In Five Years: A Novel - Rebecca Serle Page 0,31
get any fresh air.”
“This is hardly fresh,” I say. “Do the summers keep getting worse?”
“Yes.”
“I’m too hot to even eat.”
“Good,” he says. “Because the food was a ruse.”
He drops a calendar book down on the table between us.
“What is this?”
“It’s a planner,” he says. “Dates, times, numbers. We need to start getting organized about this thing.”
“The wedding?”
“Yes,” he says. “The wedding. Unless we start making phone calls, everything is going to be booked. They are already. We’re too tired at night to talk about it, and this is how we got four years down the line.”
“And a half,” I remind him.
“Right,” he says. “And a half.”
He bites his bottom lip and shakes his head at me.
“We need a human planner,” I say.
“Yes, but we needed to plan to even get a planner. A lot of the top people book up two years in advance.”
“I know,” I say. “I know.”
“I’m not saying this is like, your area—” David says. “But I think we should do it together. I’d like that. If you want.”
“Of course,” I say. “I’d love that.”
This is how badly David wants to marry me. He’ll take his lunch hour to look over Brides.
“No cheesy shit,” he says.
“I’m offended at the suggestion,” I say.
“And I don’t think we should have a wedding party,” he says. “Too much work, and I don’t want a bachelor party.”
Pat’s, in Arizona, didn’t exactly go according to plan. They booked the wrong hotel and ended up getting delayed at the airport for nine and a half hours. Everyone got drunk on beers and Bloody Marys, and David was hungover the rest of the weekend.
“I’m with you. Bella can hold our rings, or something.”
“Fine.”
“And white flowers only.”
“Works for me.”
“Heavy cocktail hour, who cares about dinner?”
“Exactly.”
“And open bar.”
“But no shots.”
David smiles. “No special wedding shot? Alright then.” He flips over his wrist. “Nice progress. I gotta go.”
“That’s it?” I say. “Planner and run?”
“You want to have lunch now?”
I look at my phone. Seven missed calls and thirty-two new emails. “No. I was late when I got here.”
David stands and hands me my salad. I take it.
“We’ll get it done,” I tell him.
“I know we will.”
I imagine David wearing a sweater and a gold band on his ring finger, opening wine in our kitchen on a cozy winter night. A sense of sustained comfort. The materials of a warm life.
“I’m happy,” I tell him.
“I’m glad,” he says. “Because either way, you’re stuck with me.”
Chapter Fourteen
It’s now the end of August. Long ago in January, David and I booked a summer share in Amagansett for Labor Day weekend with Bella and our friends Morgan and Ariel.
Bella and Aaron are still together, and unsurprisingly, Aaron is joining us on this trip, turning the weekend into a triple date, which is fine by me. Historically, Bella and I are on opposite schedules at the beach. She sleeps late and parties late. I wake up at dawn and go for a run, cook us breakfast, and fit in a few hours of work before heading down to the water.
David rented us a Zipcar, which is proving problematic in transporting us, our luggage, and Morgan, who is meant to be driving with us. Ariel is taking the jitney later after work.
“This thing looks like it belongs on a Monopoly board,” Morgan says. She’s in her forties, which you’d never know except for the salt-and-pepper hair she sports. She has a baby face, no wrinkles, not even the tiny lines around her eyes. It’s wild. I’ve been sneaking Botox since I was twenty-nine, although David would murder me if he ever found out.
“They said it fits four.” David is shoving my weekend bag over our suitcase, jamming his shoulder into the trunk and pushing.
“Four tiny people and their tiny people purses.”
I laugh. We haven’t even tried to fit Morgan’s backpack or roller bag in yet.
Two hours later, we’re on our way in an SUV David rented last minute from Hertz. We leave the Zipcar parked illegally on our street with the promise from a manager of imminent pickup.
Morgan sits up front with David while I balance my computer on my knees in the back. It’s Thursday, and although this week is sanctioned vacation, there is still work to be done.
They’re singing along to Lionel Richie. “Endless Love.”
And I, I want to share all my love, with you. No one else will do.
“This reminds me,” I yell forward. “We need a list of do-not-plays for the wedding.”
Morgan turns the music down. “How is planning