* * *
Bringing home the folders was an exercise in going through the motions. I remained just as useless for the remainder of the weekend.
Sleep. Eat. Drink myself into a stupor. Stare.
My phone was disturbingly silent. I was grateful to receive no calls from Tony, no calls from family, nothing more from Portia. But it devastated me every time I looked down at my phone and had heard nothing from Ruby.
So when it began buzzing over where I’d hurled it a few hours before, on a throw pillow on the floor across the room, it took a few full rings for me to startle out of my trance and answer.
I stumbled over, and cursed down at the screen, answering it anyway. “Max.”
“I talked to Rebecca earlier,” he said by way of greeting.
“Mm?”
“Mum’s in bits over this. Rebecca already told her she thinks Ruby’s going to be the one.”
My sister. “She’s never bloody met Ruby.”
“Doesn’t matter, apparently.”
I spoke into my tumbler of gin, “At least you two never dive in to anything headlong.”
“You sound pissed.”
Staring into my drink, I told him, “On my way. And miserable.”
“Aw come on, then. Tell me what’s happened?”
“Ruby ended things.”
Max fell silent for several beats. “She didn’t.”
“Yeah, she did. Our affair in New York cost her her job, whereas I got a slap on the wrist. She thinks she might not get into Maggie’s program now.”
He blew out a heavy breath. “Fucking hell.”
“And I went to have dinner with Portia the night after Ruby and I finally shagged, not knowing Tony’d given Ruby an ultimatum: me or her job.”
“And she chose you,” my brother guessed.
I laughed into the tumbler. “Right-o.”
“You idiot.”
“Exactly.” I finished what was in my glass and dropped it onto the floor. “So, needless to say, she’s ended things with me quite soundly.”
“So you’re going to drink yourself into a stupor of self-pity on your couch then?”
“You know what my life with Portia was like,” I started. “And with Ruby . . . I’d never thought much before about children or finding what you have with Sara, but I did with her.” I stared out the window, at the sky and the new leaves as they shook in the early spring breeze. “But I will never be okay after this. She changed me and I . . . I don’t want to go back.” The line was quiet for a moment and I reached for my glass again, refilling it. “So drinking myself into an amnesia of what I’ve lost—that sounds about right.”
“Or,” he suggested with a laugh that said, You twat, “you could get off that stupid arse and go talk to Maggie. For fuck’s sake, Niall, you act as if you’ve got no resources. Figure out what you can bloody well fix and fix it. This is what you do, mate.”
* * *
I had a bit of time to reflect—finally sober—on what I wanted to say while I took the train from London to Oxford. Margaret Sheffield was a bit of a hero of mine, having served on my thesis committee and been more of a mentor to me than my own alcoholic advisor had ever been. Although Maggie’s specialty was civil engineering, she had a hand in designing and overseeing the construction of many of the cornerstone commercial buildings in crowded London neighborhoods, and I idolized the way her career easily straddled engineering, architecture, and broader urban planning. One of the proudest moments of my professional life to date had been when a colleague had introduced me at a keynote conference as “our generation’s Margaret Sheffield.”
But I’d never been to see her on such a personal matter. In fact, aside from the heated moment I’d stormed into Tony’s office last week, I’d never really been to see anyone from my professional life with a personal matter. So even though the cold wind whipped around me as I trudged down Parks Road toward the Thom Building, I was flushed with nerves.
Maggie had been around long enough to deserve an emeritus office in one of the grander buildings, but preferred being closer to the action, she’d said. Her building was an odd, hexagonal structure but from it she had a beautiful view of the University Park just to the east. Just being here again, close to Engineering and the materials sciences buildings, brought on a heavy sense of nostalgia. I’d been young when I lived here. Young and married, and for that reason always a bit different from my peers who spent their days working hard and evenings partying harder.
I knocked on her open door, relieved when she looked up at me and smiled widely.
“Niall!” She stood, making her way around her desk to give me a firm hug. Maggie had never been a hand-shaker, but with determination had trained me over the years to give in to her affections.
When she pulled back, I asked, “I was hoping you’d have a few moments?”
“Of course.” She smiled. “Your email did make me curious with its complete lack of detail.”
“And . . .” I began, “if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, we could grab a coffee?”
Her eyebrows rose, eyes twinkled with interest. “It sounds like this is not a strictly professional call?”
“It’s not. But . . . it is, too.” Sighing, I explained, “I’d just prefer the flexibility.”
She laughed, retrieving her jumper. “Well, this is a shock of a lifetime. A personal discussion with Niall Stella. I can certainly make time for that.”
