Page 84 - In Five Years

Chapter Thirteen

The swamp of July meets us with a heavy, cloying inevitability: the weather is
going to get worse before it gets better. We still have to get through August.
David asks me to meet him for lunch in Bryant Park one Wednesday toward the

end of the month.
In the summer, Bryant Park sets up café tables around the perimeter and
corporates in suits take their lunches outside. David’s office is in the thirties and

mine in the fifties, so Forty-Second and Sixth Avenue is our magic midway
zone. We rarely meet for lunch, but when we do, it’s usually Bryant Park.
David is waiting with two nicoise salads from Pret and my favorite Arnold

Palmer from Le Pain Quotidien. Both establishments are in walking distance and
have indoor seating so we can eat there in the colder months. We’re not fancy
lunch people. I’d be happy with a deli salad for two meals out of three most

days. In fact, one of our first dates was to this very park with these very salads.
We sat outside even though it was too cold, and when David noticed me

shivering, he unwrapped his scarf and put it around me, then he jumped up to get
me a hot coffee from the cart on the corner. It was a small gesture, but so
indicative of who he was—who he is. He’s always been willing to put my
happiness before his comfort.

I take a car down to meet him, but I’m still drenched when I arrive.
“It’s a hundred degrees,” I say, folding myself into the seat across from him.

My heels are rubbing blisters into the backs of my feet. I need talcum powder
and a pedicure, immediately. I can’t remember the last time I stopped to get my
nails done.
“Actually, it’s ninety-six but feels like one oh two,” David says, reading off

his phone.