No Crying Over Spilt Romance

Oh, you’re a hand-shaker? Well, nice to meet you. I’m Nancy, your narrator. Don’t worry, I know about narrative structure. I majored in English Literature (minored in Women’s Studies) then went on to do an MBA in Marketing, which is all about getting the story right.

Harper and I work in an advertising office in Seattle (because Manhattan is too cliché) and we write social media stories for various brands. It’s two days a week from home (which is a shared apartment) and three days in the office, where we have to pitch stories to men who know they’re not supposed to slap our bottoms or patronise us. (So, they have found new ways to make us feel small – like dating apps).

Sorry, this is a rom-com. Let’s not get too political. The most important things to know about me is that I wear clashing colours, have a high voice and am cute without being threatening. I bring the clever words and Harper brings the glamour.

Harper is the protagonist. She is a woman who needs to learn to have fun. I mean, I love her ambition, but sweetie, let some things go.

Harper also has this on-off boyfriend called Drake. We hate Drake. He’s tall, dark, athletic and perfectly handsome if you like that kind of symmetry, but it’s been three years and he has never shown any real commitment to Harper. You don’t need to know too much about him, because right now they are ‘on a break’. He landed some money and he’s off on some trip where he’s going to find himself and probably a load of other women. “I never got the chance to fool around, Harper.” (Harper thought the big reveal was going to be diamond ring for her. “Girl,” I told her, “You can buy your own ring.” I said it with sass).

So, that’s your set-up. Harper is a newly single woman. She’s a little too uptight for her own good, looking for a conventional romance.

We have a big meeting coming up with a local art gallery looking to increase reach, bring in new customers and new artists. Harper looks great. The sort of great I can never achieve, because I don’t have legs up to my armpits and hair that behaves. I look like me, wearing too many layers and obvious eyeliner. She does the business and I do the creative – that’s our double-act. She’s ready for the meeting, going up in an elevator to our office which has more windows than you’d expect. Like all office workers, she has a cup of coffee bought from the sweet old guy who works the café at the corner. Just as the elevator is about to go up, a guy presses the button and barges his way in. Oh, oh – coffee down Harper’s blouse. He apologises as sweetly as he can, but she’s mad. Drake has just left her. She feels unprepared for a big meeting (although she’s not). And, now she has coffee down her front.

“You’ll make me late for my meeting,” she says rather than acknowledge his apology.

An awkward elevator ride and Harper storms out, to give herself a pep talk in the Ladies while seeing if buttoning her jacket will hide the coffee stain.

A big breath in and she arrives in our glass office, apologising for being late.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t here on time Nancy, but you wouldn’t believe how clumsy this man was in the elevator.”

The man I’m talking to, the client, turns around to face Harper and surprise, surprise it is the man who bumped her coffee drink. Now, I can see it. You can see it. This is the guy she should be with. Right? He’s ambitious and arty. He has his own business, but he wants to support local artists. He is also good-looking, not like Drake, but in a softer, less obvious way. The sort of face you have to look at more than once to be convinced you like it.

“Oh hi, Harper, let me introduce you to Frank.”

“Once again, I’m really sorry about the coffee. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

I watch Frank’s eyes be just a little bit dewy and I watch Harper struggle to maintain her stiffness.

“Let’s just get on with the meeting,” she says.

While I’m funny and creative, Harper gives the demographic statistics and projection data. There are graphs – she knows what she’s doing.

Frank picks us to be the marketing team behind his local artists exhibition.

Cut to the big opening and there we are the perfect double act, schmoozing, meeting the press and checking in on influencers posting about the event. The catering is good. The wine is flowing. A hug between me and Harper and just as I release her from the embrace, Frank arrives with a glass of red wine, which, yes, you’ve guessed it ends up down Harper’s expensive silk dress. Frank insists that he pays for the dry cleaning and also that he will take her out on a date, to prove that he’s not always that clumsy. There’s a crowd watching and Harper feels she has to say yes. She doesn’t want to look churlish.

Before the date, getting ready in our small apartment, we have a housemate chat.

“What am I doing, Nancy? He’s not my type.”

“And what is your type?”

“I don’t know. Smoother. Less drinks spilt.”

“And how has that worked out for you?”

I might as well do this next bit as a montage. It takes a few dates, but Frank really does unfreeze Harper. From that first date, the most important thing that happens, is that he asks about her. Drake never did that. He finds out what she would like to do. He opens doors for her. He checks in on her comfort. I have never seen Harper so happy. She lets her hair down. She tries new things. Imagine her pulling goofy faces over a plate of strange looking food in an intimately lit restaurant. Or clapping wildly at some new theatre show. Or her hair tucked into a cowboy hat so that she can really enjoy the line-dancing class. They take a segway tour. They go to the zoo. They paintball. They joke about throwing drinks on each other. They go dancing in a fancy nightclub. Ah, the nightclub – their last date.

