Her face crumples; in a second, she’s full-on bawling into the salad.
He’s seen Ari wavering on the precipice of tears, but she’d always managed to hold them back.
“I-I’m not even sure I wanted to get married. I did it for her. She wanted that official commitment. Somebody loved me and I was finally on the inside of this circle.” Her breathing stutters and the sentences come out in a torrent. “I tried to be what she w-wanted because it felt so good when she was happy with me. All that bullshit about anarchy and demolishing hierarchy had nothing to do with it. She just didn’t want me anymore.” She chokes on a sob. “I hate myself for it. I’m s-so lonely and I don’t want to cry about it because if I let myself cry, I won’t stop. I know i-it wasn’t working, so why am I—” She gasps like she needs to refill her lungs. “I don’t cry. I d-don’t—”
There’s a series of desperate, gasping inhales with no release.
Ari pushes the salad to the side and lays her head down over her arms and continues to cry.
In another timeline, Josh instinctively reaches out his hand to touch her hand. He jumps out of his chair and rushes to the other side of the table. He embraces her hunched shoulders and whispers soothing platitudes into her ear.
But in this reality, he’s still unsure whether he has an actual role to play here. He settles for moving his foot so that it pushes gently against her boot. She’s not tapping against the floor anymore.
Slowly, he slides his bowl of matzo ball soup across the table in front of her.
When Ari lifts her head, she’s red in the face, cheeks damp, what’s left of her eyeliner streaking across her temples. Her brow furrows, like she’s confused about why he’s still there. But she sucks in a breath, picks up the spoon, and bisects the matzo ball.
“Thank you,” she mutters, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
He passes her a stack of napkins.
“Don’t be nice to me.” She blows her nose. “It’s making me feel worse.”
“You’re the only person I’m nice to. If you weren’t around, I’d have no redeeming qualities.”
Ari dabs at the outer corners of her eyes with a napkin.
“You don’t want to witness this. I’m going to cry until I’m dehydrated, smoke a bowl, and fall asleep with my hand inside a bag of Takis. It’s my process, I’ve been refining it over many years.” She slices the other matzo ball.
Josh watches her swallow another spoonful of soup. How is it possible to be so goddamn frustrated with someone, while also wanting her to close her eyes and rest her head on your shoulder?
“Jewish penicillin,” he says. “It cures anything.”
“Grief?” She slurps on the broth. “Self-loathing?”
“No.” He collects a thick stack of napkins. “You have to order the borscht for that.”
15
Sat, Dec 31, 9:13 p.m.
Josh: ETA?
It’s on 77th. The New-York Historical Society.
Ari: oh no
Josh: What?
Ari: bad news: i’m waiting at the entrance to the Staten Island Historical Society.
Good news: there’s an amazing wu-tang exhibit
I’m down the block—I had to stop at Gray’s Papaya
Josh: We’re about to attend a dinner.
Ari: ok but have you had the papaya drink?
Josh: No.
No one orders the papaya drink.
Can you hurry?
The sooner I show up to this event celebrating a family business I ruined, the sooner I can leave.
Ari: So glad you invited me to this!
Ten minutes later, Josh spots a long, gray puffy coat bobbing down Seventy-seventh Street. Ari is walking a bit unsteadily through the slush in high heels. Her hair is down in loose waves, longer than he remembers. Maybe. He can’t recall the last time he saw her without a messy bun or a ponytail. Or wearing lipstick. It’s not a huge transformation—except that the last time they were together, she had a serious case of raccoon eyes after running into her ex-wife. But she clearly put effort into this and there’s something…affecting about it. Even if she’s clutching an enormous Gray’s Papaya cup.
“Hey, Dust Daddy!” She moves a bit closer, into his personal space. Are they supposed to hug? Air-kiss? “I updated your contact name.”
“To ‘Dust Daddy’？”
“Hey, what’s my contact name in your phone? First and last?” Ari reaches for his device, which he quickly holds up out of her reach. They end up colliding and she blinks and steps back. “Oh my God. You shaved.” Ari takes her hand, still warm from the pocket of her coat, and presses it against his face, rubbing her thumb along his cold cheek.