Comedic Timing

Chapter VII

VII

The third time David sleeps over, he meets Jhanaki for the first time. While she fries her eggs and I wait for the coffee to percolate, the two of them launch into a passionate discussion about television. They are coming to a consensus on a list of “uncancelable” shows, veering off into a tangential breakdown of scenes from Flames Flicker Eternal . Jhanaki deems the “teens doing drugs and having sex” show irredeemable.

“What!” David says. “But it’s shot so well. And honestly, some of the characters are really lovable. Like that one girl who dresses up as Bob Ross for Halloween.”

“That’s not a bad idea actually,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows, something I picked up from spending most of my days with Chloe.

“I dare you,” David teases.

Right after he slips out of the apartment, Jhanaki whips around to me. “Are you guys a thing?”

I shake my head. “We don’t have sex. It’s just cuddling.”

“Really? How long have you guys been hanging out?” I can see her wheels turning. Jhanaki catches herself, attempting to reel her curiosity back in. “I mean, I know it’s none of my business—”

“We’re not hooking up. Really. We’ve had—sleepovers, I guess? A few times. For two weeks.” Jhanaki’s eyes grow wide, and I attempt to quell her shock: “We just feel... very safe with each other. I like him. But I haven’t told him yet.”

She plates her eggs and drizzles hot sauce on top, shaking the bottle aggressively to get the liquid out. “I’ve seen this play out before,” she says before stabbing the yolk with a fork and taking a generous bite. “You guys have a friends-to-lovers thing going on.”

“I’m not sure if what I feel is a crush,” I admit. It’s nice to be talking about David with her. She is a more reliable third party than Jordan, whose thirst for drama and intrigue sometimes colors his advice despite his best intentions.

“What do you mean?” Jhanaki asks.

“Do you know what compulsory heterosexuality is?”

She scoffs. “Of course I do. I’m gay, and I had three boyfriends in high school. What—you think you don’t have real feelings?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure if I just want his validation.”

“You can be attracted to a man and have sex with a man and still be gay,” she points out. “It’s up to you, dude. Who you want to be, what you want to identify as.”

“I don’t think it’s a good look for me. To go from dating a woman for so long and then... what would my friends think? What would my ex think?”

“Your friends?”

“Yeah, like my friends in Chicago.” I am mostly referencing Sofia and her gossipy, judgmental group, who’d have a field day if they knew I was dating a man.

Of course, David and I were not dating, but that is beside the point.

“Who the fuck cares? They live in Chicago. You gotta chill out. Stop questioning your queerness. It’s insulting. I mean, look— I get it —but I also think you need to loosen up. If you like him, you like him.”

I contemplate loosening up while I transform into Bob Ross. It’s Halloween—or rather, it is the 26th of October, the Saturday before Halloween.

I tuck my hair into a wig cap and think about what Jhanaki said— who the fuck cares? —but I feel defeated. I care. Having a crush on David is sending me into a full-blown identity crisis. That, layered over how disoriented I feel postbreakup and only two months in New York. Discomfort has taken over my body, like an uninvited guest settling into my bones. I’m experiencing a kind of self-loathing only the middle school version of me could rival. Am I being too hard on myself? Or not being hard enough on myself? Am I putting too much weight on my emotions toward David or not enough?

I don’t think of myself as a chaotic person. I value stability, which means maintaining some level of power over my life and the decisions I make. I do what I can to ease uncertainty. When my mother died, I realized practicality was my tool against the lack of control I felt from being alive. When my relationship with Sofia arrived at an irreparable point, the most pragmatic next steps were obvious, if difficult to execute: End things, make a change, exit my comfort zone as it became my discomfort zone. Being with her was sensible until it wasn’t.

I ride my bike to Williamsburg decked out: stick-on beard, blue button-down, dad jeans, and, of course, curly wig. It is strangely warm for a fall evening. The wind ruffles my fake hair as I pedal down Union Avenue. A handful of strangers wave and call out to me while I’m waiting at a red light, validating my costume choice.

