Which is fine.
Everything’s fine.
Josh stands several feet behind the woman, perhaps deciding whether to click continue or cancel on the whole interaction.
Ari pastes an enormous smile on her face to indicate just how fine this is. She pours herself a tequila refill. And then another.
Of course she’s a Harper. Of course she’s wearing a little black dress under her coat that shows off curves that Ari doesn’t quite have. Of course she has long, wavy hair and full fucking lips, and…well, honestly, had they met under another circumstance, Ari would be complimenting her handbag and buying her a drink.
Josh-and-Harper. A couple. Names that would pair well on a wedding website.
“I need to…b-be right back,” Ari mumbles, dropping the cookie on the counter and sliding awkwardly off the stool. She mentally selects a color scheme for josh-and-harper-dot-com as she makes her way down a narrow side hallway.
Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.
The bathroom is back here somewhere, she’s sure of it, but her vision is a little clouded by the welling tears or the three rapid-fire shots of tequila. She feels along the side of a wood-paneled wall, searching for a swinging door…
…which she promptly stumbles into, landing on her knees. It’s probably really painful but she can’t feel anything. Thanks, tequila.
Still, she can’t quite get up. Maybe just a minute here on the floor would be good. Ari takes some deep breaths. She pushes her tongue to the roof of her mouth. She thinks about chonky cats calmly squeezing themselves into small boxes. Anything to stop the threat of tears.
By the time the door opens, she’s back on her feet and pretend-washing her hands. But it’s not Josh’s new girlfriend.
“Are you okay?” Radhya asks over the groan of the hinges.
Ari doesn’t look up. “Will you stop asking me that?” She stares at her hands, taking heavy breaths.
“I didn’t know Harper was coming tonight,” Radhya says. She stands in front of the mirror, trying to repair the damage done to her liquid liner by a night in a hot, stressful restaurant kitchen. “I’m not sure he did, either. They’ve only been out a couple times.”
“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.