But over the last two weeks, the confusing aftermath has painted over the memory of New Year’s with a dark, muddy wash.
He checks his watch: 3:05p.m.
She’s never fucking on time. Is she like this at her various jobs? Does she show up late for meetings? Appointments? Dates? Does she get away with it because she always arrives with some kind of diversion? Shouting a nickname or slurping from a giant cup?
When the front door swings open, Ari is standing in the entryway, elbowing a familiar-looking man in the ribs. Why had he assumed she’d be alone? They probably have inside jokes and nicknames, too.
On second glance, they’re clearly too comfortable with each other to have just met. The sight of her being so cozy with someone else makes his throat tight.
What makes it worse is that she’s clearlyuncomfortable when she finally greets Josh…with “What are you doing here?”
“Briar wanted to come,” he lies. He’d had to beg Briar to meet him here.
Josh stares at Ari for a moment, evaluating her expression. Waiting for her to betray a hint of any reaction to his surprise appearance. Relief? Satisfaction? A hint of excitement?
He sees nothing but poorly masked panic. After a beat, she leans forward and gives him a little half-hearted hug.
A hug. Since when do they hug? They’ve huggedonce,at Duane Reade, when she was drunk and he was holding baby oil. Josh is certain of this.
And of course, he’ll probably remember this second awkward hug as the time she felt like she had to perform a normal act of friendship in front of heractualfriend, who she probably hugs all the fucking time.
Fuck.
He presses his boots into the sidewalk, anchoring as much as one can when already standing.
“Gabe Mendoza,” the guy says, thrusting his hand out.Right. The “friend.” Josh feels a wave of relief before he remembers it was Gabe whom Ari chose to spend the rest of New Year’s with, after she kissed Josh.
“I think we met.” Josh examines Gabe’s face; his eyes actually appear to be twinkling. He has a smile that has either been subject to a lot of orthodontia or he’s been blessed with a specific magnetism Josh certainly never received.
“Most people recognize me from the Geico commercial,” Gabe says. “Or T-Mobile? The Off-Off Broadway production ofGodspell?”
“I believe it was leaving Ari’s apartment without your boxers seven years ago.”
“Eight,” Ari mumbles, wrenching open the heavy door as a handful of customers move past them. She’s wearing a short dress—black with pink flowers—and Josh tortures himself with the thought that she’s dressing up for someone else. A date?
Ever since he got back to his apartment, alone, on New Year’s, his mind has been churning. Playing out scenarios. Identifying the missteps.
What if he had suggested that Ari could crash at his place instead of Gabe’s? Would reality have set in under the harsh lighting and weird smells of the B train? Would they have watched a movie? Would she have slept on the sofa? Asked to borrow one of his shirts?
What if she were to peek inside the bedroom and ask to stay in his bed? Would she softly knock? Enter quietly? Maybe it wouldn’t happen that way at all. He could carry her inside, withher legs wrapped around his waist and his hands firmly gripping her ass, and push her up against the wall he was supposed to paint elephant gray weeks ago?
The possibilities stretch out like tree branches, prompting endlesswhat-ifs.
There’s a distinct sense of unease about her today: avoiding eye contact, positioning Gabe in between them, fussing over the décor in the vestibule. She’s so fucking frustrating in the way she forces him to be exactly what she needs while disregarding what he wants, or how he feels about any of it.
Mostly to separate himself from Ari, he finds himself following her friend to the bar for a drink (actually, Gabe calls it anaperitif,which Josh finds only slightly grating). Gabe is too glib, but at least he’s not this new version of Ari who won’t look at him.
While they wait for their grapefruit Boulevardiers, Gabe manages to orchestrate a conversation with a pretty redhead nursing a gin and tonic at the end of the bar.
“TWATTIE!” RADHYA JOGSout from the kitchen. “Pretend to be a customer? It’s more obvious when spaces are empty in the daytime.”
“It’s filling up, though,” Ari says, pulling a little bowl of chili-covered poppadoms within snacking distance, even though she’d already consumed a lunch’s worth of calories in crispy flatbreads while setting up. “It’s a great menu for selling drinks. Everyone will be thirsty. Maybe I can get the manager to commit to another weekend next month.”
“Let’s hope.” Radhya adjusts her chef’s coat. There’s aconfidence to her posture that says, “I’m in the right place, I’m taking the right steps.” She’s like a Mario, jumping bravely over the chasm to the next platform.
Sometimes Ari feels like a Luigi wandering back to the start of the level in search of hallucinogenic mushrooms.
Radhya shifts her focus to the bar, where Gabe is busy talking at Josh and a woman perched on a rickety barstool. It’s unclear which of the two Gabe is flirting with. Probably both.