We walked to a small café on Pembroke Street, using the trip to catch up a bit on the past two years. The topic of Ruby’s future hung heavily around me, and despite Maggie’s best efforts at small talk, my answers to her benign questions were tight and brief. I was relieved when we reached the café and ordered tea and croissants, before sitting at a small corner table.
“So,” she started, smiling across the table at me. Steam curled up from her cup. “Enough small talk, I gather. What’s this visit about?”
“It’s about a student who has applied to your program, who was an intern at Richardson-Corbett.”
She nodded. “You mean Ruby Miller.”
“Yes,” I said, surprised that she knew immediately whom I meant, but then realizing I’d said “who was an intern.” Clearly, Maggie had read Tony’s letter. “I didn’t work directly with her. As you know, she reported to Tony.”
“I got his letter,” she confirmed with a frown. “He didn’t think all that highly of her.”
My blood ran hot and I leaned closer, realizing as soon as she glanced at them that my hands had formed tight fists. “Well, that’s just it,” I said. “I think he may have thought rather too highly of her.”
“Bloody Tony.” Maggie’s expression cleared in comprehension. “And you were the distraction Tony mentioned.”
“Please understand,” I said, with urgency, “I wouldn’t ever speak to you about this matter if I didn’t feel that it impacted a professional decision on your end. Tony handled this terribly. As did I, I suppose. But in this instance, I worry that you would miss out on a wonderful student if you heeded Tony’s advice. Ruby is bright and driven.”
Maggie studied me, sipping her tea. “May I ask you a personal question?”
Swallowing, I nodded. “I’ve imposed on you simply by coming here. Of course, ask me anything.”
“Are you coming here because Ruby deserves a spot in my program or because you’re in love with her?”
I swallowed and struggled to maintain eye contact as I admitted, “Both.”
“So the affection wasn’t only one-sided.”
“It was, and then it wasn’t. I didn’t know she had feelings, and she admitted them only after I had some of my own.”
She nodded, looking past me at a line of students marching past the café. “I’d never expected you to ever speak on behalf of a girlfriend. I’m not sure if I’m more surprised or thrilled for you.”
“She’s not,” I managed. Maggie turned her face up to me, confused. “She isn’t my girlfriend anymore,” I clarified. “The loss of her job, the loss of her spot in your program, my inability to handle emotions all that well . . . I suspect in the end it made her reprioritize.”
“?‘Reprioritize’? The ‘loss of her spot in my program’?”
“Tony thought it wise to send Ruby a copy of the letter he wrote for the application. Given that Tony is your former student and completing an engineering internship is generally a critical requirement for your consideration, she said she suspected she wouldn’t get in.”
“Niall,” Maggie began, setting down her tea. “Excuse me for being blunt, but please do not insult me by suggesting I would cast away a good student for having a crush at work.”
“Not at all, Maggie, I—”
“Or for being young and unable to always put aside personal for professional. I appreciate you coming here, but the net effect of that was my satisfaction over seeing you actually in love with a woman, not help for Ruby. Ruby’s application is brilliant. Her other letters of recommendation are positively glowing. Her grades are perfect, test scores put her at the top of her incoming class. Her personal statement was one of the best I’ve ever read.” Leaning in, Maggie shook her head at me. “You see, her spot was never jeopardized by Tony’s letter. Do you think I’ve known a different Tony than everyone else these last fifteen years? He’s a brilliant engineer but a complete arse.”
I closed my eyes, laughing. “Touché.”
“If I may drop the professionalism entirely for a moment?”
“Of course,” I said, feeling oddly hungry for her wisdom in a way I hadn’t expected. “Please.”
“You have known me as an instructor, and then quasi-mentor, and now as a trusted colleague. But I am a woman first, Niall. I was married at twenty, for five years, and then divorced. I married again when I was in my late thirties. With the distance of age and wisdom, I am able to tell you as gently as possible that your reason for this visit is wildly presumptuous. Ruby doesn’t need you speaking on her behalf. In addition to all of these accolades I’ve already mentioned, she’s also come to see me.” Maggie’s eyes smiled. “Quite amazing, that one.”
I felt my brows rise to my hairline. “Truly.”
“Ruby doesn’t need a knight in shining armor. She needs a partner, I suspect. She needs to know that she is seen. And loved. And, occasionally, the inner mechanics of how she is loved. She is an engineer. Show her how you are put together. Show her the bolts, and wires, and map of your thoughts when you can.”