Page 50 - In Five Years

I get out of the car first. “I’m sorry,” I start, just as the restaurant door opens
and out onto the pavement walks Greg. Except he’s not Greg. He’s Aaron.
Aaron.
Aaron, whose face and name have been running in my head, on a loop, for the

last four and a half years. The center of so many questions and daydreams and
forced replays made manifest on the sidewalk now.

It wasn’t a dream. Of course it wasn’t. He’s standing here now, and there is no
one else he could be. Not a man I’ve spotted at the movies, not an associate I
once traded work jabs with. Not someone I shared a plane ride seated next to. He
is only the man from the apartment.

I reel back. I do not know whether to scream or run. Instead, I’m cemented.
My feet have merged with the pavement. The answer: my best friend’s

boyfriend.
“Babe, this is my best friend, Dannie. Dannie, this is Greg!” She snuggles
into him, her arms looping around his shoulder.

“Hey,” he says. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
He picks up my hand to shake it. I search his face for any sign of recognition,
but, of course, I come up empty. Whatever has happened between us . . . hasn’t

yet.
David extends his hand. I’m just standing there, my mouth hanging open,
neglecting to introduce him.

“This is David,” I sputter. David in the blue shirt shakes Aaron in the white
shirt’s hand. Bella smiles. I feel as if all the air on the sidewalk has been sucked
back into the sky. We’re going to suffocate out here.

“Shall we?”
I follow Greg/Aaron up the steps and into the crowded restaurant. “Aaron
Gregory,” he says to the hostess. Aaron Gregory. I flash on his license in my

hand. Of course.
“Aaron?”
“Oh, yeah. My last name is Gregory. Greg just kind of stuck.” He gives me a

small smile. It feels too familiar. I don’t like it.
I feel like I’m sinking. Like I’m falling through the floor, or maybe the floor
is falling, too, except no one else is moving. It’s just me, catapulting through

space.