Harper's Rules (26 page)

“Jamie, let me just say it. I butt-dialed you. I'm sorry.”

“Okay. I don't know what that even means.”

“It means the phone was in my back pocket, I didn't realize it was on, I pressed up against something, it dialed your number. I'm so sorry.”

“Why, of all the numbers in your phone, was mine the one it dialed? Wouldn't you have had to scroll to it and consider calling, or maybe started calling, and then chose not to, in order for it to even be in a position where it could be . . . .what did you call it?”

“Butt-dialed. Ask your daughter, I'm not making it up. And yes, I almost called you.”

“To say what?”

“Jamie, I am stuck on I-95, trying to get to a meeting that could well determine a lot of very big things in my life.”

“Okay, so let me help. I'm an engineer. I've been trained in how to determine big things.”

There was something about how he said it. I found myself telling him to weigh in. “How does one determine big decisions?”

“It's simple. All the information about a larger entity can be found in a smaller piece of the same entity. You already know what you need to know.”

“Meaning stop trying to make a decision by looking at the big picture?”

“Exactly. Take the smallest possible picture, and you can extract everything you need to know about the big picture from what it tells you.”

I brought Jamie up to speed on my job offer. Was he saying that in the smallest possible element I could find my answer? That I already know what I need to know?

“Yes. Just like you know everything you need to know about me from a train ride and a butt dial. Bye, Casey.”

I spent the next hour trying to distract myself by changing lanes and jockeying for position. I tried not to think about what Jamie said. But I found myself scrolling, highlighting, and after a deep breath, pushing my green
SEND
button.

“Hi, Wallace. I decided I don't need until tomorrow. I thought we'd both rest easier if we just resolved this. I'm going to turn down the position.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. Because of the equity?”

I know Harper might be mad at me for doing this, but if what he says about relationships and jobs is true, then I'm doing the right thing. Wallace and I are in the infatuation stage. We'll never feel this way about each other again. If he can't commit to me now, how can I believe he will do it later when the daily grind exposes us both to be imposters of a sort?

“Thanks for everything, Wallace. You know you're going to miss me, right?”

“Have you told Harper your decision?”

“Nope, on the way to meet him.”

“Two percent.”

“What?”

“I will give you two percent of the company's stock coming in the door. Fully vested. Day one. Cisco makes their move, you hit a home run along with the rest of us.”

“Really? Oh my God, Wallace, I don't know what to say.”

“I would start with accepting, follow that up with a heartfelt thank you, and finish up by telling me I'll never regret it. But who am I to tell you what to do?”

“You're my new boss, that's who. Thank you, Wallace.”

I managed to get off I-95 and into a mini-mart for directions. They involved going back part of the way I had just come. Had I not gotten lost, I would have met Harper at the restaurant. I am convinced life is so much more about timing than it is intention.

I had to do a technically illegal U-turn to circumvent the underpass and begin to backtrack. If a cop was going to nab me, he would be parked in the commuter lot just before the entrance, so I did a full scan before I proceeded.

And there was Harper. His Porsche was in the middle of the commuter lot, and he was standing next to it. There was a Lincoln Navigator parked parallel to his car, and behind it a massive U-Haul truck. Maggie was talking to the driver of the U-Haul truck. I knew I should leave and wait at the restaurant for Harper, but I couldn't. Not until I knew he was all right. I pulled over just before the lot entrance and positioned my car behind a pickup truck. I was out of their sight line, but they were in mine.

Maggie and Harper spoke for a moment. He looked down and then away, and then she moved in as if to hug him, but he stiffened and she pulled back. She motioned behind him, and Jesse got out of Harper's car. She reached into the jump seat and took out a backpack.

This was the dreaded drop-off: a ritual performed in commuter lots on Friday nights all over the country. This early in the divorce, a neutral place is selected to minimize advantage and lack of convenience. It is designed to make the parting less emotional.

A woman I used to work with dreaded Fridays. Her kids were little; the youngest would scream bloody murder and beg her not to leave. The start of the longed-for weekend for the rest of us was the beginning of her nightmare.

Jess put her backpack down and fell into Harper's arms, exhausted. They spoke for a moment, he said something that made her laugh, and she went to the Lincoln—a brave girl trying to ease her dad's pain. I would find out later that Maggie had found a new home, she had primary custody, and she was taking Jess with her. Harper would see her only on weekends from now until she went to college. They had spent the whole day at Harper's house loading up the remnants deemed necessary for Jess and Maggie to feel whole at their new place. A home they had built and shared for fourteen years
was now looted in the purest sense, and Harper had to head home to it. And while this day had been coming for a long time—almost two years I would later find out—it was here now.

The truck and Navigator drove off. Harper stood by his car, folded his arms, waited patiently for the SUV and the U-Haul to get their green light and enter the freeway, and then, when he was sure they were out of sight, put his hands on top of his head and began to cry violently. I thought he was going to get sick, but these were just the arid convulsions of utter grief.

I had waited so long to see some side of him that wasn't protected, but I wasn't prepared for the other extreme. I opened the door to go to him, but another commuter, using the lot for more conventional reasons, rushed to him and was trying to comfort him. Harper waved him off. He needed something besides comfort.

I texted him. I told him that I had taken matters into my own hands since he was such a slacker. I told him that Wallace and I had come to terms and that I was the new VP of sales for InterAnnex, had full equity, and that I was grateful for all he had done. I hit
SEND
.

A few seconds later he took his phone out of his windbreaker, read my message, and broke into that crazy wide smile I do so love. He did a tiny fist pump in the air, and then rubbed his eyes, first with the closed fist and then with his sleeve. He looked twelve years old.

