You, Again(38)

“There aren’t any benefits!” At least this is one answer where the truth isn’t the worst-case scenario. “None. Rad—”

“Is this why I haven’t seen you? Do you get how insulting this is? I’m your friend, Ari. Not him.”

“Then listen to me!”

For the first time ever, Ari briefly wishes she and Josh had just hooked up that evening instead of splitting a pizza. She could have snuck off an hour later, Radhya would never need to know, and they each could’ve gotten their first post-breakup sex out of the way with minimal fuss.

“If you wanted me to listen,” Radhya says, “why did you keep this a secret for weeks?”

“Probably because I knew this exact argument would happen!” Ari stands up from the couch.

“You always do this,” Radhya continues. “You deflect and avoid until things blow up and then you walk away.”

Ding!

Josh: Hello?

She mentioned she does personal training.

Is that flirting or a sales pitch?



Radhya stares at the phone in Ari’s hand. “Are you coming to NoFucksgiving or not?”

Ari heads for the door and shrugs her coat back on. “I’m going back to Queens.”

“Why? So you can text him in private?”

“So I can wallow alone.” Ari lets the door slam.

A bitter, muffled “Happy Thanksgiving!” echoes down the hallway.

On the street, the wind bites at Ari’s face. Fighting with Rad always permeates every aspect of Ari’s emotional state. She could get the silent treatment from Cass or flub an audition—those disappointments stay in their clearly marked lanes in her brain. When Radhya’s upset with her, it’s a jackknifing semi. Heavy. Messy. Uncontrolled.

Ari exhales a cloud of warm breath and marches across the street to the bodega on the corner. If she’s not going to get sloppy drunk on cheap cocktails with friends, at least she can buy a can of wine and drink it alone, on the Q, through a straw.

A chonky bodega cat guards the entrance on the other side of the glass door, peering deep into Ari’s mind with a disapproving, soul-piercing gaze, and shaming her out of purchasing train rosé.

She grabs her phone out of her pocket, Radhya’s totally reasonable words circling the background of her mind like a carousel.

Ari: plans fell through tonight

Josh: Movie?

Ari: It’ll take me an hour to get home from brooklyn

Josh: This is why I don’t date women outside Manhattan.

Preferably, they live below Madison Square Park.

Ari: this is exactly why you’re not getting laid

I guess I could come to your place

Josh: And watch a movie in person?

Ari: no, just dinner and yoga instructor advice

I could stop at that taco place

Josh: Which one?

Ari: the one where you got the thing with the stuff on it?

Josh: The place with the chambray onions or the carnitas huaraches?

Ari: the one with the hot guy at the counter and a clean bathroom





10


“OKAY, I THOUGHT ABOUT IT on the way over and here’s what you’re gonna do.” Ari steps gingerly off the scary elevator and into Josh’s loft, handing him a grease-soaked paper bag. “After class, take an extra minute to wipe down your mat and ask her about stretches that work your adductors. Trust me, works every time. Yoga classes are a great place to meet women.” He’s dressed in black jeans and a dark sweater that probably cost more than Ari’s entire outfit, including her shoes and coat. “You wear pants at home? With a button fly? Are you a psychopath?”

“They’re comfortable.”

She shakes her head, brushing past him, fully taking in the space. “Holy shit. This could be a sitcom apartment.”

“It would look more impressive without all the junk.” Josh retreats to the kitchen to set the table. “I’m in the middle of a renovation.”

To Ari’s eye, the front of the apartment looks less like a “renovation” and more like someone deposited the contents of a basement all over the floor, started trying to put it in order, and gave up halfway through. As a veteran dumpster diver, she can’t help strolling around the piles of treasures: a Thighmaster resting on a cracked boom box, heavy ceramic lamp bases with giant beige shades, the remnants of Brodsky’s giant neon sign. The smell of old paperbacks and dusty vinyl.

Her gaze catches on a familiar silhouette.

“You can’t get rid of the Bowflex, it’s one of the best pieces of sex furniture known to man.” Ari rushes over to the angled bench. She pulls at the lat tower assembly, testing the stability. “Do you have any carabiners?”

Josh’s expression is both stern and laced with panic. It’s so easy to make him uncomfortable, it’s almost unfair.

She perches cross-legged on the bench. “Just so we’re clear, there’s no universe where any form of pants is more comfortable than no pants. I take mine off as soon as I walk in the door.”

“So every time we watch a movie, you’re not wearing pants?”

“Actually, I’m totally naked.” She heaves herself off the Bowflex and walks toward the table, where he abruptly stops setting out the to-go containers. “Sorry, I’m fucking with you again. I can’t watch movies naked. It’s embarrassing. I’m an old T-shirt and underwear kind of girl.”