“I’m sorry,” he says in a sober tone. He doesn’t issue apologies often; even this fake one feels oddly potent. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.” He takes a breath. “Because I don’t think you want to hear the truth.” She stops chewing. Her eyebrow does the slightest little quirk. “And it would force a conversation that could blow up our…marriage.” When she looks at him, it’s like she’s eighty percent certain of something. That extra twenty percent will keep him up at night. “So I’ve been keeping things from you”—he glances at Maddie and back to Ari—“my wife.”
Maybe the little moment could’ve lasted longer if not for the server manifesting table-side to cheerfully inquire if Ari is “still working on that steak.”
She is, obviously. But he doesn’t miss the hint of a smile on her face before she grabs his napkin off his lap and pretend-dabs at her eyes.
“God.” Maddie looks down at her highly customized salad like she’s reading tea leaves. “Now I’m rethinking my breakup with Kevin. We were together since college and I thought I was missing out on all these wild sexual adventures in my twenties, but—”
“Oh?” Ari perks up, dropping the napkin.
“—being single is just so bleak,” Maddie says, taking a gulp of her chardonnay. “I mean, no offense, but like, looking at you two, I’m not sure if it’s worse to be out here dating or to end up in a nightmare relationship like yours.”
Josh wrinkles his nose at the criticism.
Ari reaches for another piece of focaccia.
“So…tell me about these wild sexual adventures,” his “wife” says to Maddie, not quite innocently enough, sliding the bread through the bowl of olive oil without breaking eye contact.
13
“REMIND ME WHY WE DECIDED to schlep to the Strand on the coldest day of the year so far?” Ari whines as she steps off the elevator, hunched over with the weight of a backpack sagging on her shoulders.
“It might help if you invested in a real jacket,” Josh replies. “Your coat is an embarrassment to outerwear.”
“At this point, I’m just hoping I make enough cash back on these books to buy myself pierogis at Veselka afterward.” She drops the bag on his dining table. She pulls Daring Greatly out of the bag and holds it up, examining the back cover. “Why is everyone always trying to get me to read this book? Maybe I don’t want to ‘dare greatly.’ Maybe I just want to dare the regular amount and wallow.” She walks over to his fridge and peeks inside, pulling out a bottle of Pellegrino, taking a second to study the stack of identical reusable containers, all labeled and dated in his neat block lettering. Chef habit. “Is it possible to wallow greatly? Somebody write that book.”
Josh reaches into the backpack. “Did she leave you the entire Brené Brown collection?”
“Wait, don’t look in there. I have a surprise.” Ari rushes back over to the table, sloshing some water over the rim of the bottle. “Now, before you say anything”—she slaps his hand away from the bag—“I know you don’t celebrate Christmas. This is a nondenominational winter holiday present.” She pulls out a large box wrapped in one of the free daily newspapers they hand you at subway stops. Maybe Cass took their supply of wrapping paper, too. “Congratulations. I hope you’re ready to be a father.”
After tearing into the newsprint, the first thing he sees is the as-seen-on-TV logo. She’d taped over the little cartoon Dust Daddy character on the box with some old photo from a profile that ran in Saveur two years ago.
“It’s not a gag gift,” she assures him. “I know how you feel about crumbs. This is basically like when Aragon got that giant sword from those dwarves.”
“This doesn’t give you permission to eat crackers on my furniture,” he says, turning it over. “And the elves re-forged that sword. Not the dwarves.”
“I know.” She grins and shrugs off her plaid peacoat. “But when I fuck with you, you get this look on your face like this…” She furrows her brow, creating a little wrinkle over her nose.
The gift is so perfectly casual yet evocative of a specific time and place that’s only meaningful to them that he briefly second-guesses himself as he retrieves the present he’d purchased for Ari two weeks ago. He’d wrapped it the way they do on sitcoms, where the lid just lifts off.
He might have watched several tutorials.
“Is it the tiny sleeping golden retriever puppy I asked for?” She shakes the box near her ear before lifting the lid.
Ari’s smile fades. She looks down into the box, eyebrows knitted together.
“They still sell them at Pearl River Mart,” he says quickly. “I know it’s not the bowl but it’s the same pattern with the blue rim and the dragon design. I wanted you to”—she looks up at him with the corners of her mouth turned down, like she’s trying to contain something—“be able to eat cereal again.”
After a few seconds she manages to shift it into a lopsided smile. She picks up the bowl. It was $3.50—less than he’d spent on the wrapping paper. Probably the least expensive gift he’s ever purchased.
“Damn,” she says quietly. “You really go for the jugular, Kestenbutt.”
“Well, it’s…” he starts, having no idea how to finish the sentence. “Make sure you wash it first.”
“Thanks.” She traces her index finger around the rim.
“I had a slight ulterior motive.” He takes a breath in like he’s preparing to inflate a balloon. “What are you doing on New Year’s Eve?”
“Gabe hosts a karaoke fundraiser every year. We sing obnoxious songs and raise money for LaughRiot while wearing ridiculous-but-sexy outfits.” He glances up at that. “Cass never wanted to go. Do you want to? Maybe sing a terrible rendition of ‘Piano Man’?”
“There are good renditions of ‘Piano Man’?” Josh retorts automatically.
“I’m more of a ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’ girl.” She tilts her head. “Why, what do you have planned for New Year’s? You’ve already done Zach Braff’s seafood place. Are you challenging an aspiring actress to a match at Susan Sarandon’s ping pong bar? Bringing a fitness influencer to Jeremy Renner’s Cajun bistro?”
“Really?”
“You’re right.” She nods. “That’s more of a Bastille Day spot.”
Josh hesitates. Every word he’s about to utter sounds embarrassing in his head. “On New Year’s Eve, my father is being honored at a black-tie event at the New-York Historical Society.”
“Seriously?”
“They’re opening a new exhibition on Jewish foodways,” he explains with a dismissive gesture. “My dad sat for some interviews a couple years ago. Begrudgingly, I assume. My mom donated some Brodsky’s memorabilia and they’re expecting the family to show up at the gala.”
“You can’t get out of it?”
Josh shakes his head. “Briar has our mother convinced that it will be a good way to move on from the whole son-who-killed-his-father’s-beloved-Jewish-deli narrative.”
Ari nods. “Tough rep. I get it.”
“Meanwhile, Briar will be off in the desert on some sponsored influencer trip while my mother spends the whole evening accusing me of being rude to all her real estate developer friends. They’ll serve steam-table brisket and some Broadway ingénue will perform a couple Stephen Schwartz songs. And if I run into someone I know I’ll have to explain why Sophie’s not there….” Josh lets the sentence trail off, raising his eyebrows at Ari in a way that communicates his request without him having to complete the ask.
“Ahh,” she says, narrowing her eyes and nodding slowly. Ari collapses onto a kitchen chair. “The thing is, I’m bad arm candy at parties for one-percenters. Cass made me go to a few with her. No one finds me funny and I can’t dance.”
“And you act like a brat at museums,” he adds.
“You’re really selling this. Keep going.”
He takes a seat on the other chair, so they’re back at the same eye level. “If you show up and let my mother fawn over you for two hours, you can complain all you want.”
“Will she think I’m your date?”
“I’ll make it clear we’re just friends.”
Ari narrows her eyes. He can’t tell if this is a good sign or not. “Fine. But if I agree to this, you’d owe me a favor, right?”
“Fine,” he agrees. “Do you need me to reach something on a high shelf?”
“Radhya’s holding a pop-up at Bohemian Garden next month. She’s making Gujarati bar snacks.” She pauses. “You could finally apologize to her.”
“Apologize?” He stands up from the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “No.”