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Rebecca Serle is an author and television writer who lives in New York and Los Angeles. Serle codeveloped the hit TV adaptation of her YA series Famous in Love, and is also the author of The Dinner List, and YA novels The Edge of Falling and When You Were Mine. She received her MFA from the New School in NYC. Find out more at RebeccaSerle.com.
Dear Reader,
It is my pleasure to share with you this early copy of Rebecca Serle’s In Five Years. In my two decades in publishing, I have never discovered a love story this fresh and unforgettable. I have never encountered a friendship story this moving and magical. I have never witnessed a book move like wildfire through a company in the way this one has — people have to read it (overnight); people have to share it (with their best friend); and people have to talk it about it (especially about how they cried and also how, for the record, they are not criers).
With great poignancy and warmth, Rebecca Serle brings us the story of Dannie, an ambitious young lawyer determined to succeed in the big city alongside her best friend, and total opposite, Bella. Dannie is certainly living in the right place. Manhattan perfectly matches her energy and drive — and her reverential feelings about efficiency. Dannie’s a planner, and so far, her life is unfolding according to the plan she laid out long ago. On the night of her engagement, however, everything will unravel — and the only person who will understand how devastating this is for Dannie is Bella. Joined at the hip since elementary school, they have been each other’s family for over twenty years, and watching them navigate life’s twists and turns makes for one of the most touching and memorable love stories I have ever had the privilege of reading.
So yes, this is a love story, brimming with joy and heartbreak, but it is definitely not the one you’re expecting. I hope these words inspire you to turn the first page of In Five Years, and that you will find yourself as swept away as I was. If so, I would love to hear from you.
All best,
Lindsay Sagnette
VP, Editorial Director
(212) 698-7057 | Lindsay.Sagnette@SimonandSchuster.com
Atria Books | 1230 Avenue of the Americas | New York, NY 10020
Also by Rebecca Serle
The Dinner List
Young Adult
Truly Madly Famously
Famous in Love
The Edge of Falling
When You Were Mine
For Leila Sales,
who has lit up the last five years,
and the five before them.
We dreamed it because it had already happened.
The future is the one thing you can count on not abandoning you, kid, he’d said. The future always finds you. Stand still, and it will find you. The way the land just has to run to sea.
— MARIANNE WIGGINS, EVIDENCE OF THINGS UNSEEN
Coming over the bridge to Manhattan.
Pie.
— NORA EPHRON
Chapter One
Twenty-five. That’s the number I count to every morning before I even open my eyes. It’s a meditative calming technique that helps your brain with memory, focus, and attention, but the real reason I do it is because that’s how long it takes my boyfriend, David, to get out of bed next to me and flip the coffee maker on, and for me to smell the beans.
Thirty-six. That’s how many minutes it takes me to brush my teeth, shower, and put on face toner, serum, cream, makeup, and a suit for work. If I wash my hair, it’s forty-three.
Eighteen. That’s the walk to work in minutes from our Murray Hill apartment to East Forty-Seventh Street, where the law offices of Sutter, Boyt and Barn are located.
Twenty. That’s how many months I believe you should be dating someone before you move in with them.
Twenty-eight. The right age to get engaged.
Thirty. The right age to get married.
My name is Dannie Kohan. And I believe in living by numbers.
“Happy Interview Day,” David says when I walk into the kitchen. Today. December 15. I’m wearing a bathrobe, hair spun up into a towel. He’s still in his pajamas, and his brown hair has a significant amount of salt and pepper for someone who has not yet crossed thirty, but I like it. It makes him look dignified, particularly when he wears glasses, which he often does.
“Thank you,” I say. I wrap my arms around him, kiss his neck and then his lips. I’ve already brushed my teeth, but David never has morning breath. Ever. When we first started dating, I thought he was getting up out of bed before me to swoosh some toothpaste in there, but when we moved in together, I realized it’s just his natural state. He wakes up that way. The same cannot be said for me.
“Coffee is ready.”
He squints at me, and my heart tugs at the look on his face, the way it scrunches all up when he’s trying to pay attention but doesn’t have his contacts in yet.
He takes a mug down and then pours. I go to the refrigerator, and when he hands me the cup, I add a dollop of creamer. Coffee Mate, hazelnut. David thinks it’s sacrilegious but he buys it, to indulge me. This is the kind of man he is. Judgmental, and generous.
I take the coffee cup and go sit in our kitchen nook that overlooks Third Avenue. Murray Hill isn’t the most glamorous neighborhood in New York, and it gets a bad rap (every Jewish fraternity and sorority kid in the Tri-State area moves here after graduation. The average street style is a Penn sweatshirt), but there’s nowhere else in the city where we’d be able to afford a two-bedroom with a full kitchen in a doorman building, and between the two of us, we make more money than a pair of twenty-eight-year-olds has any right to.
David works in finance as an investment banker at Tishman Speyer, a real estate conglomerate. I’m a corporate lawyer. And today, I have an interview at the top law firm in the city. Wachtell. The mecca. The pinnacle. The mythological headquarters that sits in a black-and-gray fortress on West Fifty-Second street. The top lawyers in the country all work there. The client list is unfathomable; they represent everyone: Boeing. ING. AT&T. All of the biggest corporate mergers, the deals that determine the vicissitudes of our global markets, happen within their walls.
I’ve wanted to work at Wachtell since I was ten years old and my father used to take me into the city for lunch at Serendipity and a matinee. We’d pass all the big buildings in Times Square, and then I’d insist we walk to 51 West Fifty-Second Street so I could gaze up at the CBS building, where Wachtell has historically had its offices since 1965.