There’s something almost disrespectful about her brittle demeanor inside the homey, unpretentious atmosphere, drenched in the familiar smell of carb-heavy comfort food. It’s a warm Ukrainian blanket of a diner.
“Should we talk about what just happened?” he asks, after giving her a reasonable two minutes to speak first.
“If you want,” she says. If you want. Like this is for his benefit.
“Are you okay?” He keeps his tone steady and devoid of feeling. They could be two chatbots exchanging pleasantries.
“Oh yeah, perfect,” she replies, letting a drop of sarcasm through whatever filter she’s using to sift out emotion. “I’ve been holding my breath for months, waiting for it to happen.” She continues to tap her foot. “I ran into my wife—”
“Your ex.”
“—looking like a drowned rat ragamuffin. And that’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You certainly seem ‘fine.’？”
“Yep.” Her foot taps harder against the tile. There are no distractions: no food on the table, no menus.
After a beat, he tries a new strategy. “It’s okay to be upset.”
“Oh, I have your permission now?” She picks at the corner of the table and finally looks up. “Great. I’m upset with you.”
“Me?” Josh sits up straighter.
“Why were you acting like that in front of her?”
“I could ask you the same question.” He unrolls the paper napkin and wipes off the water spots from each piece of silverware. “You acted like you didn’t even know me. You should have just shoved me down the elevator shaft in front of her, it would have been subtler.”
Ari raises her eyebrows to cartoonish heights. “That’s why you’re mad? Because I panicked and didn’t perform a round of gracious introductions? Sorry if I was distracted for two minutes by the person who shattered my fucking heart.”
The waiter chooses this moment to serve Josh’s matzo ball soup and Ari’s salad, dropping the dishes down on the table with a clatter.
“I was trying to help,” he says, as much to himself as to her.
“I never asked you for help, so you can stop trying to live out this fantasy where I’m your girlfriend.”
The word lingers in the air like gun smoke.
“Excuse me?” he shoots back, driving toward some heretofore unacknowledged line. The border of the demilitarized zone of the friendship. “You were practically begging me to kiss you three seconds before your ex showed up.”
Her mouth falls open. “We were joking around! And you started it. You pushed this on me.”
“What did I push on you?” He feels over-caffeinated, like he’s barely in control of whatever might spill out of his mouth next.
“Really?” She cocks her head to the right. “Why are you eating soup in a diner instead of taking a Lauren to some under-the-radar Argentinian wine bar? Why don’t you dress up the yoga instructor in your giant coat and humiliate her in front of her wife?”
“Ex-wife. I made you wear the coat because I don’t want you freezing your ass off because I fucking care about you.”
She stares at him, saying nothing.
The middle-aged couple at the next table pause their own conversation and give each other painfully obvious “look at these two” glances.
The adrenaline that was coursing through his body a few seconds ago dissipates into dread, tepid and stagnant.
Ari looks down at the plate and pokes at the lettuce with her fork. Her shoulders start to shake. When she finally looks up, her eyes are spilling over with tears. “Is there more to me than bong vapor and nipple piercings?”
“Ari.” He modulates his voice into something soft. “That’s a ridiculous question.”
“I was supposed to be her muse,” she says, her voice drained of all levity.
“That sounds very convenient for her but you’re not her love interest. You’re not the character without a personality who only exists to make someone else seem desirable.” Josh picks up his soup spoon. “That’s not you.”
“You’re right. I’m supposed to be the person who’s happier being alone.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t be here right now,” he points out.
Her chest heaves and she can’t swallow down a sob. “How are they engaged?” Two more whimpers and tears start to fall. “When you love someone y-you don’t just erase them—”