My stomach is a cesspool of fear and confusion, but somehow I’m smiling. Tears start to fill my eyes.
“Lucy, the minute I saw you that first time in college, I knew you were the girl for me. Your gorgeous smile was the first thing that I noticed. But as I got to know you, I realized how smart, funny, kind, and amazing you were. And since then, I’ve fallen in love with you more every single day. Last night, I started to think that maybe there’s a fundamental difference with what we both want in the future. But the more I thought about it, and I stayed up late last night really thinking about all of it, the more I realized that together we can make everything work. I don’t want to change any part of you, and I can’t imagine my life without you. I love you for everything you are. I want to be with you for the rest of my life, and I finally want to make that official. Lucy Olivia Cooper, will you marry me?”
He drops my hands and picks up the little box on the table next to him. My body is shaking slightly; my heart is pounding not so slightly. He opens the box, faces it toward me, and I gasp again. There is a beautiful round diamond solitaire ring set in platinum staring its gorgeous little sparkly face at me. I look at Nick. Back at the diamond. Back at Nick as he takes the ring and starts to reach for my left hand.
“But, how . . . ?” I ask, looking at the ring and motioning to all the flowers.
“I’ve had the ring for a while. And if it’s not the style you like, we can go back and you can pick out the one you want. The flowers I got down at the bodega early this morning,” he says proudly.
“Nick . . . I. . . .” That’s not what I’m supposed to say.
Nick holds the ring airborne. Millimeters from the tip of my left ring finger. His smile is large, expectant.
“I’m . . . I’m speechless. . . .” A little better. Come on Lucy. You can do this. Nick was right. Marriage to him would be a good thing. A beautiful thing.
“All you have to say is ‘yes,’” Nick says, staring at me with love.
But yes doesn’t come. What comes is, “Nick . . . I. . . .”
Nick stands up and gives me a hug. “I know this is a surprise, Coop, but I love you so much, and I want us to be married. I’m sorry this isn’t a nicer proposal, but I didn’t want to wait a minute longer.”
He pulls away and looks at me. The ring still hovering near my left hand. A magnetic force field between it and my finger.
Something comes over me quickly and out of nowhere. Words spill out of my mouth, and I don’t feel like I have control over them.
“Nick, I don’t know,” I start and look at him. He looks back with a shocked expression. I don’t know is so far from what I know he was expecting. But you love him, Lucy. He’s the perfect guy for you. Don’t do this.
“I just don’t think I’m ready, Nick,” I say as he pulls away. “I love you so much,” I continue looking at him and hold my hands out in front of me. He is staring straight ahead, straight away from me.
He lets out a resigned laugh.
“I do love you, Nick. You know I do.”
“Damn it, Coop,” he says and starts blowing out all the candles. Each flame extinguished feels like a sharp knife stabbing my heart. After he blows out the last candle, he leans up against the kitchen counter and stares at me.
“How can I make you understand?” I plead and start to cry. I sit down on the couch.
“Explain it to me,” he says, still staring at me. His stare, so filled with love a couple minutes ago, now completely cold.
“I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I want to be married. I know I want to be with you. I just don’t understand why we have to be married.”
“Because I believe in marriage, Coop. It’s a true commitment. It’s something I really want for us.”
“I’m not sure I can give you that, Nick. It’s just with my parents and all—”
“We’re not your parents, and I’m not your dad. We’ve been over this a million times. Your parents knew each other for less than a year when they got married. They were kids. We’ve been together for so long. We know each other. We’re mature enough to do this. What we would have is the type of marriage that lasts.”
“I just don’t know, Nick. I’m so scared.”
“Of what?” Nick says.
“Of it not working. I’m really struggling with all of this.”
“Oh, babe, this is gonna work. There’s no way you and I aren’t gonna work.”
I cover my eyes and start to cry more heavily.
