You, Again(40)

Ari returns her attention to Josh’s phone, now very cognizant of the way the conversation tapered off into a real-life animated ellipsis, and swipes right on “Ashlyn,” who works in program management and uses proper punctuation on dating apps.





11


UNDER NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES, ARI WOULD text Radhya, meet her at the loading dock behind whichever restaurant she happened to be working at, and they’d grab a drink or five at the closest dive bar. She’d be buzzed from a set at one of the lesser-known comedy venues on MacDougal Street, either because it went really great or it really didn’t.

There aren’t any normal circumstances anymore. Their text thread has been silent for over a week. There haven’t been any stand-up sets for months.

Nevertheless, Ari cuts through a narrow alley, the air thick with that familiar ripe smell of kitchen trash from several restaurants—the Korean place, the Irish pub, and the “new American” from Radhya’s current sous-chef gig. Rad is a creature of habit, so she is exactly where Ari expects to find her: sitting on a milk crate against a brick wall. Phone in her right hand, cigarette in the other.

“Hi, Cum Slut.”

Usually, Rad would respond with a tired but cheerful “Twattie!” But after a poorly masked look of surprise, she barely moves her eyes from the glow of her screen.

“I just want to know why.” Radhya says it the way people sigh at their fuckup nephews who ask to borrow rent money.

Why what? Isn’t necessary.

“I like talking to him,” Ari says, choosing her words carefully.

“No one likes talking to him. Try again.”

“He doesn’t judge me or try to fix me.”

Radhya hauls herself up from the crate. “And I’m the one judging you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You needed me in the immediate aftermath. You needed me when you didn’t want to be alone in your apartment. You needed me every time you wanted to vent about Cass’s moods. You were that person for me when my life blew up.” All true. But it felt so much easier to be Radhya’s support system; it’s exhausting being the dud in a friendship. “Now you’re fooling around with—”

“We aren’t.”

“—my nemesis?”

Ari narrows her eyes. “I thought your nemesis was the chef de cuisine at Marea.”

A sweaty-faced guy in a stained apron swings open the kitchen door, observes Rad’s body language, and quickly retreats.

“I’d almost rather it was just some meaningless sex thing,” Radhya says, sitting back down on the crate. “I’m supposed to be the person you confide in.”

“Given your previous experience with Josh, it didn’t seem as simple as calling you up and saying, ‘Hey, I want to tell you about this guy I know.’?”

“But it was easier to sneak around behind my back?” Radhya takes another drag of the cigarette.

Ari opens her mouth to dispute this interpretation of events, but instead, what comes out is a trite analogy. “It’s like…I got pushed into the water. But it’s not a nice, heated pool. There’s no shallow end. I got shoved over the railing of the Titanic.”

“Say what happened. Cass pushed you. Stop using the passive voice.”

“I’ve been treading water and I’m so exhausted that I can’t bring myself to”—Ari inhales a back-alley-scented breath—“like, wave my hands and shout for help.”

“I’m right here, offering you help, and you’re waiting for Kestenberg to rescue you?”

“No,” Ari says, her voice full of conviction. “He’s in the water, too. We’re both clinging to the same shitty piece of debris.”

“According to that metaphor you’re drowning in open water with someone who shoved my head underwater and never looked back.” Radhya exhales a cloud of smoke. “Don’t be the Leo in this situation. Don’t let him hog that fucking door.”

“I’m not the Leo.” Ari’s never actually seen Titanic but she knows the reference from the memes. “He’s mostly just…going through a self-loathing thing.” It feels like a slight relief to swivel the spotlight away from her and onto Josh and Radhya. “He doesn’t even cook anymore. I think he’d like to apologize to you.” Even as she says it, she can’t quite remember him actually stating that.

Radhya stubs out the cigarette. “I’m not interested in being the next stop on his journey of ‘listening and learning.’?” She groans like someone twenty years older than she is as she stands up from the milk crate. “I should get back inside.” She pulls the kitchen door halfway open and hesitates. “Did you at least talk to my lawyer?”

There’s an odd swell of nerves in the pit of Ari’s stomach. “How bad is it to send your ex a topless selfie from the bathroom of a divorce lawyer’s office? Asking for a friend.”

Radhya turns around to look at her. “Tell your friend dubcon nudes are…not great.”

“I’m self-medicating.”

“Meet me at Johnny’s in an hour?” Ari nods, her giant exhalation creating a cloud in the cold air. “You’re buying the drinks, Twattie.”