Luca Did Not Get to Buy His Way Into Megan’s New Work

Chapter 10 - Luca Did Not Get to Buy His Way Into Megan’s New Work

We dated badly at first.

Coffee.

Dinner.

A museum where Luca knew nothing about modern art and pretended he did.

I caught him reading wall labels before offering opinions.

“Cheating.”

“Research.”

“Same thing.”

We laughed.

Three months.

No sleepovers.

No gifts beyond dinner alternating awkwardly because his idea of a normal restaurant bill and mine lived in different economies.

Eventually we solved it.

Who invites pays unless the other insists.

Expensive places require advance warning.

No private rooms.

No Moretti properties.

That eliminated many places.

Then my job created the first real conflict.

Chicago Housing Partnership applied for a $450,000 grant from the Moretti Community Foundation.

I did not know until our development director mentioned it during staff meeting.

My stomach dropped.

The grant would fund resident-services expansion at three senior buildings.

Including one I worked in.

After the meeting, I went to my supervisor.

“I need to disclose a relationship.”

She looked surprised.

I had not told work I was dating Luca.

Not secret.

Private.

I explained.

Compliance moved me off all grant-related work.

No application review.

No funder calls.

No budget access beyond ordinary program information.

Simple.

Then I told Luca.

We were at dinner.

He put down his fork.

“I didn’t know about the application.”

“Good.”

“I can recuse from the foundation.”

“Are you on the board?”

“Nonvoting family director.”

I stared.

“That is a title designed by lawyers.”

“Yes.”

He agreed to disclose.

Recused from any discussion.

Then he made the mistake.

Small.

He called the foundation executive director anyway.

Not to advocate.

He said:

“Make sure Megan’s relationship with me doesn’t hurt them.”

When he told me, I stopped eating.

He saw it.

“What?”

“You called.”

“To make sure they were neutral.”

“You inserted yourself to ask them not to insert you.”

His face changed.

“Yes.”

“Do you hear it?”

“Yes.”

I was furious.

Not breakup furious.

Tired furious.

“Why can’t you leave the room?”

He took time.

“Because I think absence is also influence when people know who I am.”

“That may be true.”

“So I—”

“Still no.”

He stopped.

Then:

“What should I have done?”

“Disclose. Recuse. Let compliance handle the rest.”

He nodded.

The foundation recorded his call in the conflict file.

Independent committee reviewed the grant.

Then denied it.

Not because of us.

Scores.

Other proposals stronger.

Our organization got nothing.

I expected Luca to be angry.

He was.

He did nothing.

That mattered.

At work, nobody blamed me.

My supervisor said:

“This is why we document conflicts.”

Then our development director found another funder.

Smaller grant.

$280,000.

We adjusted program scope.

Life continued.

Then Ruth needed knee replacement.

Planned.

Not emergency.

Arthritis had progressed.

Doctor recommended surgery after conservative treatment failed.

Ruth agreed.

Immediately everyone became unbearable.

Elaine wanted Ruth to recover in Wisconsin.

I wanted home-health support at the cooperative.

Two friends wanted to rotate meals.

Ruth listened.

Then said:

“I am still here.”

We stopped.

She chose short inpatient rehab.

Then home with physical therapy.

Why?

She liked the rehab facility.

Had toured.

Private room available.

Elevators.

No daughters or granddaughters sleeping on couches.

Her decision.

Surgery went well.

No miracle.

Pain.

Swelling.

Bad first week.

Then improvement.

Luca asked:

“Can I send flowers?”

I said:

“Ask Ruth.”

He called.

She said:

“No flowers. Soup.”

He sent soup from a restaurant she liked?

He asked which one.

She named a Polish place in Oak Park.

He ordered through the same delivery app everyone used.

No chef.

No engraved basket.

Ruth approved.

Then I made my own mistake.

At rehab, I rearranged her walker and bedside table without asking because the setup looked unsafe to me.

Ruth snapped:

“Stop.”

I froze.

“What?”

“You work with old people now and think you’re licensed to move my furniture?”

I laughed.

Then saw she was serious.

“Sorry.”

“Ask.”

There it was.

The disease was contagious.

Control does not belong only to rich men.

I asked.

She wanted the table moved.

Not the walker.

Specific.

We fixed it.

Then romance.

Luca and I slept together eight months after his release.

No mansion.

My apartment.

He asked too often at first.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

Five minutes later:

“Still?”

I laughed.

“Consent is not a fire alarm you test every thirty seconds.”

He looked embarrassed.

Then relaxed.

Learning can become performance too.

We got better.

Then Vanessa.

I saw her at a housing conference.

Unexpected.

Bellini Hotels sponsored a panel on adaptive reuse.

She worked in hotel operations strategy now.

Not redevelopment.

We had coffee.

Not friendship exactly.

Respect.

She asked:

“Are you with him?”

“Yes.”

“How is it?”

“Annoying.”

She laughed.

Then:

“Does he still try to solve everything?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

I frowned.

“Why good?”

“Because if you told me he was transformed, I would know one of you was lying.”

Then she showed me her left hand.

No ring.

Not because she was waiting for Luca.

Because she liked being unmarried.

She had dated.

Ended one relationship.

Started another.

No completion needed.

Then she asked about my glasses.

“These?”

“Yes.”

“I still think about that.”

“So do I.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

That was not forgiveness exactly.

Maybe close.

Then she said:

“I used to think the worst thing I did was touch you.”

I waited.

“It wasn’t.”

“What was?”

“Believing your fear about your job was useful to me.”

That was precise.

Then:

“The hand lasted one second. The power difference existed before I touched you.”

I looked at her.

“Yes.”

We sat with that.

No hug.

Then I went home to Luca.

He had cooked.

Badly.

Pasta too soft.

I ate it anyway.

He asked:

“How was the conference?”

“Vanessa was there.”

He became still.

Then stopped himself.

“How was that for you?”

Better question.

“Strange.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“Yes.”

We did.

No jealousy scene.

No dead engagement haunting dinner.

People can love after loving other people.

Then my organization’s rejected Moretti grant came up.

Luca said:

“I still think your proposal was stronger.”

“You did not read it.”

“I read the public summary.”

I stared.

He smiled.

“I’m allowed public documents.”

Technically.

Then:

“Do not fund it personally.”

“I know.”

“You were thinking it.”

“Yes.”

We laughed.

One year earlier, that thought might have become a wire transfer.

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Now it stayed a thought.

That was a better measure of change than prison.