Page 208 - In Five Years

“Maybe we could make it a weekly thing,” he says, establishing something.
Boundaries, maybe friendship.
“I’d like that.”
I look down at my hand. I don’t want to. I want to hold it forever. This

promise on my finger. But it is not my promise, of course. It is his.
I take it off.

“Here,” I say. “You should have this.”
He shakes his head. “She wanted you—”
“No,” I say. “She didn’t. This is yours.”
He nods. He takes it back. “Thank you.”

He stands up. He puts on his shirt. I use the time to get dressed as well.
Then he stops, realizing something. “We could drink some more wine,” he

says. “If you don’t want to be alone?”
I think about that, about the promise of this space. This time. Tonight.
“I’m okay,” I say. I have no idea if it’s true.

We walk across the apartment silently, our feet light on the cool concrete.
He pulls me into a hug. His arms feel good, and strong. But gone is the
charge, the kinetic energy pulling, asking, demanding to be combusted.

“Get home safe,” I say. And then he is gone.
I stare at the door a long time. I wonder whether I will see him tomorrow, or
whether I will get a text, an excuse. Whether this is the beginning of goodbye for

us, too. I do not know. I have no idea what happens, now.
I walk around the apartment for an hour, touching things. The marble
countertops, the grainiest shade of green. The black wood cabinets. The

cherrywood stools. Everything in my apartment has always been white, but Bella
knew I belonged in color. I go to the orange dresser, and that’s when I see a
framed photo sitting on top of it. Two teenagers, arms wrapped around each

other, standing in front of a little white house with a blue awning.
“You were right,” I say. I start to laugh, then. The hysterical sobs of someone
caught between irony and grief. The woven tapestry of our friendship continuing

to reveal itself even now, even in her absence.
Outside, across the street from the apartment, right by Galapagos, I can see it
start to snow. The first fall of the year. I put down the picture. I wipe my eyes.