You, Again(32)

“I’ve never seen it.”

“How is that possible?” he exclaims, his voice distorting over the connection. “It’s basic cultural literacy.”

“I’m a youth,” she insists. “And I’m not in a state of mind where I can watch something with ‘bride’ in the title.”

“There’s enough self-awareness that it won’t bother you. And I overheard two college students at the gym misquoting it and referring to it as ‘that old movie’ and I’m still upset about it.”

“No,” she says firmly. “No love stories. I don’t care how ironically detached they are. I don’t want to feel anything.”

Ari looks up at the light fixture. It has a dark bronze finial that reminds her of a nipple. Or maybe she’s just missing Cass.

“But you’re okay with subjecting me to The Expendables?”

“If I watch it with someone else, it’s social. Otherwise, I’m just a sad, lonely person, waiting to get divorced, sitting on a hand-me-down air mattress, watching an ensemble action thriller by myself.”

“You’re right,” he says. “That’s definitely not what’s going on here.”

“Oh, and if I go quiet for a few minutes it’s because someone hired me to write a eulogy.”





7


Sat, Oct 22, 1:32 p.m.

Ari: i can’t find the mattresses Josh: Where are you?

Ari: I turned a corner at patio furniture and now i’m lost and also I want to buy this sofa table?

Josh: I’m waiting near the bed frames.

Ari: i’ve heard THAT before ok I’m in the middle of a sea of desks

Shout PENIS and I’ll follow your voice



“Everything in here is slightly sticky,” Josh says, shuddering.

“It’s either the soft serve or the meatball gravy.” Ari sits up from the showroom mattress she’s been lounging on. “If I don’t leave here with a box of unassembled particleboard, cartoon instructions, and a jar of lingonberry jam, we’ll have failed the mission.”

“I refuse to consume meatballs from a discount furniture chain.” Josh examines the store map. “What about a nightstand?”

“I have a cardboard box next to the bed.”

“Okay. Well, we came here for a dresser.”

She crosses her arms. “I have a stack of clean clothes and a pile of dirty laundry. It works fine.”

“Okay. Get up.” Josh is standing over her with his hands on his hips like an annoyed-but-hot poli sci professor. “You can’t treat your apartment like a campsite. Why did you let her take everything from you?” His voice has a trace of the self-righteous teen he must have been—a kid who grew up knowing he could claim everything he wanted.

She hauls herself to her feet. “It’s not technically ‘my’ apartment. And what was I supposed to do? Throw my body across an eight-year-old West Elm side table?” There’s a twitchy edge to Ari’s voice that somehow makes her feel more defensive. “Do you know how pathetic I felt, watching the movers struggle to maneuver the bed through the front door? I hid in the bathroom, okay?”

She braces herself for the look of pity that people offer her when she brings up these embarrassing details about that day and loses control of her emotions.

Josh moves his jaw like he can’t quite decide on the right response. They’re stopped in front of a $329 six-door dresser. “Red, Red Wine” plays over the sound system.

“Did you ask me to help you shop because you wanted someone to smile and nod and keep their mouth shut while you refuse to help yourself?” he asks. “Because I’m not going to do that.”

“No, obviously I wanted you to experience the meatballs.” They stare at each other for a few beats while a couple holds up the paper measuring tape across the width of the dresser. Josh raises an eyebrow, expecting something more. Ari swallows. “You go to the gym a lot, so I know you can carry heavy boxes. And you’re tall so you can reach things on high-up shelves in the warehouse area.”

His expression remains stern. Concerned. Unwilling to accept her one-liners as actual answers. “Ari.”

“What?”

He folds his arms across his chest. “Why did you ask me to come here with you?”

Grimacing at his persistence, she walks over to an untreated pine dresser and pretends to examine it. “I thought you could help me pick out some pans?”

“You’re absolutely not using cookware from Ikea. You’d get the same result with a folded-up piece of aluminum foil. We’ll go to Sur La Table. Try again.”

She opens the top compartment and looks down. Inside the drawer is a crude drawing of a penis. It’s a fun surprise. Like finding a quarter on the ground. “I guess…I like being with you more than I like being by myself.” She takes a deep breath and glances up. Josh has this way of focusing on her face. There’s a potency to it. “Why did you come?”

“The meatballs.” A stranger would say his face appears blank, but Ari can tell he’s pleased. “Obviously.”



Fri, Oct 28, 5:27 p.m.

Briar: Have you looked at any of the proposals from developers?

Josh: Mom sent you after me now?