In Five Years: A Novel - Rebecca Serle Page 0,69
the phone with them but had to hang up to deal with work.”
David takes a sip of water. “I’ll handle it,” he says.
“Thanks.” I clear my throat. “David,” I say. “Before I say this, you can’t get mad at me.”
“That’s impossible to guarantee, but okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“Just say it,” he says.
I exhale. “Maybe we should postpone the wedding.”
He looks at me in confusion but something else, too. In the back of his eyes, behind the pupils and the firing optic nerve, is relief. Confirmation. Because he’s known, hasn’t he? He’s suspected that I’d let him down.
“Why do you say that?” he asks, measured.
“Bella is sick,” I say. “I don’t think she’ll be able to make it. I don’t want to get married without her.”
David nods. “So what are you saying? You want more time?” He shakes his head.
“That we postpone till the summer. Maybe even get the venue we want.”
“We don’t want this venue?” David sits back. He’s irritated. It’s not an emotion he wears often. “Dannie,” he says. “I need to ask you something.”
I stay perfectly still. I hear the wind outside howling. Ushering in the impending freeze.
“Do you really want to get married?”
Relief sputters and then floods my veins like a faucet after a water outage. “Yes,” I say. “Yes, of course.”
Our wine comes then. We busy ourselves with witnessing and then participating: the uncorking and tasting and pouring and toasting. David congratulates me on Yahtzee.
“Are you sure?” he says, picking the thread back up. “Because sometimes I don’t . . .” He shakes his head. “Sometimes I’m not so sure.”
“Forget about my suggestion,” I say. “It was dumb. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Everything is already set.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
We order, but we barely touch our food. We both know the truth of what sits now between us. And I should be scared, I should be terrified, but the thing I keep thinking, the thing that makes me answer affirmative, is that he didn’t ask the other question, the one I cannot conceive.
What happens if she doesn’t make it?
Chapter Thirty-Five
The chemo is brutal. Far, far worse than the last round. Standing up is hard for Bella now, and she doesn’t leave the apartment except for treatment. She sits in bed, emailing with the gallery, looking over digital exhibits. I visit her in the mornings sometimes. Svedka lets me in, and I sit on the edge of the bed, even as she’s sleeping.
She starts to lose her hair.
My wedding dress arrives. It fits. It even looks good. The saleslady was right, the neckline isn’t as bad as I thought it was.
David does not mention the wedding to me for a week. For a week, I leave emails from the planner unanswered, dodge calls, hold off on writing checks. And then I come home from work to find him at the dining room table, a bowl of pasta and two salads set out in front of him.
“Hey,” he says. “Come sit.” Hey. Come sit.
Aldridge said I have a good gut, but I always thought the concept of intuition was bullshit. All you are feeling is an absorption of the facts. You are assessing all the information you have: words, body language, environment, the proximity of your human form to a moving vehicle, and deriving a conclusion. It is not my gut that leads me to sit down at that table knowing what it coming. It is the truth of what is.
I sit.
The pasta looks cold. It’s been out a long time.
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
“You’re not late,” he says. He’s right. We didn’t schedule anything tonight, and it’s only eight-thirty. This is the time I’m usually home.
“This looks good,” I say.
David exhales. At least he’s not going to make me wait for it.
“Look,” he says. “We need to talk.”
I turn to face him. He looks tired, withdrawn, the same temperature as the food before us.
“Okay,” I say.
“I—” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe I’m the one who has to do this.” His tone sounds just a little bit bitter.
“I’m sorry.”
He ignores me. “Do you know what this feels like?”
“No,” I admit. “I don’t.”
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you, too.”
He shakes his head. “I love you, but I’m sick of being the person who fits in your life but not your . . . fuck it, your heart.”
I feel it in my body. It punches me right there, right on the tender underside.
“David,” I say. My stomach clenches. “You do.”
He shakes his head. “You may love me, but I think we both