In Five Years: A Novel - Rebecca Serle Page 0,53

screen buzzes and we’re met with old friends. The feeling of nostalgia—pleasant nostalgia—the kind imbued with warmth and not melancholy, fills the room. Bella settles herself down and nuzzles her neck into my shoulder.

“Remember Stone?” she says. “Oh my god, I loved this show.”

I let the early two thousands wash over us for the next two and a half hours. At one point, Bella falls asleep. I pause the computer and slip out of bed. I check my emails in the living room. There’s one from Aldridge: Can we meet Monday morning? 9 am, my office.

Aldridge never emails me, certainly not on a weekend. He’s going to fire me. I’ve barely been in the office. I’ve been behind on due diligence and late to respond to emails. Fuck.

“Dannie?” I hear Bella call from the other room. I get up and run back to her. She stretches lazily, and then winces. “Forgot about the stitches.”

“What do you need?”

“Nothing,” she says. She sits up slowly, squinting her eyes to the pain. “It’ll pass.”

“I think you should eat something.”

As if we’re being bugged, Svedka appears at the door. “You want to eat?”

Bella nods. “Maybe a sandwich? Do we have cheese?”

Svedka nods and exits.

“Does she have you on a baby monitor?”

“Oh most likely,” Bella says.

She sits up farther now, and I see that she’s bleeding. There is a dark crimson stain on her gray pajamas. “Bella,” I say. I point. “Stay still.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “It’s no big deal.” But she looks woozy, a little bit nervous. She blinks a few times rapidly.

Ever alert, Svedka returns. She rushes to Bella, pushes up her pajamas, and, as if she were a clown, pulls gauze and ointment from her sleeve. She replaces Bella’s bandages with fresh white wrappings. All new.

“Thank you,” Bella says. “I’m fine. Really.”

A moment later, the door opens. Aaron comes into the bedroom. His arms are laden with bags—errands, gifts, groceries. I see Bella’s face light up.

“Sorry, I couldn’t stay away. Should I make Thai or Italian or sushi?” He drops his bags and bends down and kisses her, his hand lingering on her face.

“Greg cooks,” Bella says, her eyes still locked into his.

“I know,” I say.

She smiles. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

I think about the pile of paperwork I have, Aldridge’s email. “I think I’m going to head out. You two enjoy. You might want to put on some armor before entering the kitchen,” I say. I look toward the door at Svedka, who is scowling.

As I gather my things, Aaron climbs into bed with Bella. He gets on top of the covers, still in jeans, and he gently shifts her so she’s in his arms. The last thing I see when I leave is his hand on her stomach—gently, tendering, touching what lies beneath.

Chapter Twenty-Five

It’s Monday morning. 8:58 a.m. Aldridge’s office.

I’m sitting in a chair, waiting for him to return from a partner meeting. I’m wearing a new Theory suit with a silk high-necked camisole underneath. Nothing frivolous. All severity. I’m tapping my pen to the corner of my folder. I’ve brought all our recent deals, the success I’ve helped and in some cases overseen.

“Ms. Kohan,” Aldridge says. “Thank you for meeting me.”

I stand and shake his hand. He has on a custom Armani three-piece suit with a pink-and-blue shirt and matching pink-trimmed detail. Aldridge loves fashion. I should have remembered that.

“How are you?” he asks me.

“Good,” I say, measured. “Fine.”

He nods. “Lately I’ve been noting your work. And I must say—”

I can’t bear it. I leap in. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ve been distracted. My best friend has been very sick. But I’ve brought all my case work to the hospital and we’re still on schedule with the Karbinger merger. Nothing has changed. This job is my life, and I’ll do whatever I can to prove that to you.”

Aldridge looks puzzled. “Your friend is sick. What’s wrong?”

“She has ovarian cancer,” I say. No sooner are the words out than I see them, sitting on the table between us. They are bulking, unruly, bleeding. They ooze all over everything. The documents on Aldridge’s desk. His gorgeous Armani suit.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” he says. “It sounds serious.”

“Yes.”

He shakes his head. “You’ve gotten her the best doctors?”

I nod.

“Good,” he says. “That’s good.” His eyebrows scrunch, and then his face descends into surprise. “I didn’t call you here to reprimand your work,” he says. “I’ve been impressed with your initiative lately.”

“I’m confused.”

“I’ll bet,” Aldridge says. At this, he chuckles. “You