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“Yeah, absolutely. Jet’s … great. He’s fine.”
I held the shell to my ear, listening to the echo of the sea.
“Hey, babe. Sorry, I’m sorry about your ankles. And grabbing my dick. Wish you were here right now. That would be the best birthday present ever.”
“So you’ve caught up to me then. I still wish I knew so I could have sent you a card or a present.”
“I didn’t … I just …” He happy-sighed, adding in a loud whisper, “Talking to you is the best present.”
“I’ll send you the ocean for your birthday.”
He hiccupped. “Well … fuck. That’s cool, too. But I dunno where I can put the ocean at my place.”
I giggled. “And Jet?”
“Yeah?”
His friends were singing ‘Happy Birthday’ in the background, and suddenly I felt bold. “I like you, too.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.” My stomach fluttered.He’s just drunk. We’re friends who flirt.
“Hey, Ari, I’m looking at the moon right now. Can you see it, too?”
I looked up at the sky, and there it was, the moon rising over the pop-up stalls. “Yeah, I am. It’s beautiful.”
“I look at the moon every night, thinking about you, wondering where you can see it.” Someone said something in the background. “Ugh, Tom says I gotta go, babe.”
“Drink some water or you’ll regret it in the morning.”
Another hushed sound.
“But Ari, you know when I said ankles?” His voice had dropped an octave. “I really meant your tits.”
“Oh my God.” I laughed.
“Will you tell your boobs I’m sorry for … for … Ob. Jet, tit, fy… ing them.” I laughed again. “Serious, Ari. Tits have feelings, too!”
“My boobs accept your apology.” The stallholder smothered a smile. I cleared my throat. “I’ll talk to you in the morning, okay?”
“Yeah, babe. I’m more than okay. I’m fucking great!”
His phone cut out. I shook my head and handed the shell to the stallholder.
“Couldn’t help overhearing. Is this a present? Want it wrapped?”
“Yes, please.”
“For someone special?”
“Yeah. He is.” I handed over my money. “He’s a good friend. Probably my best friend.”
So many of my film and TV friends had disappeared from my messages and texts as soon as I started to travel after Wes. Film and TV were a fickle industry where we all clung to each other for news of more work and new projects, and as soon as we were not useful in scoring work, people who were once friends faded away.
I headed to the food trucks, bought noodles and watched the moon rise over the markets, thinking about what I’d said to Jet while he was drunk.
I traced a finger over the shell, sighing.
