Ari grabs a shopping basket and pulls a half-dozen books off the shelves on the main level. Josh peels off and spends a few minutes in the Linguistics section, eventually meandering, accidentally or not, to Cooking.
The glossy covers—grinning chefs holding artfully composed dishes—remind him of the life that seems like a false memory now. The food itself looks appealing, even though it’s all lighting and shellac. He can barely remember what part of it appealed to him.
Josh descends the stairs to the lowest floor, where Ari is leaning against the railing on the landing.
“See, I could’ve ghosted you ten minutes ago.” She’s standing one step above him, making them almost the same height. “But here I am.”
Maybe it’s seeing her face from a shallower angle, or the way her mood lifted after getting rid of the last remnants of Cass. Or the slight case of raccoon eyes from wearing non-waterproof mascara in the falling snow.
“You probably realized that you need my seven dollars of bookselling profit to pay for your pierogis.”
“Actually, I need your muscular forearms. Here,” she says, handing him her full basket of books and nearly overextending his elbow with the weight of it. “Put the gym time to good use.”
“You’re expecting me to carry these all the way back to my place?”
The elevator dings.
“Yes, because I just agreed to spend a national holiday making small talk with your mother.” Ari makes a sweeping gesture in front of the bright red elevator door. “Reason number two why the Strand is the perfect date location: good make-out spots.”
“You bring dates into the elevator to make out?” he asks, stepping inside. “It’s only four floors. I hope you didn’t have anything gymnastic in mind.”
“I meant the Rare Book Room. But I like the way you think.” They stand shoulder to shoulder, watching the doors close. The elevator lurches to the next stop. “You’re the one taking all those yoga classes.” Ari turns her head and looks up at him. Her parka—his, actually—grazes his cashmere coat.
“Are you asking for a demonstration?” His eyes move back and forth across her face, taking in the small details that are only visible close-up: the little scar on her forehead, the flicker of a smile, the dimple. She’s leaning against the back wall of the elevator so casually. Too casually? He can’t quite decode whether she’s merely playing along or there’s some glimmer of potential behind it. Had they met here eight years ago—or five years ago, or three years ago—as total strangers, maybe everything would’ve been different.
“That depends,” she says. The doors open onto the Rare Book Room but neither of them move, even though there’s someone—a tall figure in glasses and a blazer—waiting just outside the elevator, reading a brochure. “Are you one of those men who goes down on a woman for three minutes with minimal enthusiasm, but also expects a messy blow job thirty seconds later?”
Before he can summon a response to…that, the figure looks up.
“Ar?”
14
NEITHER JOSH NOR “AR” LOOKS over right away, like they’d rather not break whatever spell they’d been under by acknowledging the metaphorical elephant standing three feet away.
“Oh my God.” Cass takes a step forward. “How are you?”
Ari reaches out with her left hand and Josh feels his muscles tense at the possibility of being trapped in a steel box while watching them embrace. But Ari’s index finger swerves to the close door button, which she mashes repeatedly, her face blank.
This act seems to confuse the elevator. It makes a loud buzzing noise, as if to shoo them out. Cass throws her arm against the door, keeping it from sliding closed. There’s nothing to do but step forward into the Rare Book Room.
“Fine,” Ari says, keeping her arms stiffly at her sides as her ex-wife forces her into an awkward embrace. Her voice is hollow. “I’m fine.”
Cass looks refreshed. Glowing. Josh tells himself it’s Botox.
She’s wearing a dark blazer (likely a more expensive one than last time) over a gently distressed Hole T-shirt. Clear frame glasses, Blundstone boots. Every aspect of her feels precisely curated. She places her hands on Ari’s shoulders, taking her in: smudged eye makeup, messy bun, a giant men’s parka. Objectively speaking, it’s not the way anyone would care to run into their ex.
And yet…he can’t help but wonder if Cass thinks he and Ari are together. Is it wrong for him to take some pleasure in the slight amount of annoyance that might cause?
Cass looks at Ari, letting her gaze run up and down her face. “Did you set up a time to meet with my broker about the move-out dates?”
“Um, working on it.” Ari remains stock-still. No fidgeting, no shifting weight. “I’ll figure it out.”
She’d never mentioned anything to Josh about a broker and move-out dates.
Cass loosens her grip on Ari’s shoulders. “Good,” she says, with no trace of conviction. She glances around the space like she’s looking for someone. “It’s so weird to see you here. I was just meeting with the events director.”
“Are you…giving a talk?” Ari asks, still wearing a vacant expression that Josh has never quite seen from her. It’s like she’s looking through a portal into another reality.
“No, actually—”
“Did you see the dressing rooms, babe?” The new voice belongs to a young woman in an oversized, unbuttoned cherry-red coat who appears in Josh’s peripheral vision. Cass grabs the woman’s hand, pulling her forward. Ari visibly flinches before managing to regain her composure. “Oh. Hi, Ari.” The woman gives her a limp, awkward nod. “Katya Kulesza,” the other woman says to Josh, while nestling closer to Cass.
There’s silence all around as both women shift their attention to Josh. He waits for Ari to say anything—introduce him, provide some conversational lubrication to move them all over this hump.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.
He nudges Ari gently.
Still nothing. She barely seems to register his presence.
“Josh,” he says finally, extending his hand to Cass, even though it’s the last thing he wants to do. “We’ve met before.”
“Have we?” Cass regards him with a steely, even gaze, tilting her head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile forming at the corner of her mouth. She steps forward as if to demonstrate that they’re approximately the same height, gripping his hand firmly. Her chunky ring presses uncomfortably into his palm.
“My sister was one of your students,” he adds. “Briar Kestenberg.”
“Oh, Briar. Of course!” Cass nods, clearly having zero recollection. “This is new for you, Ar.” She gives Josh a once-over, conveying both skepticism and pity with a subtle raise of her eyebrows.
Ari seems to wake up from a trance. “Oh, we’re not tog—”
“Babe,” says Katya, “we need to ask about swapping out the folding chairs.” She turns to Josh and Ari. “We’re scoping out venues.” Under the coat, she’s wearing a blazer and a vintage T-shirt, like a shorter, curvier, younger version of Cass. “Engagement party.”
Ari’s face flushes red. She’s frozen, mouth open just a centimeter or two, staring at the two women in front of her, knees locked, muscles tight with pure tension.
Something catches Katya’s attention across the room. “Excuse me!” she shouts to the ponytailed woman who must be the events coordinator, before excusing herself by telling Ari “you look great.” There’s no real malice in her tone, which somehow makes it more cutting.
Maybe Josh should also occupy himself elsewhere with some fake book-shopping task, but he can’t bring himself to cede any ground, physical or otherwise, to Ari’s ex. Instead, he grabs the basket off the floor and plants his feet.
Cass, unfazed, touches Ari’s shoulder—again—initiating a private conversation between the two of them.
“Ar, I know this is awkward.” She’s speaking just above a whisper, but Josh can hear the tender inflection of her tone. “But we’re really hoping you’ll sign the documents this week. It’s so much easier for all of us to do this uncontested. And you’ll return the broker’s calls?”