Page 9 of The New Couple in 5B

Chad and I looked at each other.

Holy shit, Chad mouthed.

Okay, maybe I do believe in luck.

But it wasn’t just luck, was it? We’d been there for Ivan in a way no one else had. He’d been our Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthday, everything for the years Chad and I have been together. He stood up for us at our wedding, was our witness on the certificate. When he fell ill so suddenly, we were there. He never had a moment alone and uncared for, up until the very end. He died in that apartment, in his own bed, with us by his side.

He never once mentioned leaving the apartment to us. And it had never occurred to either one of us to ask for anything. We did what we did out of love. That simple.

“Why didn’t he leave it to his daughter?” I asked out loud, though I didn’t really mean to. “Dana said he’d changed his will very recently.”

Chad gave me a look. “Who cares? He made his choice. And he chose us.”

I told Olivia that Dana planned to sue us, that she’d come here making threats.

“I mean—she can try. But if the will is good, and he has a lawyer that oversaw the change, she doesn’t have a legal leg to stand on. People cut their kids out of their wills all the time. It’s not pretty, but there’s not much you can do about it.”

We were both silent. I weaved my fingers through Chad’s.

“Hey, guys?” Olivia’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Congratulations. Celebrate this, okay? You deserve it.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Olivia, you get the first dinner we cook in our new place.”

“I’m holding you to that,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice. “Seriously. Good for you guys.”

It takes a big person to be genuinely happy for your ex and his new wife when they inherit a fortune they didn’t expect. I’ve always admired her—her sense of style, her success, her dedication to her job. But she went up a few more notches in my estimation.

Now, sitting alone in our living room, I pick up the keys, jingle them. They are cold and heavy in my hand. I try to envision us there, happy in Murray Hill, a real old New York neighborhood. Maybe it lacks the glitz of SoHo, or the understated swank of Tribeca, the gritty cool of our current East Village abode. But it’s quiet and beautiful. There we are, pushing a baby stroller down Park Avenue. I canseeus—happy, safe.

But Chad’s wrong about one thing: the maintenance is nearly $4000 a month, almost double what we’re paying now. With what we have, what we’ll get back on our security deposit from this place, we can afford to live there for approximately six months—if we eat a lot of ramen. Unless I get a book deal. Unless Chad lands this commercial.

I’m thinking all of this as I slide into bed next to my husband. He turns to hold me, and I move into his arms, drift off right away into a deep and dreamless sleep.

When I wake up, Chad is long gone. He has rehearsal all day, and tonight is opening night. I probably won’t see him again until I go to watch him on stage. No small roles, as they say. But this oneistiny. I think he’s on stage a total of twenty minutes.

I get up and brew some strong coffee. It’s almost ten. Once I’ve poured my cup, I head straight for my laptop. There’s already an email from Max:

Wow. I don’t know how you did this so fast. But it’s—amazing. I love the new structure organized by each crime—I’m excited to bring it to the team today. More soonest.

I allow myself a whoop of excitement and drop Chad a quick text with the good news. But my husband doesn’t answer, and I didn’t expect him to. His phone is probably in the dressing room and he’s on stage all bubble, bubble, toil and trouble.

But there’s still money to think about.

I dial our East Village landlord’s office and get his secretary.

“Hey, Mira,” I say. “It’s Rosie Lowan on First Avenue? I just wanted to let you know that we won’t be renewing the lease. So, we’ll be out by the end of the month.”

There’s a brief silence on the end of the line, then, “Yes, I know. In fact, I’m just processing your security deposit return today.”

“Oh,” I say, confused.

“Your husband. He called a couple of weeks ago, asked if we could expedite the return of the deposit, that you needed it for your new place.”

“When was this exactly?” I ask.

“Let me check.” I hear her clicking on her keyboard. “October fifth.”

Just a few days after Ivan died. Had Ivan told Chad that we were getting the apartment?