The second anniversary after the crisis was a different thing from the first.
The first one we had returned to Ellory's deliberately, with intention, to close the loop. The second one we went somewhere new.
Marcus chose a restaurant on the High Line that had opened that spring. We had walked past it twice and he had noticed that I stopped each time, which was how he had been paying attention lately: noticing what I lingered over without being told.
We sat by the window and the city was below us and we ordered things we had not had before and talked without rehearsal.
"What do you want this year?" he asked. Not in a resolution sense. Just as a question.
"I want to finish the building project," I said. "I want to take Ava to the beach for the first time. I want to read more. I want this
