The Year I Jumped

The day before Christmas Eve, a venture capitalist I genuinely liked told us no. It came after months of conversations, re-engagements, the kind of sustained back-and-forth where you start to confuse interest with commitment. I sat down at my dining room table, the same one where Hannah and I eat dinner and pretend to be adults who own a house, and I cried. Not a noble cry. The broken kind, the…