Page 15 of The New Couple in 5B

We get into the waiting elevator and take it up to the semi-private foyer of apartments 5A and 5B, which is shared with next-door neighbors, Ella and Charles Aldridge. She is an heiress, he a retired architect, an urbane, art-loving, world-traveling couple in their seventies. We’ve grown quite close to them; they were a big support when Ivan was sick.

I am about to protest that we don’t need to bother them, that maybe there are bandages in Ivan’s—inmy—apartment. But Abi rings the bell and Ella comes to the door, all dressed in black—a narrow tunic and flowing pants.

“What’s happened?” she asks, as if already sensing something wrong. A glance at my head. “Oh, my goodness.”

She ushers me inside and Abi says to call if he’s needed, that he’s off to inspect the basement and try to find out why the lights went out, then disappears behind the elevator doors. Probably glad to escape the drama.

Soon, Ella’s tending to the cut on my head as I sit helpless and embarrassed at her dining room table.

Their apartment; it’s aspirational. Every object, every stunning work of art, each elegant piece of furniture, chosen, curated, designed. I think of our East Village place, nice enough, but just a step above college-student chic. We have champagne tastes, Chad always quips, and a wine cooler budget.

“Not as bad as it looks,” she says, wiping away the blood with a cloth.

I’m still shaking, wondering if Abi will come back and tell us what he found in the basement. “Ella, I saw a boy.”

She keeps her eyes on my wound, puts some Neosporin on it.

“For goodness’ sake those stupid basement lights. It’s like a horror movie down there when they go out. Something—I keep telling Charles and the board—must be done. No wonder you got spooked.”

Expertly, she butterflies what turns out to be just a small cut at my hairline—though it is tender to the touch.

“Is there a boy in the building?” I press.

Abi has already told me there isn’t. But maybe he’s wrong.

“Not to my knowledge, dear.” She’s so close I can smell the clean scent of soap on her skin. “There,” she says. “You’re all fixed up.”

She bustles off and then returns with a glass of water, which I drink, grateful for the coolness of it, the comfort. The city noise from five stories below is faint through the thick windows.

“Between Ivan passing, all the stress you two are under with work, I’m not surprised that your eyes are playing tricks on you,” she says.

I bristle at this. Our eyes don’t play tricks on us, do they? Unless we’re mentally ill, unstable. If this had happened to Chad, would anyone imply that he hadn’t seen what was right in front of him? I think to argue, but the truth is that when the lights came up therewasn’tanyone in the basement. Just me. And Abi.

So then, whatdidI see?

“I hope you don’t mind,” says Ella now with a smile. She folds long, elegant fingers together. “I bumped into Chad this morning and he shared the good news. We’re over the moon that you two are moving in. And I promise we won’t be your nosy, meddling, elderly neighbors.”

I return the smile. “And we won’t be the raucous, party-all-night newlyweds.”

We both share a laugh, and she leans in to give me a hug—she’s thin, frail, where Charles is enormous, a powerhouse who exercises daily, beats Chad at racquet ball with embarrassing frequency and seems twenty years younger than he is.

I rise, thanking her for taking care of me as she escorts me toward the front door.

“I’m an idiot,” I say, peering into the mirror in her foyer. The cut is so tiny; how could there have been so much blood? “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be silly,” she says, tucking an errant strand of her snow-white bob behind her ear. “You two have been through a lot. And that’s what friends are for. I hope you’ll always come to us. For anything.”

I give her another quick hug, grateful for her friendship.

When she closes the door, I take a moment, breathe deeply, before sliding my key into the lock and turning it. I’ve been here so many times. But this is the first time it’s mine—ours.

I step inside and it’s all white, empty of furniture, the gorgeous wood floors gleaming, the crown molding, the tall windows that let in expansive views of the city. I wander into the kitchen, which needs updating and won’t get it for a while. The kitchen ends in a back door that leads to the service hall and elevator, where we’ll take out our trash.

Finally, I go into the room that will be our bedroom, maybe where we’ll conceive our first child? I am aware suddenly of a deep wanting for this place to be our home, where we start our family. It feels stable, solid, a space where we can build the life we want.

It feels like ours already.

When I walk into the second bedroom, I stand at the door and issue a little gasp.

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