Dressed up and looking ridiculously gorgeous, Harper notices Frank slyly give a wave of acknowledgement to another woman. She tries to ask, “How do you know her?” But the music is too loud.

She goes to the Ladies, aware that she is feeling uneasy. There in front of her is the woman from the wave. In the quick glance that she makes, Harper notices that this woman is dressed almost identically to her.

“Hi, I’m Chelsea,” she says.

“Hi,” Harper replies uneasily.

“So, you’re out with Frank?”

“Yes.”

“Well good luck with that.” Chelsea says checking her mascara in the bathroom mirror.

“What do you mean?”

“Two years, I was with him. No proposal. No commitment. He’s so charming, but he is not a serious guy. Can you imagine how hard that was for me?”

Harper’s been here before. She goes back out into the club and finds Frank to tell him she’s leaving.

When they get out into the fresh air, Frank says you look angry, “Do you want to throw a drink on me?”

Harper takes Frank’s hands and says, “I met Chelsea.”

“Oh right.”

“I’m not doing this again. I’m sorry. It’s over.”

It is so sudden. Of course, Frank calls. Harper doesn’t pick up. Then he sends a text message: “Harper, I don’t know what Chelsea told you, but she has nothing to do with you and me. My mother always told me to take no to mean no. If you change your mind, please call me. Frank x”

The next morning, we are sitting in the sweet old guy’s coffee shop, where I am having a quirky cup of tea poured from a teapot.

“What you broke up with him on a strange woman’s say-so?”

“She wasn’t strange. She was beautiful.”

“Now what are you doing?”

“I’m reinstating the dating apps,” Harper says from behind her phone.

There are some terrible dates. One guy brings his mother to the restaurant. Another wears a tuxedo to the cinema. There’s one schmuck who can only talk about his Pokémon collection. I hate watching how much she is missing Frank.

So, while she is dating all the losers in our fine city, I’m doing my social media sleuthing. A digital native, I search for Chelsea and I am picking up some pretty strange and complicated stuff. I’m almost ready to share my findings with Harper when, yuk, Drake gets in touch. Drake – remember him – we hate him.

Harper won’t listen to me. “Maybe, he’s changed,” she says.

After their first date, I ask, “So, has he changed?”

“He’s done some reading and thinking.”

“Well, I hope it’s more than that, but it’s a start I guess.”

However, by their third date when Drake makes the assumptions that men make about third dates, Harper realises something. He has not once asked her what she has been up to. Drake does not get his sleep over.

“I’m proud of you Harper,” I tell her, “Standing up for yourself like that.”

“How do you cope with the dating scene?” she asks me.

“Look,” I say,” I’m not looking for a happy ever after. Men are for fun. But you’re my best friend.”

“You’re my best friend too, but…”

I hug her. “Look, Harper, there’s something you should see.”

I open my laptop and our faces are lit by the screen.

Remember that dating montage. Let’s revisit. We are 21st Century girls, so our lives are on our phones and our laptops. There are selfies and pictures from every Harper date with Frank. And there in the background on every single picture is Chelsea. Every. Single. Picture.

“You see this picture from the restaurant. There’s Chelsea just as you are ordering starters. Now look at her while you are ordering a dessert. She has changed her clothes. She is dressed like you.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Harper, Chelsea is not an ex-girlfriend. Or even if she was, she is also a stalker. Now look, I found her Instagram account.”

“Do I want to see this?”

“Not gonna lie. It’s creepy.”

Chelsea’s Instagram is not just selfies of her slowly transforming into Harper, but also covert shots of Frank. There he is, in a coffee shop, at the art gallery, walking into a dry-cleaners, at the grocery store.

“Oh my.”

“I think Frank is in trouble,” I say. “He needs a friend.”

She nods.

“I have a plan,” I say, “All it requires from you is to send a text to Frank and say you want to talk.”

“Do you think he will, after the way I treated him?”

“Yes,” I say, because I know how these stories work.

“But how will that solve the problem of a stalker.”

“She just needs a new target. And I know the perfect guy…”

Chelsea gets a DM from a secret admirer and finds Drake waiting for her at the sweet old guy’s coffee shop.

Harper’s text asks Frank to meet her by the arch in Green Lake Park. I helped her with the location, because if you’re going to meet up and have a reconciliatory kiss in the rain, what better place.

Six months later, here we are at this cute little wedding for Harper and Frank. And if you look behind you, see that sad man with the beautiful girlfriend – that’s Drake and Chelsea.

It’s nice to meet you. I’ll be honest there was a little bit of manipulation to get to sit next to you, so I could tell the full story of how Harper and Frank met, fell in love, broke up and got back together. The set-up, the meet cute, the complicating factor, the obstacles and the final resolution. I even tied it all up for the secondary characters. And for a bit of quirky flair, it was my idea to make sure all the drinks are served in kids sippy cups as a call back to their first meeting. See? I know how to make a story work.

Here’s my business card.