Page 61 - In Five Years

“She had to go into the gallery,” he says. “She asked me to check it out.
You’ll get it when you see it, I think. Hang on.” We’re at a crosswalk and he
holds his hand back as two bikers speed by. “Try not to die on my watch, huh?”
I blink back at him in the sunlight. I should have worn sunglasses.

“Okay, now we can go.”
We cross the street and then we’re making our way up Plymouth until we get

right to where it meets Bridge, running perpendicular. Just where I came from.
And then I see it. I missed it on my walk just now, blinded by my search for a
sandwich. It’s the redbrick event space with the barn door. I recognize it now.
But not just from that night. I was at a wedding here three years ago. David’s

friends Brianne and Andrea from Wharton Business School. It’s the old
Galapagos Art Space, and it’s what I saw out the window that night, four and a

half years ago. And behind me, across the street, at 37 Bridge, is the building
Aaron is about to lead me into.
“Watch your step,” he says, as we cross the street and make our way to the

door. Sure enough, I’m right. It’s a brick-and-concrete building, less industrial
than some surrounding it.
There’s no lobby, just a buzzer and a padlock, and Aaron takes a ring of keys

from his messenger bag and begins trying them. The first two don’t work, and
then on the third the lock swings open, the chain coming undone in his hands.
The steel door swings open to reveal the side of a freight elevator. Aaron uses a

second key to call it down for us—this time on the first try.
“They’re expecting you?” I ask.
Aaron nods. “A buddy of mine is a broker and gave me the keys. Said we

could check it out today.”
We. Bella.
The elevator lumbers down. Aaron holds the door open and I step inside, then

he wheels his bike in after us. He hits floor four and we’re making our way
upward, the mechanics of the freight heaving and sputtering as we go.
“This building doesn’t seem up to code,” I say, crossing my arms. Aaron

smiles.
“I like that you and Bella are best friends. It’s fun.”
“What?” I cough twice into my closed first. “What do you mean?”

“You’re so different.”