“Can I ask you one more question?” asks William.
“Go ahead,” says Sonja.
“Do you think most women your age feel this way?”
Sonja sniffs. “Yes.”
I press Pause on the video and rest my head on my desk, wishing I could rewind the last ten minutes of my life. Why, oh why, oh why did I watch that? I feel ashamed for going behind William’s back, angry at the brash and unprofessional way he conducted himself (the cardinal rule of conducting focus groups: never,
Tell me, Alice Buckle, what car would you be if you were a car right now?
That’s easy: a Ford Escape. A hybrid. Base model. Well-used. A scraped-up front bumper. Pings all over the doors. A mysterious rotten-apple smell rising up from the floorboards, but dependable. A car with all-wheel drive that’s good in the snow but whose potential is totally wasted because its owner lives in a city where the temperature rarely dips below 40.
And that, right there, is the problem.
18
25. William’s girlfriend’s name was Helen Davies and she was the VP of Branding. The rumor floating around the firm was that they would be engaged any day. They came in together in the mornings, sipping their coffees. They’d go to Kendall Square for lunch. She’d retrieve him at the end of the day and off they’d zip down to Newbury Street for cocktails. She was always stunningly dressed. I shopped at Filene’s Basement.
I was put to work on a toilet paper account. It wasn’t as bad as it sounded. I got to go home with rolls of TP samples and think of inventive new ways to say
I put him out of my mind. Until one day he sent me an email.
– Are those running shoes on your desk?
I emailed him back.
– Sorry! I know that’s a filthy habit. Putting my shoes on working surfaces. It won’t happen again.
And then he emailed me again.
– Just went by your cubicle. Where are they now?
– Where are what now?
And then a flurry of emails.
– Your running shoes, Brown.
– They’re on my feet.
– Because you’re going home?
– Because I’m going running.
– When?
– At lunch.
– Where?
– Um-outside.
– Yes, Brown. I assumed outside. Where outside?
– I start at the Charles Hotel. I do a five-mile loop.
– Meet you there in fifteen minutes.
19
From: Wife 22 ‹[email protected]›
Subject: Timing
Date: May 18, 12:50 PM
To: researcher101 ‹[email protected]›
Researcher 101,
It might take me a little longer than usual to get the answers back to you, as things are a bit crazy here. I should probably let you know that my husband was demoted. I’m sure we’ll figure it out, but it’s been stressful on all of us. I have to say it’s a strange time to be recounting our courtship. It’s hard for me to reconcile the young, vibrant William and Alice with the currently middle-aged us. It makes me kind of sad.
All the best,
Wife 22
From: researcher101 ‹[email protected]›
Subject: Re: Timing
Date: May 18, 12:52 PM
To: Wife 22 ‹[email protected]›
Wife 22,
I’m very sorry to hear about your husband’s job. Please take all the time you need. Going back to the beginning is often difficult and dredges up all sorts of emotions. But in the long run I think you’ll find it enlightening to return to the past.
Sincerely,
Researcher 101
From: Wife 22 ‹[email protected]›
Subject: Re: Gambling
Date: May 18, 1:05 PM
To: researcher101 ‹[email protected]›
Researcher 101,
Sometimes when I log on to my computer I feel like I’m in a casino sitting in front of a slot machine. I have the same shivery feeling of anticipation-that anything is possible and anything can happen. All I have to do is pull the lever, i.e. press Send.
The rewards are immediate. I hear the machine churning. I hear all the lovely chimes and whooshes and pings. And when the symbols come up: “Kate O’Halloran
What I’m trying to say is thanks for such a quick response.
Best,
Wife 22
From: researcher101 ‹[email protected]›
Subject: Unreachability
Date: May 18, 1:22 PM
To: Wife 22 ‹[email protected]›
Wife 22,
I understand what you’re saying completely, and often feel the same way, although I have to admit it worries
