Page 44 - In Five Years

She’s dressed in a long, flowing floral dress that’s wet at the edges—at five-
foot-three she’s not tall enough for it—and a crimson velvet blazer. Her hair is
down and falls around her in tufts, like spools of wool. She’s beautiful. Every
time I see her I’m reminded just how much.

“This cannot possibly be happening,” I say. “You beat me here?”
She shrugs, her gold hoops bouncing against her neck. “I couldn’t wait to see

you.” She gets out of her chair and pulls me into a tight hug. She smells like her.
Tea tree and lavender, a hint of cinnamon.
“I’m wet,” I yelp, but I don’t let go. It feels good. “I missed you, too.”
I tuck my umbrella under my chair and loop my raincoat over the back. Inside

it’s chillier than I thought it would be. I rub my hands together.
“You look older,” she says.

“Gee, thanks.”
“That’s not what I mean. Coffee?”
I nod.

She holds her cup up to the waiter. She comes here far more often than I do.
Her place is three blocks away on the corner of Bleecker and Charles, a floor-
through level of a brownstone her dad bought for her two years ago. It’s three

bedrooms, impeccably decorated in her colorful, bohemian, I-didn’t-even-think-
about-this-but-it-looks-gorgeous perfect style.
“What’s darling Dave up to this morning?” she asks.

“He went to the gym,” I say, opening my napkin.
“The gym?”
I shrug. “That’s what he said.”

Bella opens her mouth to say something, but closes it again. She likes David.
Or at least, I think she does. I suspect she’d like me to be with someone more
adventurous, someone who maybe pushed me outside my comfort zone a little

bit more. But what she doesn’t realize, or what she conveniently forgets, is that
she and I are not the same person. David is right for me, and the things I want for
my life.

“So,” I say. “Tell me everything. How is work coming at the gallery? How
was Europe?”
Five years ago, Bella did a show of her artwork at a small gallery in Chelsea

named Oliander. The show sold out, and she did another. Then two years ago,