I considered dressing up as Megan Fox in Jennifer’s Body , which Sofia would’ve labeled a hot costume. “You’re not a hot costume kind of girl,” she said to me a couple of Halloweens ago. That year, we went dressed as characters from a children’s movie, despite my internal resistance to being stuck in a green sphere for the entire night. It was as unwieldy and sweaty as I feared.

I’m meeting David at a party. As I lock up my bike, I regret not being more insistent with Chloe after she declined the invitation to join me.

“I can’t see Christian,” she said. “We went to the movies yesterday and almost hooked up after. Honestly, I’m relieved I had some self-control.”

“What do you mean you almost hooked up?” I asked.

“There was a vibe,” she said simply, providing no clarity.

When I asked Jhanaki if she’d want to join, she just laughed.

I’ve been repeating the same sentence in my head since David and I started having postwriting sleepovers. No big deal! It is no big deal that we fall asleep spooning, no big deal that I wake up with my face buried in his chest. It is no big deal that I started thinking about David beyond his smell, beyond the way he laughs and how he interacts with his friends, all jovial and witty. I downplay the truth whenever Jordan asks about us. I haven’t even told him about the overnights.

Arriving without a friend leaves me feeling unguarded, like I’ve arrived too eager, too willing. It is as if my aloneness speaks on my behalf: I am here, at this party, for you. Dressed as Bob Ross. It feels obvious now, how much I want to see David. I hate that it’s written all over me, the thing I’ve been trying so hard to bury.

I slip into the apartment building, right as all three Powerpuff Girls leave for a smoke. Bubbles holds the door open for me. I take the elevator up a few flights even though the party is on the first floor, steadying my nerves as it hums, and I take the stairs back down.

It occurs to me that it is easier to walk into a party alone when you are in costume. I go straight to the kitchen to find a drink. I’m gulping wine and feigning interest in the fridge magnets when Christian and I spot each other.

“Naina!” he says, opening his arms wide. “I didn’t recognize you!”

He is dressed completely in red: pants, shoes, shirt.

“What’s your costume?” I ask as politely as possible, completely lost.

“A walking red flag,” he says.

I cackle.

“Which I’m not , obviously,” he says, laughing with me. “That’s why it’s a costume.”

“Totally.”

“Bob Ross?!”

“Indeed,” I say, holding up a palette I brought along as a prop. “We don’t laugh because we feel good. We feel good because we laugh .”

“Cheers to that,” he says, tapping his cup against mine. I drain my drink.

“Whoa,” he says. “Slow down.”

“I will after this.” I had a single pollo empanada for dinner, and the wine hits me almost immediately.

“How’s the bruise?” I ask him.

“It’s gone. It’s almost like it never happened.”

“Good. But you should probably start wearing a helmet.”

“Sure, sure. Wanna dance?” he asks as I pour myself another full cup, emptying the bottle.

“Let’s go.”

We spill into the living room and let the music swallow us whole, just the two of us. We bounce and sway together, the wine transforming my jittery nerves into a heady, intoxicating euphoria. A few others drift toward the music like moths. I close my eyes, letting the beat take over, my head bobbing so hard my wig slips, despite the copious amount of glue I’d used earlier. A hand reaches out, tugging it back into place. I turn to see a woman in a Ghostbuster costume. She’s smiling at me, and it takes a second before I realize—it’s Margot. David’s ex.

“Margot!” I say excitedly, pulling her into a tipsy embrace. She hugs me back, and we continue to dance. Eventually, the group breaks apart, and Christian and I are left alone again.

“Where’s David?” I shout over the speakers.

“Dunno. Let’s go find him!”

We venture out into the backyard, which is crammed with people mingling under the glow of string lights, a collage of characters. Christian lights a cigarette.

“Want one?” he asks.