Nick takes a breath, seems to gather his thoughts, and stands up taller. I get up from the couch and walk toward him. I lean in to hug him and he pulls away. He says, “I believe in marriage. I want to marry the woman I love and start a family. And if you’re not willing to do that then I’m not sure I can do this.”
“Nick, please,” I plead. “Don’t do this. I just need some time.”
“Time, Coop? Time? We’ve been together for eight fucking years,” he says angrily. “How much more time could you possibly need? If you aren’t sure about marriage by this point, then you’ll never be sure. I’ve done all that I can in this relationship. If it’s not what you want, then maybe we should both move on.”
“You don’t mean that. You can’t mean that.” I stand there, staring at him, my arms slack at my sides, tears streaming down my face. Could he really mean that? Could he really be willing to throw away everything we have? The look on his face is a clear answer.
“I’m going to get in the shower. I think you should be gone by the time I get out. I need to be alone.” With that, he walks toward the bathroom and slams the door.
I’m completely shocked. Did he just break up with me? I stare at the bathroom door, frozen, unsure of what to do next. Should I stay there and wait for him to get out of the shower so I can try to explain myself better? So I can make him understand? I want to respect that he needs to be alone right now, but if I leave, will that be the end? Will he think I don’t care? After I consider all my options for a few minutes, I decide to respect his request and leave. Before I do, I lean against the bathroom door and quietly knock a couple times.
“I’m really sorry Nick. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want this to be the end of us. Please can we talk about it?” I stand there quietly for a second. Then I hear the shower turn on.
I turn to leave and as I head out of the bedroom toward Nick’s front door, I glance over to where the ring sits in its box on the living room table. It catches a ray of sun shining in through the window. The brightness stings my eyes as I start to cry again and leave the apartment.
Chapter Five
Failure doesn’t come from falling down. Failure comes from not getting up. Ava’s quote of the day is the first thing in my Instagram feed that I look at on the subway ride home to my apartment. I have my book in my tote (I’m rereading The Secret History by Donna Tartt), but I’m too upset over what just happened with Nick to concentrate. My head feels like a schizophrenic fireworks show. There are colorful and noisy explosions coming from every direction, and I don’t know what to focus on first.
While I distractedly shower and get dressed at my apartment, the fireworks show doesn’t relent. BOOM! I’m an idiot for turning him down. BANG! But you were just being honest with yourself, Lucy. ZING! I feel so badly for saying no. He looked so sad. BING! Well, I got what I deserved. He dumped me. BOOM! BANG! ZING! BING! I’ve never felt so atrociously awful in my life. My typically efficient getting-ready routine turns into a pitiful display of clumsy choreography as my cerebral synapses continue to misfire: I cut my leg shaving, I put the wrong buttons in the wrong holes on my blouse, and I stick myself in the eye with the mascara wand.
I walk to work in a shocked daze, and almost get hit by a cab while crossing Seventy-Ninth Street. I resolve to not become New York City’s statistic of the day, so I stop to buy a coffee and do my best to focus as I navigate the remaining twenty blocks. I’m in the office by nine, much later than I had hoped for, but impressive considering th
e circumstances. Katherine has an eight-thirty doctor’s appointment this morning (Dr. Browning from yesterday’s confirmation phone call is her dermatologist), so I know I’ll have time to get a lot of work done before she comes in. I take a sip of my coffee and resolve to try to put the Nick situation off to a side of my brain so I can focus on work for a while. I realize that will be virtually impossible to do, but I try anyway. My workload is too heavy right now to take time off for a broken heart.
I log into the administrative area of The Balance Project’s companion website. I neglected it yesterday, which was entirely out of necessity and not out of design. But websites are like gardens: they need attention, updating, and constant oversight lest pests creep in. I was very involved in building and launching the website, and it’s my job to manage it. Katherine was excited to award that job to me, rather than giving it to the Green Goddess digital-media department, and I was thrilled to take it on so I could get more experience in what I hope is my ultimate field.
