“You have three minutes until your breakfast burns,” he mutters, resting her legs on his shoulders.
Eight minutes later, Ari bites into matzo brei that’s completely charred.
She doesn’t mind one bit.
31
“WE SHOULD’VE BOUGHT TICKETS IN advance.” Ari buttons her coat against the February wind as they walk up Crosby Street. “The Moth Story Slam always sells out.”
“Briar invited us. I had to agree to work three closing shifts next week so that Radhya would let me off tonight.” Josh turns his head to look one more time at the line snaking down the block in front of the Housing Works Bookstore. “I assumed our names would be on a list. Then again, I’m not sure we need to hear Briar’s Chris Evans story. Again.”
“I love that story.” She pauses at the corner of Houston, winding the scarf around her neck. “Imagine going on a date with Chris Evans for the sole purpose of getting Jenny Slate’s number so that she could call her and beg her to get back together with Chris Evans. What a hero.”
“That did not happen.”
“It totally happened. Gabe helped her workshop the monologue,” she says over the dissonant sound of multiple honking horns. “Pizza?”
“Arturo’s? On a Friday night?” Josh looks at her pleading face. “We can see how long the wait is.”
Through the window of the enormous Crate & Barrel flagship on the corner of Broadway and Houston, he can see a couple arguing over place settings. The woman holds her phone out to scan something—probably for their registry—while the man shakes his head.
“I just got this coat back from the dry cleaners,” he suddenly remembers. “I’ll have to get it cleaned again.”
“I’ll pay for the cleaning,” she says, even though dry cleaning is a luxury on an improv teacher’s salary. There’s a red light at the corner of Mercer. Ari stops and turns to face him in front of the Angelika while the traffic passes. “But you should know, when you smell like coal oven pizza, you’re ten times more attractive to me.”
“I didn’t think that was possible,” he says, wrapping her in his arms. He doesn’t get tired of this—of holding her, or the way she looks up at him. Ari pulls at the lapels of Josh’s coat and kisses him softly. He can taste her artificial cherry–flavored ChapStick on his own lips when he pulls back.
“Hey.” She grins. “I like you.”
“You’re all right, I guess.” He leans down, pulling her scarf aside, and kisses along her neck and jawline, back up to her mouth. I will buy you an entire set of monogrammed cereal bowls, he promises silently.
When the light turns, Ari grabs his hand and tugs him across Houston, in the other direction.
“I thought you wanted pizza.”
“Always. But there’s something I need to do first.”
They walk south, passing the designer boutiques lining the dark street, most of which are closing up for the night.
She’s uncharacteristically quiet as they cross Spring…and then Broome—the occasional intrusive flash of headlights cutting through the dim streetlights. She comes to an abrupt halt in front of a brick and stainless-steel storefront with one small window.
“This is the stop you wanted to make?” he asks. “Do you have a sudden need for a new vibrator? Or is that a dumb question?”
“It’s our meet-cute,” she replies. “One of them, at least.” She tugs him by the lapels toward the CreamPot entrance. “Just imagine how the trajectory of our lives would’ve been different without this place.”
He rolls his eyes and pulls open the door. “I’m sure the universe would have found some other way to throw us together. In another timeline, we would obviously have met at Briar and Chris Evans’s wedding.”
“Where I would definitely have banged you in the bathroom,” Ari assures him.
“Never to be seen again. We would have gone right back to our lives.”
“We should each pick something out for each other,” Ari says. “Souvenirs.” She glances up at something that looks like a coral-colored glass sculpture on a shelf behind his head. “Ooh, the tentacle dildo!”
“That’s what you want?”
“It’s pretty!” she insists.
“I’ll pretend to look around for a few minutes while you choose some ridiculous thing for me and then we’ll meet at the register.”
“Have you ever used a Fleshlight?”