“Why not.” He lights it for me, and I’m immediately dizzy from the first drag. I smoke it anyway.

“What’s going on with you and Chloe?” I ask. He shrugs with a sigh.

“Not sure. Sometimes I think she’s into me. But then she stops texting me, and I can’t tell if I’m being annoying or something. I think she’s really cute.” He exhales a cloud of smoke. “Is this weird? For you?”

I wave my hand. “It’s whatever.”

“Does she talk about me?”

“No,” I respond quickly, lying, and Christian’s face falls. I backpedal, taking the cigarette from him. “But I know she thinks you’re cute, too.”

He masks a satisfied grin with a drag and an exhale.

“I see him. David!” Christian calls out for him while the wine and nicotine rush to my head. I don’t turn around, choosing to ash my cigarette instead.

As Christian pulls David, dressed as Inspector Gadget, into a hug, I realize he isn’t alone. A majestic woman dressed as Lara Croft is smiling at Christian. She’s wearing a tank top and tiny shorts, revealing remarkably long and spray-tanned legs. Christian calls her Natasha and embraces her warmly. David and I lock eyes. It takes him longer than I’d like for him to realize it’s me underneath the costume.

“Oh my God, Naina. You didn’t. ”

I laugh weakly and shrug as David gives me a one-arm hug. I feel small, and it’s not just because I’m standing next to two gorgeous giants.

“Oh, this is Natasha. Natasha, this is Naina.”

“Hi,” she says, giving me a small wave. There’s something sweet about her, and in another time or another headspace, I would be flirting with her, angling my body toward hers. But right now, she and David are standing too close for me to consider any kind of attraction, anything but apprehension.

“You both have ‘N’ names!” Christian says gleefully. It takes everything in me not to shoot him a death stare.

“I love your costume,” I tell her. Perhaps dressing as a man-eating cheerleader would have been a better idea for tonight.

“Thanks,” she says. “I love yours too.”

“We were just talking about him the other day,” David says to Natasha, who pushes a strand of hair from her face. “Bob Ross.” He explains our conversation and how I joked about the costume. “Had no idea you’d actually do it, Naina!”

“Oh, I love that show,” Natasha says, looking only at David. “The visuals are stellar.”

My blood boils.

“Yeah, the cinematography is great,” I say, interrupting their eye contact. David squints at me. I gulp my wine. “So, what do you do, Natasha?”

“I’m a creative director,” she says, smiling and nodding.

“Wow,” I say. “Seems like everyone is a creative director in this city!” The smoke is making me nauseous, yet I continue to inhale from the cigarette as if it’s a prop.

Natasha doesn’t break her smile. “What about you?” she asks. “What do you do?”

“I work in marketing.” I take another gulp.

“Naina is a really amazing writer,” David says. “She’s been working on this fascinating essay—”

I shrug, cutting him off. “Eh. Who knows if that’ll go anywhere.”

Again, David squints at me. “She’s been helping me write a short film, too.”

“Oh yeah, you were saying you’re really excited about it,” Natasha says, touching his arm.

“I am. Hoping we can shoot it early next year.”

Christian puts his hand on David’s shoulder and shakes it encouragingly. I’ve stopped listening to the conversation.

“Need another drink,” I say, interjecting and then walking away, revolted by my own behavior toward Natasha.

I trudge back into the kitchen. I don’t see any more wine bottles. Just beer and liquor. I pour myself a shot of tequila and throw it back.

On this alcohol-fueled tear, I see the truth: that I spent the past month telling myself a lie. My feelings for David are a big deal. Which is why I had such a petulant reaction to Natasha. I feel guilty for it, embarrassed. I hope no one noticed.

“One for me too, please.”

Margot approaches me with a hopeful smile. I pour her a shot in a Solo cup, and she grimaces as she swallows.

“Horrible.” She chokes.

“Can never get used to it,” I reply.

“So, how’s New York?” she asks me. “Since we first met, what? Last month? David’s birthday?”

