Page 189 - In Five Years

Aaron is downstairs, outside the apartment when I get there, smoking a cigarette.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” I say.
He looks at the cigarette between his fingers as if considering it for the first
time. “Me neither.”

The last time we were here it was summer, everything was blooming. The
river was wild in green and growth. Now—the metaphor is too much to bear.

“Thanks for coming,” he says. He’s wearing a jacket, open despite the cold. I
can barely see out of my hood and scarf.
“What do you need?” I ask.
He tosses the end of the cigarette down, snuffs it out with his foot. “I’ll show

you.”
I follow him back through the familiar door, into the building and up the

rickety, wobbly elevator.
At the apartment door, he takes out the keys. I have the desire to put my hand
over his, yank it away. Stop him from doing what he does next. But I’m frozen. I

feel like I cannot move my arms. And when the door swings open I see it all,
splayed out before me like the inside of my heart.
The renovation, exactly as it was. The kitchen. The stools. The bed over

there, by the windows. The blue velvet chairs.
“Welcome home,” he whispers.
I look up at him. He’s smiling. It’s the happiest I’ve seen anyone in months.

“What?” I ask him.
“It’s your new home,” he says. “Bella and I have been working on it for
months. She wanted to renovate it for you.”

“For me?”
“Bella saw this place ages ago when I was assigned the building renovation.
Something about the layout and the light, the view and the bones of the old

warehouse. She told me she knew you belonged here.” He smiles. “And you
know Bella, she wants what she wants. And I think this project has helped. It has
given her something creative to focus on.”

“She did all this?” I ask.
“She picked out everything,” he says. “Down to the studs. Even when you
guys were fighting.”