Page 145 - In Five Years

“I know you do,” he tells me. “But it’s important to make sure the job is not
unkind to you.”
“That’s impossible. We’re corporate lawyers. The job is inherently unkind.”
Aldridge laughs. “Maybe,” he says. “But I don’t think I’d have lasted this

long if I thought we hadn’t struck some kind of deal.”
“You and the job.”

Aldridge takes off his glasses. He looks me square in the eye when he says:
“Me and my ambition. Far be it from me to tell you what your own deal should
be. I still work eighty-hour weeks. My husband, god bless him, wants to kill me.
But—”

“You know the terms.”
He smiles, puts his glasses back on. “I know the terms.”

The IPO evaluation begins in mid-November. We’re already creeping further

into October. I call Bella at lunch, while bent over a signature Sweetgreen salad,
and she sounds rested and comfortable. The girls from the gallery are over, and
she’s going over a new show. She can’t talk. Good.

I leave work early, intent on picking up one of David’s favorite meals—the
teriyaki at Haru—and surprising him at home. We’ve been strangers passing in
the night. I think the last time I had a full conversation with him was at the

hospital. And we’ve barely touched our wedding plans.
I turn onto Fifth Avenue and decide to walk. It’s barely 6 p.m, David won’t be
home for another two hours, at least, and the weather is perfect. One of those

first truly crisp fall days, where you could conceivably wear a sweater but
because the sun is out, and still strong overhead, a T-shirt will do. The wind is
low and languid, and the city is buzzy with the happy, contented quality of

routine.
I’m feeling so festive, in fact, that when I pass Intimissimi, a popular lingerie
company, I decide to stop inside.

I think about sex, about David. About how it’s good, solid, satisfying, and
how I’ve never been someone who wants her hair pulled or to be spanked. Who
doesn’t even really like to be on top. Is that a problem? Maybe I’m not in touch