You, Again(95)

“Cool. Yeah. I mean, good for him.” Ari continues scrubbing her hands. They feel raw. Suddenly, Josh wants to casually date someone. He’s probably going on double dates with Briar and Ryan-who’s-passionate-about-physical-fitness. “It’s fine.” It’s all so totally fine.

Radhya turns around. “Then why are you hiding in the bathroom?”

“Sticky hands,” Ari says through gritted teeth.

Radhya stares at her, waiting to see if she’ll say more. Nothing comes out. “Well, she’s gone now. Thought you’d…wanna know.” She opens the door to leave and pauses. “We’re going to Doc Holliday’s.”

The clomp of Radhya’s kitchen clogs recedes down the back hallway.

Ari shuts off the tap, closes her eyes, and sits back down on the tile floor, breathing fast, willing herself not to fall apart. She turns to stare at the wall. There’s a little collection of tags and notes and phone numbers written with various pens. Humans struggling to connect with one another, trying to be remembered any way they can. She’s pretty sure her number has been featured in several bathrooms throughout the city. Probably being slowly buried under dozens of other numbers.

Maybe she should dial one of them. It’s not like she has anyone to talk to in real life at this point. She’s managed to trigger a specific kind of loneliness that only happens when you alienate everyone who knows you—really knows you.

Cue the self-loathing.

Yep, there it is. Something pulling tight on her throat. All it would take is the slightest push—one wrong thought—to trigger the waterworks. It’s a sick little game, stepping so close to the edge. The thoughts drift across her mind, almost taunting her.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s relationship with her husband, Marty. Mel Brooks and Anne Bancroft singing “Sweet Georgia Brown” in Polish. The first ten minutes of Up. She can see Josh’s and Harper’s clasped hands with pixel-perfect clarity in her mind’s eye.

It hurts, but not enough.

Ari pulls out her phone and scrolls through her text message history with Josh. What does it all amount to, really? Dumb inside jokes and too much back-and-forth over where and when to meet up. Still, the idea that there was a time when she could text him a video of James Earl Jones performing the alphabet on Sesame Street and he would respond within a minute seems ludicrous.

There’s a giant lump in her throat but the release of tears won’t come. Ari forces a couple deep breaths, rises to her feet, and opens the bathroom door.

The restaurant is quiet now, except for a blast of water from the kitchen sink. Josh’s chef’s coat undone, his hands busy cleaning knives. Ari’s heart clenches. Actually, no—more like the cumulative effect of missing him for months punches her in the sternum. He looks up when he hears her footsteps and then looks down again quickly.

He shuts the water off. The boom box on the counter plays “What a Fool Believes.”

“They went down the block for drinks,” he says after a beat that seems to last minutes.

“You didn’t want to?”

“Doc Holliday’s smells like a swamp.”

“See, I find that smell comforting,” she says.

He doesn’t smile. It feels like another jab to the chest. “Someone had to finish cleaning up.”

“Can I help?” she ventures.

Josh doesn’t respond. But it’s not a “no,” so she steps into the kitchen.

“I realize this isn’t the right time but…maybe—I dunno, could we talk? There’s so much, I just…” She pauses for a breath. “If you wanted to meet for coffee or something.”

He raises his head, but doesn’t look at her. “Coffee.”

“I think it’s great that you’re cooking again and, uh, dating—”

“You think it’s great that I’m dating.”

No, no, no. Abort. It’s already a fucking disaster. But her lips keep moving. “All I want is to talk to you again. Can’t we just talk?” She shuts her mouth before it can get worse.

“That’s all you ever want from me.” He dries the knife and puts it down on top of a folded towel. “The two of us are not friends, Ari. We were friends and at some point we were something else and only one of us was able to acknowledge it.”

“It’s not like I’m doing great right now, you know?” Her pulse races like she just finished a 10K. “I’m—I’m feeling…really lonely.”

Finally, he looks her in the eye. “I’m sorry it was that fucking difficult for you to admit you had any feelings whatsoever for me that you had to move to another state to deal with it.”

A horn honks somewhere on Avenue A. The upbeat tone of the Doobie Brothers song hangs incongruously in the air between them.

“I miss—” Shit. Her voice is already wobbling. It’s like when you scratch your hand on something and it doesn’t hurt until you look down and notice you’re bleeding. “I miss you. And I get that you don’t want to, like, talk, but I need you to know that…you kind of m-meant the world to me.” She manages to get it all out before stifling something that feels like a potential sob.

He puts his hand down on the metal prep table and it makes a booming sound. “I don’t want to hear about how you used to feel.” His voice sounds strained and choked. “Because you’ve been two hundred miles away and I’m still here and I’ve been here this whole time, waiting for you to just—”