Chapter 22 - Rules for Falling in Love Twice
Isabelle made rules.
I loved them.
I hated them.
I followed them.
Rule one:
No gifts worth more than one hundred dollars.
I objected that New York dinner now qualified as luxury property.
She raised the limit to one hundred fifty.
Rule two:
No surprise appearances at Bell & Thread.
Rule three:
No discussing our relationship with Laurent communications staff.
“That one feels insulting,” I said.
“It should.”
Rule four:
No assuming a difficult conversation meant the relationship was ending.
That one belonged to both of us.
Rule five:
One night each week where neither of us discussed the past.
The first attempt lasted eighteen minutes.
By the third month, we could make it through dinner.
We dated like two people who knew almost everything about each other and trusted almost none of the old conclusions.
I learned that Isabelle now hated lilies.
Apparently she had always disliked them.
I had sent them for thirteen anniversaries.
“I thought they were your favorite.”
“My mother liked lilies.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.”
That answer followed me through an entire weekend.
She learned that I liked terrible crime shows.
I had once pretended not to because prestige dramas seemed more appropriate for magazine profiles.
“You built a five-billion-dollar company and were scared someone would know you watch detectives solve murders in forty-two minutes?”
“Yes.”
“That may be the saddest thing you’ve ever told me.”
Not everything was charming.
One night, I canceled dinner because a fitting ran late.
I sent a message at 6:40.
Dinner was at seven.
When I reached Isabelle’s apartment at nine, she opened the door but did not move aside.
“You forgot.”
“No. I texted.”
“At 6:40.”
“The fitting exploded.”
Her face changed.
I heard myself.
Work.
Emergency.
She should understand.
The old argument stood between us fully dressed.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“You should be.”
“I should have called earlier.”
“Yes.”
“I should have left when I realized we were running late.”
“Yes.”
Something defensive rose in me.
“We have a show in eleven days.”
Her expression hardened.
There he was.
The old man.
Not gone.
Waiting.
I closed my eyes.
“That was me asking you to rank my work emergency above your time.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
She folded her arms.
“I’m not interested in dating a man who can only behave differently when nothing important is happening.”
That sentence followed me home.
We did not speak the next day.
Not as punishment.
Space.
At noon, I left the fitting at the scheduled time.
The collection survived.
Imagine that.
That evening I went to her apartment.
I knocked.
No flowers.
No jewelry.
No reservation somewhere impossible.
Just me.
“I was wrong.”
She let me inside.
“I know.”
“I don’t want you to have to train me.”
“Good.”
“But I probably will fail again.”
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
“That was quick.”
“You asked for honesty.”
She sat on the sofa.
“The question isn’t whether you ever disappoint me, Gabriel.”
I sat across from her.
“It’s what happens next.”
I understood.
For years, disappointment had turned into litigation.
Not literal litigation.
Evidence.
Defense.
Counterargument.
I had cared more about being acquitted than being connected.
“I missed you yesterday,” I said.
Her face softened.
“I missed you too.”
We did not resolve every fear.
We did not need to.
A month later, Isabelle forgot our lunch because a student’s final project tore an hour before judging.
When she arrived ninety minutes late, wild-haired and apologetic, I stood outside the restaurant pretending outrage.
“You forgot me.”
“I did.”
“I have suffered.”
“I know.”
“My therapist will hear of this.”
She kissed me.
“Did you eat?”
“Yes.”
“Without me?”
“I’m growing.”
She laughed.
That night we added Rule Six.
Nobody gets to use the other person’s mistakes as proof that all previous progress was fake.
That rule saved us more than once.
Then summer arrived.
So did the settlement proposal in the Laurent lawsuit.
It was enormous.
Large enough to make financial news around the world.
Richard wanted to fight.
The insurers wanted compromise.
Former employees wanted acknowledgment.
And the board wanted my answer before Monday.
May you like
For the first time, I realized that choosing accountability when it was emotionally painful had been the easy phase.
Now it was going to become expensive.
