Page 132 - In Five Years

I don’t respond, and David tries again. “Do you want me to come sit with
you?”
“No,” I say. “I told you. One of us has to keep our job.”
“The firm understands,” David says, even though we both know that’s not

true. I didn’t tell anyone about Bella’s illness, but even if I did, they would be
supportive as long as it didn’t get in the way of my work. Wachtell isn’t a

charity.
“I brought a ton of work with me. I just told them I’m working remotely
today.”
“I’ll come by at lunch.”

“Call me,” I say, and we hang up.
I sit back down in my chair. “There’s a free latte,” Aaron says, handing me a

Starbucks. “I forgot to make Jill’s nonfat.”
“How could you,” I say in mock horror, and Aaron chuckles. It feels wrong
here, that sound of joy.

“I guess I was a little focused on my girlfriend’s cancer.” He gives me an
exaggerated headshake. “How dare I.”
Now I’m the one to laugh.

“Do you think this counts as blowing it with her parents?”
“There’s always the chemo,” I say. And now we’re both in hysterics. A
woman knitting a few chairs over from us looks up, annoyed. I can’t help it,

though. It feels nearly impossible to get any air, that’s how hard we’re laughing.
“Radiation,” he says, gasping.
“Third time’s a charm.”

It’s Frederick’s stern look that sends us up and out of our seats, sprinting
toward the door.
When we’re in the hallway, I take big, gulping breathes. It feels like I haven’t

had air in a week.
“We’re going outside,” he says. “You have your cell phone?”
I nod.

“Good. Yours is the update phone. I made sure on the chart.”
We head down the elevators and the double doors spit us out onto the street.
There’s a park across the way. Small children dangle from swings, surrounded

by planted trees. Nannies and parents bark into their cell phones.