“Good,” I say blandly, still stuck on what happened in the backyard. “Working. Making some new friends.”

An awkward silence punctuates our conversation. I clear my throat.

“You and David have been hanging out a lot,” she says.

At this point, I’m too drunk to obscure any of my feelings or refrain from sharing my thoughts. I look her in the eye. “We have been. I know he’s your ex.”

She smiles and nods, looking down at her shoes. “Yeah. Although it’s not weird anymore.”

“Do you guys ever talk?”

She laughs. “Sometimes. He’s a good guy. He’s a funny person. And generous.”

“He is,” I agree. “What was it like to date him?” I want to hear Margot’s side of the story, but I quickly realize it sounds like I’m asking for a boyfriend Yelp review.

“Well,” she says, pouring herself another shot and taking it, “he’s kind of a slut.”

I’m shocked by sweet Margot using the word slut to describe her ex-boyfriend. “What do you mean? Did he cheat on you or something?”

“Oh no, not that. Never. He’s very loyal, extremely . I just couldn’t get over the fact that any time we’d be at a party or at a show or whatever, there’d be at least two or three girls there that he’d fucked.”

I nod, trying to understand why Margot feels comfortable enough to be so candid with me. She didn’t have to answer my question. We barely know each other. Is she trying to warn me out of kindness? Or jealousy? Either way, she must think something is going on between David and me. And there is something going on, isn’t there? Or maybe there isn’t because he’s outside in the backyard with Natasha.

“He did tell me that he’s had, uh, sexual history with a lot of people in your circle,” I say.

“Yeah. Like that girl he brought with him tonight, Natasha? They used to hook up, like, right after we broke up. He met her on a dating app, I think. She doesn’t really fit into his life, though. She’s humorless. I guess that’s why she’s a hookup.”

I indulge in Margot’s description of Natasha. But then guilt steadily tugs at me. Natasha is simply caught in the middle of my feelings toward a man. My annoyance with her suddenly feels like I am doing the worst possible job of cosplaying hetero.

But then I remember David’s chest, and my nose pressed up against it, and the way he sleepily moans and sighs when he pulls my body closer to his, and annoyance transforms into rage. Like he brought Natasha just to hurt me, and I can’t understand why. I feel like my only two choices are playing it cool or unleashing my anger, and both reactions seem disingenuous. I want to collapse, beat my fists on the ground, and beg David for an answer.

“We’re not dating. Or hooking up. Just so you know,” I tell Margot. I crack open a bottle of beer.

She nods. “I won’t lie. I was curious. You seem cool and interesting, so. It wouldn’t be a good look for him to come here with her if that were the case.”

“So, what, he’s got, like, a roster? Of women?” I ask.

“Basically. I’m not sure about now, but he did when I knew him. I mean, I was a little insecure when we dated, because it felt like before me, he’d sleep with anyone . We were already hooking up, and it felt like he was suddenly ready to have a girlfriend, and I was just there .”

“That can’t be true. He speaks really fondly of you.”

Margot gives me a half-hearted smile. “Anyway, this is weird, right? Like why are we talking about David right now? I want to know more about you and your writing.”

I remember Christian’s comment about Margot being a bad stand-up comic. In private defiance, I tell her, “I want to see you perform.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” she says, laughing.

David walks into the kitchen, searching for something. Or someone. He spots Margot and me. He approaches us, and my soul exits my body, I think, while they greet and hug each other. Guilty of talking about him, I’m now anticipating some sort of confrontation.

“I need to find Rana,” she says. “She texted me a couple of minutes ago. Nice catching up with you, Naina.” Margot leaves, and I take a swig of beer, foolishly hoping to both quell my nausea and give off an air of indifference.

“Heard you and Christian had a little dance break,” David says.

“We did. It was fun. He’s a fun dude.”

“Need some water?” he asks me.

“I’m good,” I lie. I am desperate for hydration. “Rana’s here?”

