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once really loved, you go to them preemptively, before quitting or separating, and you explain why you are unhappy, what you need changed. No threat, no blackmail. If they come back to you with an offer preemptively, then they have done so because they are sorry, and it’s often right to stay. Make sense?”
    â€œYes. That’s never happened to me in any sense, so I guess it’s only right that I’m alone and unemployed.”
    â€œIt’s right for now, baby, but not for long. It’s a simple rule:
    â€œRelationships are to be enjoyed, not endured.
    â€œI have to let you go; here come the entrees. My steak looks fantastic.”

CHAPTER FOUR
GETTING BACK OUT THERE—
RÉSUMÉS AND NETWORKING
    I sat in a diner in Bridgeport that made Denny’s look like a Ritz Carlton. It was 9 A.M. , and I hurried into the place after making sure twice that my car was locked. I nursed three cups of coffee, but Harper never showed. I texted him, emailed him, and having had enough, I dialed his direct line.
    â€œWhere are you? Brunch this is not,” I hissed.
    â€œSorry, going to be a no-show. You never sent me a new résumé, and I don’t think you’re ready,” Harper said in a maddeningly calm voice.
    â€œHow am I not ready?”
    â€œYou still feel sorry for yourself.”
    â€œHarper, you have my old résumé. You know my background. Get me a job like the one I had, with a better company for more money. Do I have to tell you how this works?”
    â€œAny headhunter can take you from one rut and put you in another rut. This is your chance to decide what you want, and to not settle.”
    For the seventh time in an hour, the waitress asked me if I was ready to order, and I succumbed to the pressure and asked for an egg white omelet with no cheese and no home fries. She gave me a look that said she had no respect for anyone who couldn’t handle cheese.
    â€œHey, you know what, I’m not going to discuss this with you when you make me drive nearly an hour on the Merritt Parkway during rush hour to meet you at this sad excuse for a restaurant and then don’t show.” I lowered my voice and looked around. “Do you know what types of characters are here?”
    â€œThe characters, as you call them, are mostly hourly workers from Sikorsky Aircraft, the painting division. Probably not a woman in the place other than Chaz, who justtook your order. All guys coming home from the midnight shift. The first shift started hours ago. They dip blades and vanes, after they’ve been milled and polished, into a vat of paint, and they hang them on hooks and roll them into ovens. When they open the doors to the ovens, a blast of heat hits them that makes them puke until they get used to it.”
    â€œHow do you know all that?”
    â€œI worked at that diner for four summers while I went to Yale. Look into the kitchen, Casey. You can see it from the counter. Tell me what you see.”
    There were two Hispanic men with bandanas on their foreheads. One of them had a ponytail. They were moving rapidly from the grill, jammed with small pools of eggs and link sausages and crackling bacon, to the toaster and to the fryer. One man sprinkled mushrooms into the pool of eggs. Their bodies and the frenetic tempo of their movements made them look young, but when one turned toward me to bring a plate to the counter, his brow was dripping with sweat, his eyes darkly circled. He might have been much older. For a second he paused and wiped his face with his apron, and I wondered if he would take off the white apron and walk out the door. But he didn’t. He punched his friend playfully on the shoulder, grabbed a couple of eggs from the glass bowl near the grill, and started over.
    Harper never said a word. I wanted to yell at him that if I can’t ever feel sorry for myself because someone else in the world is suffering more than I am, I will never be able to