“It might help if you invested in a real jacket,” Josh replies. “Your coat is an embarrassment to outerwear.”
“At this point, I’m just hoping I make enough cash back on these books to buy myself pierogis at Veselka afterward.” She drops the bag on his dining table. She pulls Daring Greatly out of the bag and holds it up, examining the back cover. “Why is everyone always trying to get me to read this book? Maybe I don’t want to ‘dare greatly.’ Maybe I just want to dare the regular amount and wallow.” She walks over to his fridge and peeks inside, pulling out a bottle of Pellegrino, taking a second to study the stack of identical reusable containers, all labeled and dated in his neat block lettering. Chef habit. “Is it possible to wallow greatly? Somebody write that book.”
Josh reaches into the backpack. “Did she leave you the entire Brené Brown collection?”
“Wait, don’t look in there. I have a surprise.” Ari rushes back over to the table, sloshing some water over the rim of the bottle. “Now, before you say anything”—she slaps his hand away from the bag—“I know you don’t celebrate Christmas. This is a nondenominational winter holiday present.” She pulls out a large box wrapped in one of the free daily newspapers they hand you at subway stops. Maybe Cass took their supply of wrapping paper, too. “Congratulations. I hope you’re ready to be a father.”
After tearing into the newsprint, the first thing he sees is the as-seen-on-TV logo. She’d taped over the little cartoon Dust Daddy character on the box with some old photo from a profile that ran in Saveur two years ago.
“It’s not a gag gift,” she assures him. “I know how you feel about crumbs. This is basically like when Aragon got that giant sword from those dwarves.”
“This doesn’t give you permission to eat crackers on my furniture,” he says, turning it over. “And the elves re-forged that sword. Not the dwarves.”
“I know.” She grins and shrugs off her plaid peacoat. “But when I fuck with you, you get this look on your face like this…” She furrows her brow, creating a little wrinkle over her nose.
The gift is so perfectly casual yet evocative of a specific time and place that’s only meaningful to them that he briefly second-guesses himself as he retrieves the present he’d purchased for Ari two weeks ago. He’d wrapped it the way they do on sitcoms, where the lid just lifts off.
He might have watched several tutorials.
“Is it the tiny sleeping golden retriever puppy I asked for?” She shakes the box near her ear before lifting the lid.
Ari’s smile fades. She looks down into the box, eyebrows knitted together.
“They still sell them at Pearl River Mart,” he says quickly. “I know it’s not the bowl but it’s the same pattern with the blue rim and the dragon design. I wanted you to”—she looks up at him with the corners of her mouth turned down, like she’s trying to contain something—“be able to eat cereal again.”
After a few seconds she manages to shift it into a lopsided smile. She picks up the bowl. It was $3.50—less than he’d spent on the wrapping paper. Probably the least expensive gift he’s ever purchased.
“Damn,” she says quietly. “You really go for the jugular, Kestenbutt.”
“Well, it’s…” he starts, having no idea how to finish the sentence. “Make sure you wash it first.”
“Thanks.” She traces her index finger around the rim.
“I had a slight ulterior motive.” He takes a breath in like he’s preparing to inflate a balloon. “What are you doing on New Year’s Eve?”
“Gabe hosts a karaoke fundraiser every year. We sing obnoxious songs and raise money for LaughRiot while wearing ridiculous-but-sexy outfits.” He glances up at that. “Cass never wanted to go. Do you want to? Maybe sing a terrible rendition of ‘Piano Man’？”
“There are good renditions of ‘Piano Man’？” Josh retorts automatically.
“I’m more of a ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’ girl.” She tilts her head. “Why, what do you have planned for New Year’s? You’ve already done Zach Braff’s seafood place. Are you challenging an aspiring actress to a match at Susan Sarandon’s ping pong bar? Bringing a fitness influencer to Jeremy Renner’s Cajun bistro?”
“Really?”
“You’re right.” She nods. “That’s more of a Bastille Day spot.”