The morning goes by calmly and, I’m surprised, considering the state of my mangled heart, I get a lot done. I take frequent breaks to check my phone, hoping for a text from Nick, but my phone is quiet. I force myself to focus on my work because the alternative, focusing on Nick, is too painful. Katherine comes in late morning and the uncharacteristic calm in Katherine Land allows her to deal with London, do countless quick phone interviews about The Balance Project, catch up on her e-mails, and leave me alone.
The day flies by and just when I feel like I’m about to explode from keeping my shit together all day, it’s time to go to Katherine’s signing at Barnes & Noble in Union Square. These signings are always a big deal mostly because there’s still so much buzz about The Balance Project. It’s number one in Amazon’s business books section in three different categories. It’s been on the New York Times and Amazon bestsellers lists for months. The five-star reviews on Amazon keep pouring in. Katherine’s publishers are ecstatic. Her agent is ecstatic. And Brooke and the other publicists are ecstatic. Tonight there will be a line of smitten women out the door and a full house seated inside Barnes & Noble. Katherine did a nationwide book tour when The Balance Project launched, and Brooke arranged a small encore tour for the book’s six-month anniversary.
I am fully aware that working women love Katherine Whitney. They pay hundreds of dollars to hear her speak at conferences. They write letters asking for career advice, informational interviews, autographs. They tweet at her and friend her and even pin her all the livelong day. But these book signings, many of which I’ve attended with Katherine, are something else entirely.
Here’s a sample of what I’ve heard from Katherine’s devoted “fans” when they approach her signing table: Katherine, you are my inspiration, from one. Katherine, you are my role model, from another. And on and on: I sent a copy of your book to each of my grown daughters. . . . I admire how you’re able to do it all and make it look so easy. . . . The advice in your book is a lifesaver and I use your strategies daily. . . . You are God. Well, no one actually said that last one, but the way those ladies swoon, I wouldn’t be surprised.
Tonight as Katherine signs and smiles, shakes hands and sincerely thanks those women singing her praises, I will stand off to the side—ready to replenish her spent Sharpies—and I’ll think about what that would be like. What it would be like to have someone tell me I’ve made a difference in her life. Over Katherine’s career she must have heard similar comments from thousands of women. I wonder if the praise even affects Katherine anymore or if she’s heard so much of it for so long the words have become empty. Expected. Like a pretty girl who receives so many compliments on her looks that the flattery no longer registers.
I’m so proud to work for Katherine. To be a part of what she does for so many working women. The praise bestowed upon her nourishes me by association. And, as always, I’m amazed at how she always looks so calm, so energized, with piles of work waiting in the office and a beautiful happy family waiting at home. I guess you really can do it all.
It’s Friday morning and I’m thinking about how amazing last night’s signing went as I sit in Katherine’s office, slumped across a Kelly chair, waiting for her to get off a call with Nigel. Luckily, it was so late by the time I got home last night after the signing that I collapsed in my bed, fully dressed, and went to sleep. I didn’t remember my dreams when I woke up this morning, and I took a long shower so I could sort out my plan for dealing with Nick today. Showers have a way of crystallizing my emotions and helping me formulate plans. I decided that I’ll call him after lunch. I hope he takes my call. I try to push him out of my thoughts because whenever I let him enter them, I feel like I’ve lost everything.
Katherine and I have just started going over her schedule for next week when the phone rings. I stand up to run to my desk to answer when she picks it up herself from the extension on her desk. It’s on speaker.
“Katherine Whitney,” she says, smiling at me, taking a sip of her omnipresent green juice.
“Kath.”
It’s Theo.
“Hey, hon. What’s up?”
“Am I on speaker?”
“Yeah, Lucy’s here.”
“Hey, slugger.”
“Hey, Theo.”
“So, Kath, real quick. Good news. My conference got canceled for this weekend. Something about norovirus in the hotel and they don’t have enough time to move it somewhere else. Good news is we can celebrate our anniversary properly after all. I booked us the weekend at Glenmere Mansion.”
“Theo, that’s great!” Katherine says, smiling.
