“There must be a misunderstanding.”
“Sure is,” Ari says, as she pulls out more pieces of folded paper. “You didn’t know you would be helping me.”
Ari takes out item after item, spreading them out onto the tables. Pretty soon, there are mountains of folded pink, red and white paper everywhere.
Obviously, she’s put a lot of work into…something…and I’m being an ass.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“No worries,” she chirps. “Follow me. We’ll do the easiest part first.”
I’m too lost to do anything else but exactly what she tells me.
I follow Ari to where a huge piece of bare plywood leans against the wall, and a box overflows with what looks like multicolored paper flowers. She picks up one that looks like a giant red rose made of tissue paper. “Do you know how to use hot glue?”
“No.”
“No problem. We start with the biggest flowers first and just glue them on like this. But be careful.”
I do exactly as she shows me, the two of us using the two glue guns she’s brought in her bag to attach the largest blooms first, then the medium ones, then, finally, the small ones.
“What are we making, by the way?” I ask at one point.
“Flower wall. For the couples to pose in front of. Or for selfies, for social media.”
“Selfies,” I repeat, but she takes it as skepticism.
“You’re not, like, 89 and unaware of what selfie walls are?”
“I…” And just at that moment, something outrageously hot sears my skin. “Shit!”
I drop the flower and chuck the glue gun to the floor as a hot string of glue sticks to my thumb.
“Oops,” Ari says calmly. She grabs my thumb and tells me to hold still. “This is going to hurt, but you’re tough.”
I watch as she peels the hot glue off my thumb. The pain is worse than the initial contact, but the way she tends to me keeps me calm. I’ll take any crumb of attention from this woman. Pathetic? Maybe.
She releases my hand and I pop my injured thumb into my mouth to cool it.
“You okay?” Ari asks with a teasing smile.
“Baptism by fire, I guess,” I say.
“Let me see,” she insists, taking my hand and examining my thumb. Ari’s glossy lips purse, then she blows on the burn. The strangest sensation crawls down my spine and settles warmly in my belly.
“Or in this case,” she says with a smile. “Baptism by shiny new blister!”
In a short time, and after I learn how to be more careful with a hot glue gun, Ari and I finish the flower wall. Then it’s time to move on to the more arduous task of hanging things from the ceiling.
For the next four hours, I follow orders. I tack fabric where she tells me to tack fabric. I hammer nails where she has them marked. I hang light strings at precise angles. I attach the strange, folded paper sculptures at the exact intervals she shows me. I drape gauzy material. I sweat, I bruise my thumb, and I listen to Ari chatter for hours next to me on the scaffold.
“Are these birds?” I ask at one point.
“Some are birds. Some are chubby little cupids.”
I’m not getting cupid from these things, but I’m not about to tell her that.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
