Page 126 - In Five Years

I swallow what remains of my tears. I look across at him. I feel anger hit my
bloodstream like alcohol. “You don’t,” I say. “You have no idea.”
“Dan—”
“You don’t have to do this, you know. No one would blame you.”

He peers at me. “What do you mean?” He seems to genuinely not understand.
“I mean, this isn’t what you signed up for. You met a pretty girl, she was

healthy, she’s not anymore.”
“Dannie,” Aaron says, like he’s choosing his words very carefully. “It’s
important that you know that I’m not going anywhere.”
“Why?” I ask him.

A jogger passes by and, sensing the tension of the moment, crosses the street.
A car horn honks. A siren whirls somewhere down Hudson.

“Because I love her,” he says.
I ignore the confession. I’ve heard it before. “You don’t even know her.”
I start walking again. A kid zooms past us with a basketball, his mother

sprinting after him. The city. Full and buzzy and unaware that somewhere,
fifteen blocks south, tiny cells are multiplying in a plot to destroy the whole
world.

“Dannie. Stop.”
I don’t. And then I feel Aaron’s hand on my arm. He yanks and turns me
around.

“Ow!” I say. “What the hell.” I rub my upper arm. I am, all at once, overcome
with the urge to slap him, to punch him in the eye and leave him, crumpled and
bleeding, on the corner of Perry Street.

“Sorry,” he says. His eyebrows are knit together. He has a dimple in the space
above his nose. “But you need to listen to me. I love her. That’s the long and
short of it. I don’t think I could live with myself if I bailed now, but that’s not

even relevant because, like I said, I love her. This isn’t like anything I’ve ever
had before. This is real. I’m here.”
His chest rises and falls like it’s taking physical effort to be upright. That I

understand.
“It’s going to be more painful if you leave later,” I say. I feel my lip quiver
again. I demand it to stop.