Ari makes a show of retreating to the ticket machine,half-hoping he’ll turn around and offer to swipe her through. Not so much because of the $2.75, even though that’s the equivalent of about thirty minutes of NeverTired labor.
She just needs something—one gesture—to build on. To prove this crack won’t deepen.
Tapping her index finger on the fingerprint-smeared glass to select the $5.50 minimum, she watches Josh walk a few steps in the other direction, past clumps of bundled-up people waiting for the next Manhattan-bound N.
By the time she swipes the refilled MetroCard and pushes through the turnstile, Josh is pressing a pair of AirPods into his ears.
It stings.
No. It doesn’t just sting, ithurts. It’s the kind of petty silent-treatment bullshit Cass would pull anytime Ari wouldn’t capitulate and apologize for some crime against their relationship. Like a little warning of things to come.
Which means she can’t let it go and walk away; she has to hurt him back a little bit.
She taps him on the shoulder. “Are you experimenting with passive aggression instead of original formula aggression?”
“What?” He removes the AirPods, pouting with all the subtlety of a silent film star.
“Ghosting out of an actual friendship with someone who just got abandoned is a real asshole move.”
For once, he looks expressionless. “I don’t understand what you want from me, Ari.”
“Stop avoiding me!” She hasn’t picked a fight with him before, at least not since they’ve been friends. Not a real fight. There’s no sign of any train yet…so they’re doing this.
“I’mavoidingyou? Are you fucking serious?” He takes a halfstep closer, like it’s the absolute maximum proximity he can stand. “You’ve been pretending like nothing happened for two fucking weeks.”
Something small and bright and sharp pulses under her ribs. “I’m not pretending,” she protests. “We just don’t need to give it more oxygen.” She pulls off her scarf, which feels way too tight around her neck. “You’rethe one who said it was nothing. ‘Just a New Year’s kiss’? ‘It was the pot’? That’s exactly what you said.”
“That’s what I said because you didn’t—” He looks down at the platform. Josh always shows hurt on his face like he never figured out how to hide it. “You seemed so fucking relieved when I”—he pauses to breathe—“walked it back.”
“We got carried away,” she says. “I had a lot to drink, I was feeling lonely.” She’s recited this narrative to herself plenty of times over the last two weeks, but in her head, it hadn’t landed with such a resounding thud.
“Great description for our ‘friendship.’ ” He starts to pace again. “I happened to be standing nearby while you were feeling sorry for yourself.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You’ve made your feelings completely clear. You keep me around because you’re depressed and you don’t want to be alone and I seem to be the one person in this city who you specificallydon’twant to fuck.”
“You want to be my fuck buddy now?” It feels good to accuse him of something. “That’s what you wanted this entire time? I don’t evenlikehalf the people I go home with.”
“You’d rather fuck people you hate than someone you love.”
“Who saidanythingabout love?”
“Definitely notyou,” he spits. “That would require you to drop this act where you pretend like nothing matters to you.You broke down sobbing in front of me.That’sthe reality of your life.” Her flight impulse kicks in and she turns on the heel of her off-brand Ugg boot to escape, but Josh catches up. “I don’t want to hear about the couples or your awful ex or the roommates you used to fuck. You want to entertain someone? Get back up onstage and don’t call me.”
He turns away again, apparently trying to get the last word, but she can’t let him have it.
“Let’s talk about the reality ofyourlife for a minute, then,” she says, walking after him. “You’rechoosing to sit at home. You hold every random woman you date to a ridiculous standard of perfection, but your most intimate relationship is with the floor of the shower at Crunch.”
Finally, Ari can see the headlights of the N heading south from the Ditmars stop.
“I literally met someone an hour ago.” His voice is low and hoarse. The train is close enough to the station to create a rumbling sound.
“But you’re not gonna sleep with her, are you? You’re going to take her out for an expensive meal, find one stupid imperfection, and textmeabout it.”
At least a dozen people are now staring at them.
“You know exactly what that kiss was.” He’s almost yelling over the crescendo of noise. “You’ve known the truth for two weeks and you’re pretending you can’t see it but it’sthere. I can’t look at you, waiting for some acknowledgment of this enormous fuckingthingthat happened. I can’t do that.”