“Happy anniversary,” I say.
“Thanks,” Katherine and Theo say in unison.
“I think this is precisely what we need, Kath,” Theo says. “Time to connect, a little spa, some good old-fashioned—cover your ears, slugger—sex.”
“Theo!” Katherine says, looking embarrassed.
I laugh. Theo laughs.
“Perfect. I’m in,” Katherine says.
“Great. If you can leave the office at five, you can come home to kiss the girls and pack, and we can be there in time for dinner.”
Glenmere Mansion is a gorgeous inn about an hour north of Manhattan in the Hudson Valley. I’ve never been there, but Katherine raves about it every time she goes.
Katherine returns to her e-mails and I return to my desk. I realize Katherine will be fully occupied this weekend, wrapped in an oversized white terrycloth robe, eating truffles, getting couples massages, drinking expensive red wine out of those oversized crystal glasses, having what sounds like much-needed sex with her husband—all of the things I imagine people like Katherine and Theo do in fancy Hudson Valley inns. Which means that I will be fully available all weekend long for Nick. If he’ll have me.
I call him to see if he’ll have dinner with me tonight. He doesn’t answer his phone—I’m not really surprised, but definitely disappointed—so I leave a voice mail. And then I send a text:
Lucy: Hey, you. I’ve been thinking about it all so much and I really want to talk to you in person. Can you meet me at Carlo’s tonight at 7? I love you.
I wait a minute hoping for a text back. Unable to focus on work just yet, I carry the phone with me to the kitchen to refill my coffee. On the way back to my desk, steaming coffee in one hand and phone in the other, I collide with someone in the hall because I’m staring at the phone, willing it to reveal a thoughtful, loving text from Nick. Instead I get no text and hot coffee splashed on my sweater, the burning feeling through the fabric less hurtful than the cruelty of the blank screen.
Later, I finalize a status report for Katherine and coordinate the details for the new nanny who will start in two weeks. Katherine’s one and only nanny needs backup. Stat. Because, as every New York City working mother worth her salt knows, two kids means two nannies. If Jordan is napping, and it’s time for Abby to go to Music Tots or Swim Tots or Knitting Tots (not kidding), what’s the nanny to do? Wake up Jordan? Heavens no. Make Ab
by miss her class? Think again. Having two nannies is not that uncommon in Katherine’s habitat. Don’t believe me? Go to Big City Moms and look it up.
My cell rings.
“Hey,” Nick says coldly when I answer. I’m surprised, and grateful, he called me back.
“Hey, thanks so much for calling me back. I really want to talk to you.”
“I’m not so sure that’s a great idea, Coop.” He sounds distracted, and I hear him typing on his keyboard in the background.
“Then why did you call me back?” I ask gently.
“Because part of me feels like I owe it to you to hear what you have to say.” His tone is cold. Any hope I had of him breaking down and telling me he’ll wait for me until I’m ready for marriage is gone, gone, gone.
“Can you meet tonight?” I ask, holding my breath, nervous he’ll say no. Nervous he’ll say yes.
“Are you sure Katherine won’t need you tonight?” He says sarcastically, condescendingly, but I don’t take the bait.
“She’s actually going away this weekend with Theo for their anniversary, so I’m free all weekend.”
“Oh.”
“Carlo’s at seven?”
“Fine. Okay, I’ll see you then.”
He hangs up. I hold the phone out in front of me, stare at it, and sigh. The man who wanted to marry me yesterday is now someone who has no qualms about ending a phone call without a good-bye.
At four forty-five, I start getting jumpy. I’m anxious for Katherine to leave so I can get out of here early tonight. There’s no work I need to do over the weekend, and I’m looking forward to having time to catch up on personal things: errands, filling Ava in on what’s going on with Nick, laundry, perhaps mending my damaged relationship. If things go well tonight, I will be able to dedicate the rest of the weekend to Nick. No Katherine distractions.
The Balance Project Page 6