“She’s dressed as a fortune teller. She keeps going around telling people that someone in their life is betraying them. She’s in a dark mood, I think.”

“I should go find her. I’d love to hear what she has for me.”

“Wait,” David says, taking hold of my wrist. “I want to talk to you.”

“Where’s Natasha?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Mingling?”

“Well, you should go find her,” I say, attempting to leave.

“Whoa, Naina. What is this?” He holds my wrist tighter.

“What’s what?” I ask.

“You seem like you’re mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad?”

David runs his other hand through his hair. His watch beeps. It’s midnight.

He strokes my hand with his thumb. “You were being weird outside...”

“I’m just drunk.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

I avoid looking at him and drink my beer. I turn my gaze back to the fridge magnets.

He lets go of my wrist. “You are mad. Why?”

I sigh. “Okay, I’m annoyed. And I hate that you’re pretending that you don’t know why.”

“Well, I want you to tell me. Is it Natasha?”

“Yes, that’s why. You invited me to this party, and you show up here with, like, a model, and I’m confused because...” I’m not sure how to say what I want to say.

“Wait, what? We didn’t come together . I ran into her here, and we were catching up. Except I was really hoping to be spending more time with you, but you ran off.”

I am relieved, but I don’t want to reveal it. I reacted impulsively, which was embarrassing. I wanted to be the only person David invited. I was terrified that he would go home with Natasha.

“Oh,” I say.

“You’re jealous,” David says with a small, sympathetic smile. As much as this enrages me, I’m charmed that he understands.

“Of course I’m jealous,” I say. “We have... a thing.”

“What, you and Natasha?” he jokes. I lightly punch his forearm, and he laughs before catching my hand and holding it. He reaches for the other one. We stand like that, him holding both of my hands, and I am ablaze.

David sighs. “Yeah. I know we do.”

We continue to stand awkwardly, arms outstretched, hands linked. I avoid eye contact, biting the inside of my cheek, my gaze on the crease of his elbow. David refuses to look away, and when I finally give in and meet his eyes, he takes a step closer. “I like spending time with you,” he says. “Writing together and holding each other accountable, talking, sleeping in the same bed. But I need you to tell me if you’re into me.”

My anger wilts. I can tell him how I really feel, and this can be solved.

But holding on to rage is too habitual for me to let it go this easily.

How obvious do I have to be? We text all the time, we share a bed, I told him about the nightmares I had about my mother. It feels like he’s choosing to be oblivious.

“Naina, also,” he continues, “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable again or make assumptions—”

I cut him off. “You wouldn’t be. You aren’t.”

He nods, reassured. “There’s obviously... tension between us, but I also thought...”

“David, I do like you.” The shock of admitting this, of opening something new between us, nearly sobers me up.

His face softens. I let myself look at him, at his eyes, his left and then his right. Something passes between us, intense and electric. I turn away.

“I mean, I wasn’t sure if I liked you. I’ve never liked a man . But there’s something between us. Isn’t there? Am I crazy?”

David stares back at me, bewildered, his expression blank. “You’re not crazy,” he finally replies. But it’s not enough.

“I feel like I’m having an identity crisis.”

David’s shoulders surrender into a slump. I feel an uneasy mix of relief and guilt, like I smashed a glass bottle to the floor. If I hadn’t been so envious of Natasha, this conversation would not have happened. What will telling him this do to our friendship?

“I need a minute,” I say, filling the silence between us. “The Natasha thing... I just need to go home.” The emotional whiplash of being jealous, reevaluating my jealousy, and admitting to David how I really feel in quick succession—it is all too much. David starts to say something but reconsiders. He lets me go.

I abandon my drink, walk away, and find my coat on the couch, where Christian’s sitting with his arm around a woman I’ve never seen before. “Whoa, Naina, you leaving?”

“Tired,” I say. “Bye, Christian.”

I call a car. When I arrive home, I throw up in my toilet.