Page 93 - In Five Years

“I’m kind of self-taught,” he says. He nudges Bella to the side and opens the
oven. In goes an array of sliced peppers, onions, and potatoes. “But I grew up
around food. My mom was a cook.”
I know what that means. It’s not the words themselves, although they are

markers, but the way he says it—with a slight bewildered edge. Like he can’t
quite believe it, either.

“I’m sorry,” I say.
He looks back at me. “Thank you. It was a long time ago.”
“Dinner?” Bella asks. Her hands are on her hips, and Aaron loops his arms
through hers, pulling her in and kissing her on the side of her face. “Whatever

you want,” he says. “I’ve got snacks covered.”
“Tonight we have reservations at the Grill, or we can walk to Hampton

Chutney if we’re not in the mood for something serious,” I say.
I’m always in charge of dinner reservations. Bella is always in charge of
choosing which ones we use.

“I thought the Grill was tomorrow night.”
I grab my phone and pull up our reservations document. Huh. “You’re right,”
I say. “It is tomorrow night.”

“Good,” Bella says. “I wanted to stay in anyway.” She snuggles closer to
Aaron, who loops an arm around her.
“We can call David, ask him to stop at the store?”

“No need,” Aaron says. “We came loaded. I have plenty to cook.” He goes to
the fridge and yanks it open. I peer over the counter. I see rainbows of vegetables
and fruits, paper-wrapped cheeses, fresh parsley and mint, containers of oily

olives, some rolling lemons and limes, and a large wedge of Parmesan. We are
supremely stocked.
“You got all of this?” I ask.

In prior years, I’d be lucky to show up to a stick of butter. There is never
anything in Bella’s fridge but mossy lemons and vodka.
“What do you think?” she asks me.

“That I can’t believe you went grocery shopping.”
She beams.
I head out onto the back patio, which overlooks the ocean. It’s cloudy today,

and I shiver a little in my T-shirt and shorts. I need to grab a sweatshirt. I breathe