“I think we met.” Josh examines Gabe’s face; his eyes actually appear to be twinkling. He has a smile that has either been subject to a lot of orthodontia or he’s been blessed with a specific magnetism Josh certainly never received.
“Most people recognize me from the Geico commercial,” Gabe says. “Or T-Mobile? The Off-Off Broadway production of Godspell?”
“I believe it was leaving Ari’s apartment without your boxers seven years ago.”
“Eight,” Ari mumbles, wrenching open the heavy door as a handful of customers move past them. She’s wearing a short dress—black with pink flowers—and Josh tortures himself with the thought that she’s dressing up for someone else. A date?
Ever since he got back to his apartment, alone, on New Year’s, his mind has been churning. Playing out scenarios. Identifying the missteps.
What if he had suggested that Ari could crash at his place instead of Gabe’s? Would reality have set in under the harsh lighting and weird smells of the B train? Would they have watched a movie? Would she have slept on the sofa? Asked to borrow one of his shirts?
What if she were to peek inside the bedroom and ask to stay in his bed? Would she softly knock? Enter quietly? Maybe it wouldn’t happen that way at all. He could carry her inside, with her legs wrapped around his waist and his hands firmly gripping her ass, and push her up against the wall he was supposed to paint elephant gray weeks ago?
The possibilities stretch out like tree branches, prompting endless what-ifs.
There’s a distinct sense of unease about her today: avoiding eye contact, positioning Gabe in between them, fussing over the décor in the vestibule. She’s so fucking frustrating in the way she forces him to be exactly what she needs while disregarding what he wants, or how he feels about any of it.
Mostly to separate himself from Ari, he finds himself following her friend to the bar for a drink （actually, Gabe calls it an aperitif, which Josh finds only slightly grating）。 Gabe is too glib, but at least he’s not this new version of Ari who won’t look at him.
While they wait for their grapefruit Boulevardiers, Gabe manages to orchestrate a conversation with a pretty redhead nursing a gin and tonic at the end of the bar.
* * *
“TWATTIE!” RADHYA JOGS out from the kitchen. “Pretend to be a customer? It’s more obvious when spaces are empty in the daytime.”
“It’s filling up, though,” Ari says, pulling a little bowl of chili-covered poppadoms within snacking distance, even though she’d already consumed a lunch’s worth of calories in crispy flatbreads while setting up. “It’s a great menu for selling drinks. Everyone will be thirsty. Maybe I can get the manager to commit to another weekend next month.”
“Let’s hope.” Radhya adjusts her chef’s coat. There’s a confidence to her posture that says, “I’m in the right place, I’m taking the right steps.” She’s like a Mario, jumping bravely over the chasm to the next platform.
Sometimes Ari feels like a Luigi wandering back to the start of the level in search of hallucinogenic mushrooms.
Radhya shifts her focus to the bar, where Gabe is busy talking at Josh and a woman perched on a rickety barstool. It’s unclear which of the two Gabe is flirting with. Probably both.
Ari sees the exact moment when Radhya’s eyes double back to the taller figure. She freezes and then shakes her head slowly. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Radhya pronounces every syllable. “You brought Kestenberg? Today?”
Ari pulls her shoulders back. “He didn’t tell me he was coming. Maybe he just wants to support you.”
“I bet he does.” Radhya reaches up to tighten the knot on her bandana headband. Her brown eyes ping-pong between Ari and Josh, taking stock of the way they are quite obviously communicating something by performatively not communicating. “You slept with him.”
“I didn’t!” Ari recoils like she’s been shot with a paintball. “I don’t even get the courtesy of you phrasing it in the form of a question?”
“Okay, well, now you’re acting like you committed a crime, so that’s not weird at all.”
“Hel-lo, Ari!” A set of brightly manicured nails tap on Ari’s left shoulder. She turns to see a grinning face, framed by long, glossy hair. Ari isn’t sure she’s ever officially met Briar, but she kind of wants to be her when she grows up. “Those photos of you and Josh on New Year’s Eve? My fucking heart?”