You, Again(91)

“Briar’s introducing me to a branding strategist,” Radhya says. “We’re meeting him today before my shift.”

“Cool.” Ari does her best to convey a supportive tone, which is really all she can do from five hundred miles away.

Briar has consistently commented on all of Ari’s generic selfies with the broken heart emoji. It’s unclear if this is intended to be a comfort or some passive-aggressive defense of her brother.

“She’s really been a huge help.” Suspicious pause. And then on cue: “Speaking of help, Josh came over to pick up his pasta machine.”

There’s a stubborn silence on each end of the line.

It’s not like Ari specifically requested that Rad never bring him up. It’s more of a process-of-elimination situation, like an allergy test. Movies: not reactive. Briar: mildly reactive. Pasta machines: highly reactive. But how does Radhya invariably find ways to steer every call down a conversational back alley toward Josh? (“Seriously, what happened?” “Have you spoken at all?” “Would it be okay if I—”) Ari, just as inevitably, either changes the subject or announces that she’s very sorry but she needs to hang up now.

The person who does the leaving doesn’t have the right to feel anything but resignation. Ari had used up all her pity points on Cass. Better to not even scratch at the surface of the Josh thing.

There’s a reason you put one of those giant cones around your dog’s neck after they have surgery. If you don’t, they’ll go straight for the wound. They’ll tear out the stitches. Even though they look adorable and confused and pathetic in that cone, they need to be protected from themselves. At least until the wound heals.

Ari has spent most of the last few months with her head inside the cone. Not talking about how empty she’d felt when Josh left her apartment without even slamming the door. Not talking about how badly she wanted to call him and say anything to make him not hate her. Not talking about the sharp pain that had yielded to a persistent, dull ache after a few days. Like terrible fucking cramps.

Still, there’s something almost darkly comforting in knowing that she was right all along: Sleeping with him had truly been a mistake.



* * *



—

STANDING IN THE HYATT CONFERENCE room in front of a monitor that reads NeverTired Annual Vision Jam is kind of like Dorothy catching sight of Emerald City in the distance. For some mysterious reason, this company that runs on labor of under-employed actors has an “executive leadership team” of nineteen people, all of whom are undoubtedly very well-compensated and have 401(k)s.

At the continental breakfast station, Derek, head of Hustler Expansion, spoons chia seeds over his Greek yogurt and explains that the platform is “in the middle of a massive growth spurt” thanks to “exciting opportunities with contextual advertisements.” Next month, instead of simply writing copy for NeverTired clients, “Hustlers” will receive “bonus points” when they “surface” targeted products. “Your bar mitzvah speech is attached. And tap here for twenty percent off a Quip toothbrush so your smile will look its best on your big day!”

Ari wants to ask if the executive leadership team gets “bonus points” or actual dollars for coming up with the contextual advertisement idea, but she stuffs a croissant in her mouth instead. In the past few months, she’s realized that this job is ten times easier if she keeps her thoughts to herself. It’s kind of the opposite of being a comedic performer, which feels good in a twisted, self-pitying way.

After leading a warm-up (lots of forced smiling, energetic clapping, and A/B tested jokes courtesy of Brad’s script), Ari retreats to the hotel’s outdoor pool patio while the executives start their vision jam. She reclines on a lounge chair and takes out her phone. It’s not the most Instagrammable setting, but it’s been a while since @ari.snacks69 updated the world from a chain hotel.

Before she can open the camera, a post from Briar pops up across the screen.

Announcing my latest collab, Ave A’s hottest new pop-up:

Shaak + Schmaltz.

I wanted to call it Rad-sky’s (guess who tried to veto)

xx B



It’s a photo of Radhya (in her chef’s coat with impeccable posture), Briar (with a bold red lip and enviably tidy bangs), and—

The fuck? A rush of something—confusion, outrage, maybe adrenaline—courses up through her chest.

Rad picks up on the third ring, but Ari doesn’t wait for her greeting. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“About what?” There’s some strange mix of sounds in the background.

“Your new ‘collab.’ I didn’t realize you had a new…partner.”

“Right. Hello to you, too. Josh is helping me in the kitchen and we’re using the old Brodsky’s building as a temporary location. That’s all.”

That’s all? “You don’t find that a little hypocritical?”

“I’ve been trying to bring it up with you for weeks, Ari. You changed the subject every time. You shut down the conversation every time.”

“Yes, because I thought you were about to harangue me for details. I didn’t realize you were planning to hire him to peel your carrots.”

“?‘Harangue’ you? Really? Here I was, thinking I was trying to help you while you’re having a nervous breakdown. It’s fucking insulting that you won’t talk to me about this.”