that event, and she’s supportive of this longer visit now. I’d been nervous approaching her in early December, not wanting to make a special request so soon after transferring to her team. But if working even part of the time from Singapore wasn’t an option, I had to know.

I was in New York for some year-ahead planning sessions, and it was the day Al Gore conceded the election, as it happened. Alice was reading the news on her computer when I interrupted her. Seeing me in her doorway, she removed her reading glasses and leaned back in her chair. We chatted about the election, and Alice expressed concern about the outcome, though she still approached the topic with her usual upbeat attitude.

“We’ll just have to hope for the best,” she said, “and that we can get through the next four years without anything too monumental happening. Not while Mr. W is driving the bus.”

I made my request to spend some time in Singapore.

“It might make for some calls at weird times,” Alice said. “I’ll still need you to support our U.S. clients. But it would be great to build rapport with dev teams there, find out what they’re up to on the internet. And we have an office in Singapore, so you can work from it as often or as long as you’d like.” She swung her glasses. “Sounds fantastic. Wish I could go.”

After leaving Alice, I called Seth, who was still in San Francisco, interviewing his potential replacements. “They’re all terrible,” he reported. He was relieved to hear of Alice’s support, though the election news had brought him down.