“Need. Comforting.” His eyes move up and down her face, like he’s maybe going to lean in.
Ari holds her breath, tilting her chin up very slightly. He lifts his right arm and—
—reaches for half a pound of fontina cheese.
“Make yourself useful and shred this.”
She exhales. “Sure, give me the dangerous job.” He opens the package of flour and searches the drawers for measuring cups, as if she might actually own some.
“While this is in the oven, we’ll go in the bedroom and clean out your ex-wife’s T-shirt drawer.”
They’re perfectly good shirts, she wants to point out.
But something feels tight in her belly when he says bedroom. Her mind slips out of rational mode and begins generating images of sex they could be having.
No, no, no. She has to stay focused. There’s no point in disturbing their fragile peace now, not while he’s cooking for the first time in a year.
So they’ll eat. And then they’ll talk.
It’ll be fine.
“You know,” she says, looking for a subject change as she picks up the grater, “I do have a huge bag of bacon bits from Costco. They’re delicious in mac and cheese if you just sprinkle them—”
“Absolutely not.” He furrows his brow. “I brought prosciutto.”
* * *
JOSH EXPECTS TO find maybe half a dozen of Cass’s shirts in the dresser he and Ari assembled two months ago. Instead, it’s almost like this woman forgot to empty one drawer in her haste to vacate the apartment and it happened to house the contents of Cameron Crowe’s laundry basket, circa 1995.
It doesn’t matter now. He won.
Overall, he’s really fucking proud of himself for the restraint he’s shown throughout the evening. There hasn’t been a hint of desperation. No pushing. It even felt right to cook again, to demonstrate certain steps, even show off his knife skills a little, just like the first time they met.
They hadn’t kissed, which was also okay—almost like they didn’t need to prove anything. On the contrary, their lack of physical contact up to this point has only added to the tension.
And yes, her bare-bones communication over the last few days was aggravating. But he understands Ari now: When there’s something this big—this important—she clams up. If anything, it’s confirmation of her feelings.
Which explains why she’s nervous, standing at the foot of her bed, rocking back and forth on her feet, watching him rummage through the shirts. Everything about her is slightly heightened now—she somehow gained freckles, her lower lip is fuller, her topknot is more unruly.
He pictures himself on top of her, the lights still on, her legs wrapped around him. She might even say “I love you” again but looking into his eyes so there’s no mistaking it. And he’d have the presence of mind to say it back this time.
He holds a trash bag open.
“They’re just shirts.” Ari bends at the waist and unceremoniously grabs at the contents of the drawer. “They’re not, like, symbolic of anything.”
“It’s about moving on with your life.”
“I am moving on. You’re just depriving me of pajama tops.” She sinks back down onto the bed, clutching two handfuls of shirts. “That’s what I wanted to tell you.”
“That you’re moving on without pajama tops?”
“Actually, yes.” She sets the clothing down in two little piles on either side of her. She picks at the material on one of the shirts. “We’re putting the apartment on the market. I need to be out of here by the end of the month.”
He lets the trash bag drop. Hearing her casually refer to Cass as part of a present tense we stings.
“So I had to figure out what to do.” Ari folds her legs underneath her again, as if she needs to buy a little extra time to formulate the words. His mind floods with possibilities.
A sign?
He turns his back to her and stands in front of the dresser, staring down at the open drawer, giving himself some privacy from her gaze. “There’s a solution for that.”
“Actually—”
“Move in with me.” He shuts the drawer with a satisfying smack.
“Wait, what?”
Josh turns around, leaning against the dresser. Ari’s expression is more surprised than he would like. “Move into my apartment. Or we can look for a new place. Together.”
“Like roommates?”
“No.” He drops his head for second, taking a breath, reminding himself to be fucking patient. “Not like my roommate.” Lifting his head back up, he looks her in the eye. “Like the person I’m in love with.”
The room is silent except for the occasional clank and hiss from the radiator.
He’d thought maybe her eyes would well up, that the corners of her mouth would curve into a disbelieving smile and she’d slowly rise up from the bed and embrace him. They’d hold each other, finally feeling some sense of relief.
But instead she just sits there, stock-still, mouth open.
Easing himself down beside her on the bed, he slowly reaches for one of her hands.
“Josh.” Her voice is low and quiet. She watches him run his thumb across her knuckles. Soft. “Saying that only makes this more complicated than it already is.”
“I’m so fucking tired of not saying it. I thought we were being honest now. You already said it. I know this can work. I’m sure of it. You don’t think you’re ready. But you are.” He pulls her hand up to his lips and presses a kiss into her palm. “You are.”
“Don’t tell me what—” She forces herself to slow down and breathe. “Josh, listen to me—”
“What do you think we’ve been doing this whole time? We’ve been fucking dating, Ari. It happened so gradually, we just didn’t see it. We didn’t use the word. We only needed that final piece and now we have it.”
He moves her hand down his cheek and it feels almost like she’s doing it of her own volition.
Josh tilts his head and leans down, placing his other hand on the back of her head and pulling her into the kind of kiss they should have had before she ran out of his apartment last week. Her mouth is warm and open and inviting and says everything she won’t express in words.
They fall back onto the mattress. He props himself up, hovering over her.
“This isn’t the right time,” she says. “I’m—I’m depressed.”
“I’m depressed, too. Over half the people in this fucking city are depressed.”
“Josh—”
“Depressed people can be in relationships. We could be waiting forever for the ‘right time.’ You’re perfect for me, exactly how you are at this moment.”
He kisses the hollow of her throat, listening to her breath get heavier and a little ragged as he sucks on a particular spot on her neck in a way that’s definitely going to leave a visible mark.
“Josh…” Her fingers dig into his shoulders.
He lifts the hem of the shirt (of course Cass went to Lilith Fair), exposing the skin between the waistband of her shorts and her bralette. “You needing a new apartment? This is a sign.” He kisses along her rib cage. She’s soft and warm and everything just makes sense. “It’s a fucking sign that this is right.”
“Josh.” The volume of her voice makes him pause. “I’m not looking for another apartment.”
“What?” He stops moving.
“I accepted a job. I’m leaving New York for a while.”
“What?” He lifts his head, not quite processing those sentences. “Where are you going?”
“Washington, D.C., for now. Your mom put me in touch with the CEO of a consulting firm. He’s hiring comedians to do improv training.”
“My mom?” When did this happen? Why hadn’t Ari mentioned this? “Consulting?”
“I’ll be traveling around, teaching improv games to employees of different companies.” She pulls her shirt back down to cover her belly. “It pays really well. Like, an actual salary.”
“Hold on.” Josh shakes his head. “Since when do you want to be a consultant?”
Ari scrambles into a seated position. “You have no idea what I want.”
“What about getting back to performing? What happened to ‘comedy is like magic’? You’re just giving up?”