Page 74 - In Five Years

do it on paper—in black and white—that takes a particular kind of artistry. It’s
truth in poetry.
I come home once on Saturday just to shower and change, and on Sunday I
drag myself home well past midnight. When I get there David is asleep, but

there’s a note on the counter and takeout pasta in the fridge: cacio e pepe from
L’Artusi, my favorite. David is always really thoughtful like this—having my

favorite takeout in the fridge, leaving the chocolate I like on the counter. He
spent the weekend at the office as well, but since he moved to the fund he has
more autonomy over his time than I do. I’m still at the mercy of the partners, the
clients, and the whims of the market. For David, it’s mostly just the market, and

since much of the money his company handles is longer-term investment, it
takes a lot of the harried day-to-day pressure off. As David likes to say: “No one

ever runs into my office.”
I have two missed calls and three texts from Bella, whom I’ve ignored all
weekend, and, in fact, all of last week. She doesn’t know David and I got re-

engaged on the living room floor, and that we are officially planning a wedding
for December—or we will be anyway when we have a second free.
I text her back: Just getting in from an all-weekender. Call you tomorrow.

Despite the fact that I haven’t slept in close to seventy-two hours, I don’t feel
tired. We got the signatures. Tomorrow—or today, actually—our clients will
announce that they have acquired a billion-dollar company. They’re expanding

their global reach and will revolutionize the way people shop for groceries.
I feel like I always do after we close a big case: high. I haven’t done cocaine,
except for one ill-advised night in college, but it’s the same sensation. My heart

races, my pupils dilate. I feel like I could run a marathon. We won.
There’s a bottle of opened Chianti on the counter, and I pour myself a glass.
Our apartment has a big kitchen window that looks out over Gramercy Park. I sit

down at the kitchen table and gaze out the window. It’s dark out, but the city
lights illuminate the trees and sidewalk. When I first moved to New York, I used
to walk by the park and think that someday I’d live near it. Now, David and I

have a key. We can go inside the park anytime we want. But we don’t, of course.
We’re busy. We went the day we got the key, with a bottle of champagne, stayed
long enough to open it and make a toast, but haven’t been back since. It’s pretty

to look at through the window, though. And the location is convenient. Very