Page 27 of Best In Class
“I was in the wrong.”
He shrugs. “It takes two to tango.”
For years, I ran to get ahead, always chasing the next milestone, the next project, the next win. Andfinally, I won big, got awarded the Pritzker Architecture Prize.
I remember it like it was yesterday—in some way it was! Because it drove me back, brought me here.
It’s a Tuesday. I’m in the studio, finalizing a blueprint for a client.
I’m burnt out.
Half-hungover.
A little numb.
This has been my standard operating procedure for years.
My assistant bursts in without knocking, holding her phone, eyes wide.
“They just announced it,” she squeals. “You won. Dom—you won.”
I raise both eyebrows. “Won what?”
I’m so out of it that I’m not even waiting to hear about the Pritzker, when I should’ve been on pins and needles.
She pulls up the press release and shoves the phone in my face.
There it is, in black and white on a press release.
Dominic Calder.
Recognized for “bold innovation, elegant form, and socially responsible design.”
I stare at the screen.
The rest of my team comes in. Champagne appears from God-knows-where. There is singing, dancing, raucous laughter.
My mentor from my first job calls me. The dean from Cornell emails me. My phone explodes with congratulatory messages.
And all I can think is…I need to tell Luna.
It hits me like a load-bearing wall I didn’t know existed—one wrong move, and everything I built will start to crack.
This rising, aching swell in my chest, I know, has nothing to do with pride.
It’s longing.
And it grabs me by the throat.
Doesn’t let go.
Because I know that none of it matters. Not the award. Not the headlines. Not the accolades. Not the architectural immortality.
It means nothing if I can’t walk into a room, find her eyes, and say, ‘Moonbeam, I did it.”
“We did it.”
She’s the first person who believed I could build something extraordinary.
