Page 183 - In Five Years

Chapter Thirty-Five

The chemo is brutal. Far, far worse than the last round. Standing up is hard for
Bella now, and she doesn’t leave the apartment except for treatment. She sits in
bed, emailing with the gallery, looking over digital exhibits. I visit her in the

mornings sometimes. Svedka lets me in, and I sit on the edge of the bed, even as
she’s sleeping.
She starts to lose her hair.

My wedding dress arrives. It fits. It even looks good. The saleslady was right,
the neckline isn’t as bad as I thought it was.
David does not mention the wedding to me for a week. For a week, I leave

emails from the planner unanswered, dodge calls, hold off on writing checks.
And then I come home from work to find him at the dining room table, a bowl of
pasta and two salads set out in front of him.

“Hey,” he says. “Come sit.” Hey. Come sit.
Aldridge said I have a good gut, but I always thought the concept of intuition

was bullshit. All you are feeling is an absorption of the facts. You are assessing
all the information you have: words, body language, environment, the proximity
of your human form to a moving vehicle, and deriving a conclusion. It is not my
gut that leads me to sit down at that table knowing what it coming. It is the truth

of what is.
I sit.

The pasta looks cold. It’s been out a long time.
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
“You’re not late,” he says. He’s right. We didn’t schedule anything tonight,
and it’s only eight-thirty. This is the time I’m usually home.

“This looks good,” I say.