Page 209 - In Five Years

And then I pull on my rubber boots. I grab my down jacket and scarf from the
closet. Keys, door, elevator.
Outside, the streets are empty. It is late; it is Dumbo. It is snowing. But from a
block over, I see a light. I turn the corner. The deli.

I wander in. There is a woman behind the counter, sweeping. But the place is
warm and well-lit, and she doesn’t tell me they’re closed. They’re not. I look up

at the board. The array of sandwiches, none of which I’ve ever touched. I’m not
hungry, not at all, but I think about tomorrow—about coming here and getting an
egg salad on bagel, or a tuna on rye. A breakfast sandwich—eggs and tomatoes
and cheddar and wilted arugula. Something different.

The door jangles behind me. A tinkling of holiday bells.
I turn around, and there he is.

“Dannie,” Dr. Shaw says. “What are you doing here?”
His cheeks are red. His face open. He’s no longer in scrubs, but in jeans and a
jacket, open at the collar. He is handsome, of course, in the way familiarity is

beautiful, if not a little worn, a little tattered.
“Dr. Shaw.”
“Please,” he says. “Call me Mark.”

He extends his hand. I take it. We will stay in that deli until they close,
sipping on coffee that turns cold, which is an hour from now. He will walk me
home. He will say he is very sorry for my loss. That he never knew I lived in

Dumbo. I will tell him I didn’t. Not until now. He will ask if perhaps he can see
me again, perhaps at that deli, when I am ready. I will tell him yes, perhaps.
Perhaps.

But all of that is an hour from now. Now, on the other side of midnight, we do
not yet know what is coming.
So be it. So let it be.