Page 152 - In Five Years

The wrapping paper is gold, with a white-and-silver silk ribbon. Bella is a
master gift wrapper, and it gives me some solace, some sign, that she did this
herself. It feels like proof of stability, of order. I tear it away.
Inside is a large frame. A piece of art. “Turn it over,” she says.

I do, with Aaron’s help.
“I saw a print of this on Instagram and immediately knew you needed it. It

took forever to find the Allen Grubesic one. I think he only made twelve.
Everyone at the gallery has been trying to track it down for you, and we found it
two months ago. A woman in Italy was selling it. We pounced. I’m obsessed.
Please tell me you love it?”

I look at the print in my hands. It’s an eye chart, and it reads: I WAS YOUNG I
NEEDED THE MONEY. My hands feel numb.

“Do you like it?” she asks, her voice an octave lower.
“Yes,” I say. I swallow. “I love it.”
“I thought you would.”

“Aaron,” I say. I can feel him standing there. It seems crazy, impossible, that
he doesn’t know. “Whatever happened to that Dumbo apartment?”
Bella laughs. “Why do you call him Aaron?” she asks.

“It’s fine,” he says abruptly. “I don’t mind.”
“I know you don’t mind,” Bella says. “But why?”
“It’s his first name,” I say. “Isn’t it?” I turn my attention to the gift. I run my

hand over the glass.
“I bought it, the apartment,” she tells me. The Aaron argument dissolves as
quickly as it presented. “The rest is for me to know and you to find out.”

I push the print to the side. I take her hands in mine. “Bella, listen to me. You
cannot renovate that apartment. It will be a good investment as raw space. You
bought it, fine, just sell it. Promise me you’re not going to move in there.

Promise.”
Bella squeezes my hand. “You’re crazy,” she says. “But fine. I promise you.
I’m not going to move in there.”