In Five Years: A Novel - Rebecca Serle Page 0,30
“I’m ordering.”
Bella lets me. I get a Greek salad, lamb souvlaki, spanakopita and roasted eggplant with tahini.
We sink into the food like a bath.
“Do you remember the first time we came here?” Bella asks me. We rarely make it through a meal without her repurposing some memory. She is so sentimental. Sometimes I think about our old age and it seems intolerable to have to sift through that much history. We have twenty-five years now, and there’s already too much to pull from, too much to make her weepy. Old age is going to be brutal.
“No,” I say. “It’s a restaurant. We’ve come here a lot.”
Bella rolls her eyes. “You had just moved down from Columbia, and we were celebrating your job with Clarknell.”
I shake my head. “We celebrated Clarknell at Daddy-O.” The bar off Seventh we used to frequent at all hours of the night for the first three years we lived in the city.
“No,” Bella says. “We met Carl and Berg there before we came here, just you and me.”
She’s right, we did. I remember the tables all had candles on them, and there was a bowl of Jordan almonds by the door. I scooped two handfuls into the pouch in my purse on the way out. They don’t keep them stocked anymore, probably because of customers like me.
“Maybe we did,” I say.
Bella shakes her head. “You can never be wrong.”
“It’s actually part of my job description,” I say. “But I seem to remember a night in late two thousand fourteen.”
“Way before David,” Bella says.
“Yeah.”
“You love him?” she says. It’s a strange thing to ask and it’s not lost on either one of us, this question, and that she’s asked it.
“I do,” I say. “We want so many of the same things, we have the same plans. It fits, you know?”
Bella cuts a slice of feta and spears a tomato on top. “So you know what it’s like then,” she says.
“What?”
“To feel like you’ve met your person.”
Bella holds my gaze, and I feel something sharp prick my stomach from the inside out. It’s like she put the pin there.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry if I was weird with Aaron. I really do like him, and I’ll love him if and whenever you do. Just take it slow,” I say.
She puts the bite into her mouth and chews. “Impossible,” she says.
“I know,” I say. “But I’m your best friend. I have to say it anyway.”
Chapter Thirteen
The swamp of July meets us with a heavy, cloying inevitability: the weather is going to get worse before it gets better. We still have to get through August. David asks me to meet him for lunch in Bryant Park one Wednesday toward the end of the month.
In the summer, Bryant Park sets up café tables around the perimeter and corporates in suits take their lunches outside. David’s office is in the thirties and mine in the fifties, so Forty-Second and Sixth Avenue is our magic midway zone. We rarely meet for lunch, but when we do, it’s usually Bryant Park.
David is waiting with two nicoise salads from Pret and my favorite Arnold Palmer from Le Pain Quotidien. Both establishments are in walking distance and have indoor seating so we can eat there in the colder months. We’re not fancy lunch people. I’d be happy with a deli salad for two meals out of three most days. In fact, one of our first dates was to this very park with these very salads. We sat outside even though it was too cold, and when David noticed me shivering, he unwrapped his scarf and put it around me, then he jumped up to get me a hot coffee from the cart on the corner. It was a small gesture, but so indicative of who he was—who he is. He’s always been willing to put my happiness before his comfort.
I take a car down to meet him, but I’m still drenched when I arrive.
“It’s a hundred degrees,” I say, folding myself into the seat across from him. My heels are rubbing blisters into the backs of my feet. I need talcum powder and a pedicure, immediately. I can’t remember the last time I stopped to get my nails done.
“Actually, it’s ninety-six but feels like one oh two,” David says, reading off his phone.
I blink at him.
“Sorry,” he says. “But I understand the point.”
“Why are we outside?” I reach for my drink. It’s miraculously still cold, even though the ice has almost melted entirely.
“Because we never