When he looked up, I was almost twenty feet away. I could tell he didn't want me to see him like this. He waved his phone and started to congratulate me, but then he surrendered. He opened his arms and burst back into tears as I wrapped my arms around him and waited out the shaking, the halted breathing.

“Please don't tell me it's going to be okay,” Harper managed. “I've been saying that to people for twenty years. And it's not true. It's not going to be okay.”

I nodded and said nothing, and squeezed tighter. Some things do not happen for a reason, are not for the best, and do not give you perspective. Some things just suck.

I got to Greenbriars first and asked for a booth in the back, just to save Harper any further embarrassment. But it wasn't necessary. He was composed. But, for the first time I saw the face of his father that was in that picture at the diner. Harper would age after all. Harper would die.

“Confidentiality is a headhunter's lifeblood, Casey. You know that, right? I've been holding back on you, and there are things you deserve to know, but I can only go so far. The details are between Maggie and me.”

This grave and wholly unnecessary pronouncement was interrupted by a waitress and two waiters bringing over a cake with candles in it. They sang the tune of “Happy
Birthday,” no doubt the extent of their play list, and substituted lame lyrics congratulating me on my new job. I glared at Harper. He shrugged.

“I thought we'd be celebrating because by now I would have made a brilliantly glib call to Wallace. Who knew you didn't need me?”

I blew out the candles, and the people near us clapped for me. I tipped my glass to them.

“Wallace was the lover,” Harper mused. “He had no chance.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote that in every relationship there is a Lover and a Loved. One party loves the other more than the other party does. It's a dirty secret nobody admits to. Fitzgerald said you want to be the Loved, not the Lover. The Lover gets a broken heart, the Loved gets her heart's desire. You were the Loved.”

And, it was clear to me, so was Maggie. The plot elements might change, the settings differ according to status, but it's all the same in the end. Harper began to sketch . . .

Apparently she met the man in Bloomberg's office; he was a promoter of tennis events, a nice guy, Harper conceded. Harper began to see the signs: the distancing, the brittle phone calls when Harper would call from the road, the slow cooling of ardor, the late nights out, with increasingly feeble justification. And that terrible period when you know but do not ask. You go to work, you concentrate on Jess. You tell yourself you'll write a book and help an old friend find a job.

Jamie was right—the smallest moment unveils the biggest picture. I loved Harper, but not in the way I thought. This crystal clear fact was astonishing to me. Then I did think of a question.

“So how did Wallace and DiDi Cooper and half of New York know you were going through a divorce? How did it go viral?”

“Oh. That. Well, early on, I was chasing rumors. I got some intel wrong and got it into my head that it was the mayor himself who was the paramour. I chose to address the matter while he was making a toast during a MACY meeting. It's kind of cloudy to me.”

“That's fantastic. I would have given anything to be there.”

“For the record, I would like to say I not only apologized but voted for the man.”

Neither of us was hungry. We pushed our food around our plates.

“Why not tell me? Why the book?”

“I believe in the book; I've wanted to write it for a long time.”

“But you were living it too. Why test it all out on me?”

“You're stronger than me, Casey.”

“So now what?” Harper asked. “For the first time since we've known each other, we are both single. You now have a really good job, so I wouldn't be dating a loser.”

I was going to start a rant about how much healing and grieving he still had to go through and how he needed time to be alone. But it felt completely flat and false. I just shook my head.

“Are you saying we're not going to even try? Casey, we're crazy about each other, you know that!”

And there it was. Right in front of me. I had landed my dream job and now my dream guy was mine for the taking. The perfect ending to Harper's book. And there was no way. The moments you wait the longest for are always a letdown.

“Harper, we're already exactly what we need to be for each other.”

Harper braced himself. I could tell he was preparing his rebuttal. The waitress bought him time by dropping the check on the middle of the table. Harper waited until she left, smiled warmly at me, and for the first time in all the years we've known each other, he slid the check across to me.

Onboarding: The extended, proactive support process by which companies successfully transition executives into their new roles and organizations.

Wallace's onboarding process was professional and much appreciated. The way a company onboards you reinforces your feelings about your decision and fuels your desire to succeed.

He sent me a welcome package via FedEx, outlining how I could immediately enroll in the health and benefits plan. He sent out a press release to the
New York Times
and the
Wall Street Journal
, and he featured me on their website. He sent an IT guy to my house to deliver, load, and configure a company laptop. He set up lunch with my new executive assistant, a fiery redhead named Laney whom I love. He had a dinner in my honor at his home the Friday before I started.

Wallace was a class act. My job was well worth the risks of quitting my old job and being unemployed. Overcoming the fear of change has made me a stronger and better person.

In the first six months I exceeded my annual revenue goal. Cisco hasn't bought us yet, but if they don't, someone else will, and I will be one wealthy girl. And why not? Why not me?

The onboarding at home has also gone well. Thank God Harper finally started dating, because once he met Jamie they fell in love and began that guy thing of talking to each other and forgetting I was in the room. Politics, sports, nanotechnology . . . there
was no stopping them. I knew I was completely over Harper when he got me aside one night when Jamie went to the bathroom and whispered, “You don't deserve him. Seriously, he could do better.”

But now Harper and this hilarious girl Tia seem to be working out, and we are a team. Jess is the same age as Jamie's daughter Brea, and they text each other 500 times a day. I packed up Starbucks and moved in about a month ago. It was scary, but Jamie's cat of twelve years had died the year before, and he paid more attention to Starbucks than I did, and well, Jamie's house is awesome. There are no coyotes in the neighborhood.

Will we get married? I'm not even going there. Harper kids me about it all the time, of course, and I told him that he missed one of the ways in which jobs are like relationships. We get into ruts in both, but we forget that part of what we love
is
the rut: the routine, the sameness—knowing what you have. I'm going to enjoy my rut for as long as I can.