“It’s a compliment!” He unfolds more brightly colored linens. “Don’t pretend you’re not into it.”
She’s spent the last couple weeks in only two alternating modes: wiping away the memory of the Ramble Incident and carefully preserving the visceral details in a mental scrapbook, decorated with bespoke lettering and Washi tape. No matter how many times she closes the book with a hard thwack and shoves it in a drawer, twenty minutes later she’ll find herself running the pad of her thumb over her lower lip. Thinking. Remembering.
Shit. Shit.
“Are you set up out there?” Radhya yells from the kitchen. “Service was supposed to start three minutes ago.”
Ari walks to the front entrance, peeking through the small window, hoping to see a mass of people outside the entrance, queued up for Radhya’s Gujarati delicacies. There isn’t a line, but there is someone in a black parka waiting just to the left of the door, looking up every so often, as if waiting for a first date to show up.
Gabe continues setting the tables. “This is the worst time of year to accidentally get involved with—”
“Oh God.” Ari takes a second peek.
“—someone. You need to deal with this today—”
Josh is dressed in various shades of black, standing outside Bohemian Garden with his arms crossed. He’s not radiating nervous energy. Not occupying himself with his phone while monitoring the passersby. More like telegraphing annoyance. Tall, imposing. In absolutely no danger of cracking a smile.
She presses her back against the front wall, even though it’s impossible that Josh could see her from this angle.
“—or you’re locked into this through Valentine’s Day. Who are you hiding from?”
“He’s outside.”
Gabe raises his eyebrows and unabashedly takes a look. “Hello, there.”
No reason for nerves. They’d both agreed it was just a case of getting carried away by a national holiday. No big deal. Fine.
And then they hadn’t spoken about it for fourteen days.
“I’ll help you out,” Gabe offers. “Grease the wheels.”
“No. Things are…delicate right now.”
He clears his throat. “Rebounds aren’t supposed to be delicate. Or complicated.”
“This isn’t a rebound. There aren’t any rebounds in this situation. Only Bumble snacks, Tinder treats, and the occasional slutty couple on Feeld.”
The best thing to do is step back and reestablish some boundaries. If the last week proved anything it’s how much she doesn’t want to mess this up. How critical it is to get back to normal.
Gabe throws the door open and Ari feels like she’s boarding the Hindenburg.
* * *
IT’S BEEN A long time since Josh had to wait in the cold outside a building, giving passersby the impression that he’s being stood up for a blind date.
Actually, no. The last time he lingered at an entryway, it was two weeks ago, and he was anticipating the arrival of the same latecomer.
He checks their last text exchange, in which she’d clearly stated she’d be at Bohemian Garden at three p.m. And while she hadn’t explicitly invited him to Radhya’s pop-up a second time, it had occurred to him that showing up to the event might present him in a magnanimous light.
Better than continuing to send her texts and receiving half-hearted, noncommittal responses.
It stands to reason that after you kiss like two people who have really, really been wanting to kiss each other for several long months, you are obliged to have at least one substantive conversation about what it meant.
New Year’s Eve had cleaved their friendship into a clear before and after—he’s only beginning to understand what the after looks like.
In the after, he and Ari haven’t talked since he walked her over to Gabe’s apartment from the Ramble. He’d spent the first day of a new year ruminating, caught in between the heady excitement of replaying the kiss and the disappointing way it fizzled.
And wondering if Ari and Gabe still “watch movies” together.
It’s the little things he can’t quite get out of his head: touching her hair for the first time, the way her cheeks were freezing and flushed and soft, her voice murmuring his name. New versions of things that are already so familiar to him.
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: 3:05 p.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 clearly uncomfortable 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 hugged once, 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 her actual friend, 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 of Godspell?”
“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, with her 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 endless what-ifs.