Page 37 - In Five Years

Congratulations! Do you like the ring? Tell me everything!”
“Are you still in Paris?” I ask her.
“Yes!” she says.
“When are you coming home?”

“I’m not sure,” she says. “Jacques wants to go to Sardinia for a few days.”
Ah, Jacques. Jacques is back. If Bella woke up five years in the future in a

different apartment, she probably wouldn’t even blink.
“In December?”
“It’s supposed to be quiet and romantic.”
“I thought you were going to the Riviera with Renaldo.”

“Well he bailed, and then Jacques texted that he was in town and voilà. New
plans!”

I sit down on my bed. I look around. The tufted gray chairs I bought with my
first paycheck at Clarknell, the oak dresser that was a hand-me-down from my
parents’ place. The Bakelite lamps David brought with him from his Turtle Bay

bachelor pad.
I see the expanse of that loft in Dumbo. The blue velvet chairs.
“Hey,” I say. “I have to tell you something kind of crazy.”

“Tell me everything!” she hollers through the phone, and I imagine her
spinning out in the middle of a dance floor, on the roof of some Parisian hotel,
Jacques tugging at her waist.

“I’m not sure how to explain it. I fell asleep, and . . . I wasn’t dreaming. I
swear I was in this apartment and this guy was there. It was so real. Like I really
went there. Has anything like that ever happened to you?”

“No, darling, we’re going to the Marais!”
“What?”
“Sorry, everyone in the crowd is absolutely starving, and it’s practically light

out. We’ve been partying for decades. So wait, it was like a dream? Did he do it
on the terrace or in the restaurant?” I hear an explosion of sound and then a door
shut, a retreat to silence.

“Oh, the restaurant,” I say. “I’ll tell you everything when you’re back.”
“I’m here, I’m here!” she says.
“You’re not,” I say, smiling. “Be safe, okay?”