Ari:Sometimes I say ridiculous things just so you’ll get this really specific look on your face where you’re kind of annoyed but mostly amused and it gives me more joy than making other people actually laugh.
You do this thing with your mouth when you’re deciding what to say next and I find it really hot and I never told you that.
I get this Pavlovian smile response every single time I get a text from you, even if it’s just one word, because you still make me a little nervous and excited.
I want to give you shit about the clown costume forever. It’ll never get old for me.
I want to buy the organic grapes with you.
I want to bring you chicken noodle soup when you’re sick.
I want to wear your shirts.
I want you to take your shirts off me and whisper dirty things in my ear.
I want to wake up to your voice every morning and fall asleep to it every night.
I built my entire life around not needing anyone. But I NEED you.
I’m sorry it took me so long to let myself believe that.
I don’t know if these are the right words to make you believe in it, too.
Because I’m not healed yet. My existential wound is still fucking bleeding.
And it might be too late.
But you said there’s never going to be a perfect time.
So I’m here now, saying that we deserve to be happy.
Maybe there’s no such thing as soulmates, but I think you’re my person. And I’m yours.
And I don’t want to wait for it anymore.
I want to wake up with you tomorrow.
ARI GRIPS THEmetal bars of the barrier, her heart thumping in a way that feels like a potential medical issue. Somewhere in that mass of people dressed in colorful outfits is a man wearing a dark hat and jacket, reading a sloppily dictated love declaration. It’s either the beginning of a love story or a moment she’ll be narrating to therapists for years to come.
Ari shuffles sideways over the slippery pavement, waiting for a face in the slow-moving crowd to look up in her direction. With each passing second, it feels a little more hopeless.
No new text message. Not even an ellipsis.
Who receives a love declaration and then just…disappears?
Someone like you?her brain offers.
She stumbles into a cop in front of the barrier who won’t let her go farther as the runners make the left turn to go north.
“If you wanted to run the race, you should’ve entered,” he says. Ari watches the clusters of runners slowly jog away. She wraps her hands around the barrier, hardly feeling the freezing, wet metal against her palms. “You could wait at the finish line. They’ll finish the loop in an hour or so.”
Oh?Just an hour of stomach-churning agony while listening to a DJ blast “Cha Cha Slide” and watching Gabe’s phone light up withHappy New Yeartexts that aren’t from Josh?
Ari backs away from the barrier, her mind already runninga scenario where Josh crosses the finish line and pointedly ignores her there, too. She hadn’t realized how stupidly confident she’d felt until the possibility of failure became apparent.
Delicate little snowflakes float down from the cloudy sky. Ari shivers.
The cop is looking at a slight commotion up ahead on the race route—a ripple in the herd—people moving aside, as if to avoid an obstacle.
