Page 38 - In Five Years

I can see her rolling her eyes. “Do you know that the French don’t even have
a word for safety?”
“That is not even remotely true,” I say. “Beaucoup.” It’s pretty much one of
the only French words I know.

“Even so,” she says. “I wish you had more fun.”
“I have fun,” I say.

“Let me guess. David is now watching CNN Live and you’re wearing a face
mask. You just got engaged!”
I touch my fingers to my cheek. “Only dry skin here.”
“How was the job interview?” she asks. “I didn’t forget, I just temporarily

forgot.”
“It was great, honestly. I think I got it.”

“Of course you got it. You not getting it would require a rip in the universe
that I’m not sure is scientifically possible.”
I feel my stomach tighten.

“Boozy brunch when I’m back,” she says. The door opens again and sound
rushes back in through the phone. I hear her kiss someone twice.
“You know I hate brunch,” I say.

“But you love me.”
She hangs up, in a whirlwind of noise.
David comes into the bedroom, his hair rumpled. He takes off his glasses and

rubs the bridge of his nose.
“You tired?” he asks me.
“Not really,” I say.

“Yeah, me neither.” He climbs into bed. He reaches for me. But I can’t. Not
right now.
“I’m just going to get some water,” I say. “Too much champagne. Do you

want some water, too?”
“Sure.” He yawns. “Do me a favor and get the light?”
I get up and flip the light switch. I walk back into the living room. But instead

of pouring a glass of water, I go to the windows. The TV is off and it’s dark, but
the streets are flooded with light. I look down. Third Avenue is busy even now,
well past midnight. There are people out—laughing and screaming. Heading to

the bars of our youth: Joshua Tree, Mercury Bar. They’ll dance to nineties music