and uh…he does NOT whisper at home
1:29a.m.
Josh:I thought you could “barely handle the emotional intimacy of sexting.”
Ari:We didn’t exactly bare our souls
Sun, Dec 12, 1:31a.m.
Josh:I’ll meet one of your catfishing victims.
Briar:Excellent!
I’ll reopen communication with Maddie on Raya tomorrow morning.
It’ll seem less desperate.
She has New Year’s Eve potential!
—
JOSH STARES DOWN AT HISwineglass, which has a fingerprint smudge on the base of the stem that he desperately wants to wipe off. It’s a respite from making prolonged eye contact with Maddie, a self-professed “food influencer, but not obnoxious about it” who’s monologuing about the YouTube chefs she finds “most fuckable.”
His mind wanders, cataloguing the Smith’s décor clichés—Edison bulbs, wood paneled ceilings, subway tile walls. It’s a copy of a copy of a New York bistro. Of course this fucking chain thrives, while his thoughtful, unique venture went down in flames.
Thur, Dec 15, 8:23p.m.
Ari:sup
i’m playing beer bong w/ gabe in hell’s kitchen and I’m bored
where are you
Josh:I’m on a date.
The Smith on 63rd.
Ari:ooh nearby…
Josh:27,000 restaurants in this city and a “foodie” chooses the Smith?
Ari:glad youre not being judgmental this time
“It’s so ironic,” Maddie says—and Josh is sure whatever she says next is guaranteednotto be ironic, “because I think I had a little crush on you, but I actually only gave The Brod two stars?”
Josh:Actually, call me and pretend it’s an emergency.
Ari:Why??
Wait
actually I’ll do you one better
He reaches for his knife and fork, half-listening to Maddie’s monologue about her ex-boyfriend, who never supported her food blogging and who she’s “totally over.” Luckily the acoustics are so bad that his date’s voice fades into the general cacophony of the restaurant. The couple at the next table appear to be having a lovely dinner, with no need to feign interest in the other’s early-stage dating anecdotes.
Had it felt that effortless with Sophie? Or was he a nervous-fucking-wreck the entire time?
Josh surreptitiously checks his watch under the table as their entrées arrive: his steak and Maddie’s salad with five substitutions. She photographs the unremarkable dish. Fifteen minutes have passed and no emergency call. Had Ari gotten distracted? Forgot? Gone home with her beer pong opponents?
