In Five Years: A Novel - Rebecca Serle Page 0,32

going?”

David shrugs. “Cautiously optimistic.”

“He’s lying,” I say. “We’re totally behind.”

“How did you guys do it?” David asks.

Morgan and Ariel were married three years ago in an epic weekend in the Catskills. They rented out this themed inn called The Roxbury, and the whole wedding took place in various structures on a neighboring farm. They brought in everything: tables, chairs, chandeliers. They arranged artful bales of hay to separate the lounge area from the dance floor. There was a cheese-and-whisky bar, and every table had the most gorgeous arrangement of wildflowers you’d ever seen. Photos from their wedding were on The Cut and Vogue online.

“It was easy,” Morgan says.

“We’re not on their level, babe,” I say. “Our entire apartment is white.”

Morgan laughs. “Please. You know it’s what I love to do. We had fun with it.” She fiddles with the dial on the radio. “So Greg is coming?”

“I think so. Is he?”

David looks back at me.

“Yep.”

“He seems great, right?” Morgan asks.

“Really nice,” David says. “We’ve only met him, what? Once? It’s been a crazy summer. I can’t believe it’s over.” He glances at me in the rearview.

“Almost over,” Morgan says.

I make a noncommittal noise in the backseat.

“He seems stable though, like he has a real job and isn’t constantly trying to get her to leave the country on her parents’ credit card,” David continues.

“Not like us zany freeloader artists,” Morgan teases.

“Hey,” David says. “You’re more successful than any of us.”

It’s true. Morgan sells out every show she puts on. Her photos go for fifty thousand dollars. She gets more for a twenty-four-hour editorial job than I make in two months.

“We had a great time with him at dinner a few weeks ago,” Morgan says. “She seems different. I went by the gallery last week, too, and thought so again. Like more grounded or something.”

“I agree,” I volunteer. “She does.”

The truth is that since that day in the park, since David and I started talking about the wedding seriously, I’ve thought about my vision less and less. We’re building the right future now, the one that we’ve been working toward. All evidence is on our side that that version will be the one we’re living come December. I’m not worried.

“Her longest relationship by a mile already,” Morgan says. “You think this one will stick?”

I hit save on an email draft. “Seems that way.”

We turn off the main highway, and I close my computer. We’re nearly there.

The house is the one we’ve rented for this same week the last five summers in a row. It’s in Amagansett, down Beach Road. It’s old. The shingles are falling off and the furniture is mildew-y, and yet it’s perfect because it’s right on the water. There’s nothing separating us from the ocean but a sand dune. I love it. As soon as we pass the Stargazer and turn onto 27, I lower the window to let in the thick, salty air. I immediately start to relax. I love the massive old trees lining the lanes and stretching down to that wide expanse of beach—big sky, big ocean, and air. Room.

When we pull up to the house it’s already late in the afternoon, and Bella and Aaron are there. She rented a yellow convertible, and it’s parked out front, a chipper greeting. The door to the house is flung open, as if they’ve just arrived, although I know they haven’t. Bella texted me they were there hours ago.

My first instinct is to be annoyed—how many summers, how many times, have I told her to keep the doors closed so we don’t get bugs? But I check myself. This is our house, after all. Not just mine. And I want is for all of us to have a nice weekend.

I help David unload the trunk, handing Morgan her roller as Bella comes out of the house. She has on a pale blue linen dress, the bottom of which has paint splotches on it. This fills me with a very particular kind of joy. To my knowledge she hasn’t painted all year, and the sight of her—hair wild in the wind, the atmosphere of creation hanging around her like mist—is wonderful to witness.

“You made it!” She throws her arms around Morgan and gives me a big kiss on the side of my head.

“I told Ariel we’d pick her up at the east station in like twenty minutes. David, can you grab her? I can’t figure out how to put the top up.” She gestures toward the perky convertible.

“I can