EE:The circle of wall street
GQ:The circle of life
TB:Same thing …
Rae closed out of the chat and fidgeted with the width of the bars in a graph she was formatting, then stood up and walked to the bathroom, in need of a nap.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
RIDING THE LOVE BUBBLE UP
“Don’t you think it’s a little too soon for Dustin to go home with you for Thanksgiving?” Ellen asked Rae from across the table that Saturday. “You’ve only been together for two months.”
The two of them were brunching outdoors at Tartine, a pocket-sized French bistro on the corner of West Eleventh known for its idyllic West Village vibe. The postcard-perfect vision wasn’t exactly panning out today. There was no indoor seating available, so they were at one of the sidewalk tables, rocking for warmth on wobbly metal chairs. There was no rain coming from the overcast November sky, but some sort of liquid was leaking from the green awning overhead. At the intersection, construction workers were drilling so loudly that Rae could hardly hear the shrieking toddlers passing by, though she saw their wailing faces as their parents walked them on tight leashes with harnesses. Manhole steam rose from the construction site, stamping the air with a distinctively New York stench and drifting toward their table with a dirty sort of heat. It would not have been Rae’s first choice of a radiator.
Her catch-ups with Ellen were sporadic now that they spent so much time with their respective boyfriends, and since the Scramblettes’ breakup, cracking eggs in the penthouse kitchenette had felt like staying on too long at a party where everyone was sobering up.
“You were ready to marry me off to Stu after two weeks,” Rae reminded her harshly, having to speak very loudly to be heard over the urban background noise. “And Dustin and I have only beenback togetherfor two months,” Rae corrected, surveying the menu. “We’ve basically been together for nearly two years now, at heart at least.”
From their bedsheet tent on Rae’s birthday, Dustin had suggested they spend Thanksgiving in Indiana so he could meet her mom and grandpa. Rae had hesitated only long enough to pretend to analyze the situation objectively, and they’d bought tickets on the spot.
“And you’re the one who told me that relationship depth isn’t correlated with time,” Rae reminded.
“I know,” Ellen conceded. “But I just … I’m worried your love bubble might burst and crash like cryptocurrency stocks.” Somewhere along the way she’d stopped reprimanding Rae for using work phrases to describe dating and started adopting it as the most expedient means of persuasion.
“It’s not a bubble,” Rae said. “Our relationship fundamentals support the high valuation. We have nearly a year of friendship under our belt. His depression isn’t gone yet, but it hasn’t gotten worse, and he’s giving me transparent updates after every therapy session,” she said, listing the reasons on her fingers. “The top-line personal growth is trickling down to our bottom line. Cryptocurrencies, on the other hand—”
“Okay,” Ellen cut in. “I just … I don’t want to see you get hurt.” She might have addedagainbut didn’t, which Rae appreciated.
“Better to get hurt from being overinvested than underinvested,” Rae said. She wasn’t sure if she’d heard that aphorism at the office or if it had sprung to her fresh from this corner table.
The waiter came by for their order. Rae chose the Croque Monsieur, blurting the name quickly to mask poor pronunciation.When the waiter asked her to clarify, she made one more attempt (“Croak-ee Mon-zoor”) before just pointing to the menu in a specific kind of midtwenties defeat. Ellen opted for the eggs Florentine.
“We’re splitting, right?” Rae asked, as the waiter walked back to the kitchen and the relentless drilling finally paused.
“I suppose so,” Ellen said.
Rae felt relieved. Even now that they could order their own entrées without feeling financially reckless, sharing food was still a key tenet of their friendship strategy.
“How about you and Aaron?” Rae asked. “You’ve been trending up and to the right for a while now.”
Ellen smiled, face radiating both warmth and tranquility. “We’re really good,” she said. “Very stable. I used to think that meant boring, but now I just see it means secure. Knowing he’s always there frees up my energy to focus on my other goals in life, rather than obsessing about guys twenty-four seven. But you probably think I don’t have enough love ambition?”
“No,” Rae said, though she sort of did. “I just think you’re prioritizing what characteristics you want in your romantic portfolio.”
Ellen smiled and fiddled with her hands.
“What was that?” Rae asked suspiciously.
“What?”
“You just twisted your left ring finger, like you were imagining a diamond on it.”
“Was not,” Ellen said, olive complexion splotching with pink.
“You haven’t even been together two years. And you’re only twenty-six.” The numbers didn’t sound as ridiculous aloud as she’d hoped. Two years was a pretty typical engagement timeline, and twenty-six was young by New York standards but not a child bride.
“I’m twenty-six and ahalf,” Ellen said. “And it’s not like we’re getting engaged tomorrow or anything … we’ve talked about it is all. He’s thirty-five. He wants to settle down soon.”
