Josh hesitates. Every word he’s about to utter sounds embarrassing in his head. “On New Year’s Eve, my father is being honored at a black-tie event at the New-York Historical Society.”
“Seriously?”
“They’re opening a new exhibition on Jewish foodways,” he explains with a dismissive gesture. “My dad sat for some interviews a couple years ago. Begrudgingly, I assume. My mom donated some Brodsky’s memorabilia and they’re expecting the family to show up at the gala.”
“You can’t get out of it?”
Josh shakes his head. “Briar has our mother convinced that it will be a good way to move on from the whole son-who-killed-his-father’s-beloved-Jewish-deli narrative.”
Ari nods. “Tough rep. I get it.”
“Meanwhile, Briar will be off in the desert on some sponsored influencer trip while my mother spends the whole evening accusing me of being rude to all her real estate developer friends. They’ll serve steam-table brisket and some Broadway ingénue will perform a couple Stephen Schwartz songs. And if I run into someone I know I’ll have to explain why Sophie’s not there…” Josh lets the sentence trail off, raising his eyebrows at Ari in a way that communicates his request without him having to complete the ask.
“Ahh,” she says, narrowing her eyes and nodding slowly. Ari collapses onto a kitchen chair. “The thing is, I’m bad arm candy at parties for one-percenters. Cass made me go to a few with her. No one finds me funny and I can’t dance.”
“And you act like a brat at museums,” he adds.
“You’re really selling this. Keep going.”
He takes a seat on the other chair, so they’re back at the same eye level. “If you show up and let my mother fawn over you for two hours, you can complain all you want.”
“Will she think I’m your date?”
“I’ll make it clear we’re just friends.”
Ari narrows her eyes. He can’t tell if this is a good sign or not. “Fine. But if I agree to this, you’d owe me a favor, right?”
“Fine,” he agrees. “Do you need me to reach something on a high shelf?”
“Radhya’s holding a pop-up at Bohemian Garden next month. She’s making Gujarati bar snacks.” She pauses. “You could finally apologize to her.”
“Apologize?” He stands up from the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “No.”
“That’s like, one tenth the effort of a gala with your mother on the biggest date night of the year!”
“Radhya wouldn’t want me there.” He knows he’s right. Ari knows he’s right.
She sighs, clearly disappointed, and stands up with a full body stretch. “Do you have books to sell? I think they close at eight.”
* * *
“YOU REALLY DON’T want to keep any of your cookbooks?” Ari watches Josh pack up a stack of pristine hardcovers as a gust of wind rattles the large window at the front of the loft.
“The whole point is to rid ourselves of these reminders of the past.” Josh has that “please wade no further into this subject” look on his face, so Ari drops it, looking out the window. A light snow has started to fall, visible in front of the glow of a streetlamp. “Ugh, it looks windy.”
“Here.” He walks over to the front closet and pulls out a bulky black parka. “You can borrow this.”
When she puts it on and checks the mirror, it appears that her entire body is being swallowed by several yards of heavily insulated Gore-Tex.
Josh stifles a laugh. “You look…”
“Like three kids in a trench coat?”
“Cute.” He seems surprised to hear himself say it. “Cute and probably warm.”
“Sweating, actually.” The goose down filling probably isn’t the cause of her flushed cheeks. Josh isn’t exactly doling out cutes with great frequency; it feels surprisingly nice to receive one. No, two.
Outside, heavy wet clumps of snow melt into slush on the sidewalk. The streets are quiet as they walk up Lafayette, shoulder to shoulder, along the narrow stripe of sidewalk next to the clumps of snow on the curb. He points out Chase and Citibank locations that started out as something with character—sheet music retailers or restaurant supply warehouses. She tells him a story about getting trapped in the restroom at the Kmart that used to be across the street from Cooper Union.
When they pass a bodega, Ari insists on purchasing a black-and-white cookie “for the sake of basic cultural literacy.” She breaks it in half so that each of them has both vanilla and chocolate.