“Oh?” she asks, curious rather than hostile. Taking in his face. Maybe trying to place the distinctive nose without being rude about it. “At Radhya’s birthday?”
Josh shakes his head.
“On Tinder?”
“No.”
She furrows her brow. “OkCupid?” So she’s scraping the bottom of the barrel now.
“Ari.”
“Oh! I delivered medical marijuana to your apartment!” she announces triumphantly.
Jace perks up. “Are you still doing that?”
“We call it ‘cannabis concierge service,’ ” she replies. “We can charge New School students twenty percent more that way.”
“How entrepreneurial,” Josh says tightly.
Jace rests both elbows on the bar, eyes ping-ponging between them. “Did you two ever…?”
Josh winces. “We absolutely did not—”
“—I was fucking his girlfriend,” Ari declares. “He botched a once-in-a-lifetime threesome opportunity.”
“THAT’S NOT WHAThappened,” Tall Sweater Nightmare Man insists.
Ari looks into the bartender’s—Chase’s? Jake’s?—giant brown eyes. “I guess not every man can handle that kind of thing.”
Josh scoffs, standing up to full height. He looks a little older, a bit more intimidating, bigger in the shoulders. There’s a slight coldness in his eyes now, different from the needy, searching quality of two (three?) years ago. He’s changed his look, pulling his hair back into one of those ridiculous half-ponytails with a bandana tied around his forehead, like he’s some food warrior, trying to intimidate onions and potatoes with his headgear. It’s baffling at first, seeing him in this new context, when he’s only ever existed in her old apartment—like seeing your middle school algebra teacher at the convenience store purchasing a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.
Josh turns to the hot bartender. “She was my girlfriend’s roommate. We spent one nightmare of an evening together.” He shifts his eyes to Ari. “I still get junk mail from the Nature Conservancy.”
“Sounds like the bobcats still need your help,” she replies, sipping her drink.
“So youdoremember?” Josh asks, annoyance seeping into his tone. Ari concedes nothing. “Have you talked to Natalie since she moved to California for her postdoc?”
“Who?”
Chase/Jake slides over another whiskey sour that she definitely doesn’t need. The alcohol is starting to muddle the dopamine hit of the windfall email and successful open mic.
“Yourroommate.” Josh shoots her the sort of withering stare he probably reserves for back waiters.
“Oh,thatNatalie. Yeah, we Snap sometimes.” She sips her drink, hoping her nonchalance gives off nail-polish-emoji energy. “She’s on my nudes distribution list.”
Chase whips his head up, God bless him.
Josh coughs. “And are you still harassing pedestrians—”
“You mean raising money for worthy charitable causes?”
“—or did you find a new line of work?” The hostility is still right under the surface, even after three years. His voice overcompensates for something. Probably a disappointing penis.
“I’ve been—” Ari hesitates for a few seconds, before remembering that she officially has the right to say it. Yeah, it’s a fact now. No qualifiers. Notrying to “do comedy.”“I’m a professional comedian.” Chase or Jake is no longer paying attention, occupying himself with closing tasks. A server stifles a yawn as she runs her last table’s credit card, her nails clicking against the screen protector on the point-of-sale system. “I came here to celebrate with Rad. I sold a script.”
“For television?” Josh asks. There’s a slight dubious note in his voice.
“Yes.” She clears her throat. “Well, a streaming platform. It’s going to be the Netflix of comedy.” She’s surprised at the way she wants to keep chattering about this with Tall Sweater Nightmare Man. There’s an enthusiasm in her voice—an almost coked-up vibe, but clear, too. “And I did a really great set tonight. It really flowed. So I thought Rad and I could celebrate by getting blackout drunk and trying not to barf in the cab home.”
