11. Ari
Ari
Iwake up in the dark with a banging headache and a crick in my neck.
Oh fuck. I must have fallen asleep on Clara’s sofa.
Jeez. I don’t even remember getting back here last night.
The last thing I can picture is dancing with Brody, and “dancing” might be generous because I think I was just swaying against him vaguely in time to the beat.
What were we drinking? Oh yes. Espresso martinis. I remember now that Clara thought they’d be perfect as the caffeine would counteract the vodka and so it was basically the same as drinking water. Why do I let her talk me into these things?
I lie in the dark as my brain races through all my memories of last night.
At least I don’t think I disgraced myself too badly, even if I did demonstrate that I was still down with the kids by performing the dance to Katseye’s “Touch”.
I groan as I replay the scene in technicolour.
That was definitely not my finest moment.
And I think I might have told Clara that I thought Brody was kind of easy on the eye.
I hear noise from the kitchen and go to investigate. “Please tell me you are making some kind of food,” I say to Clara who is standing with her head inside the fridge, perusing the contents.
“I can do cinnamon bagels and cream cheese?”
“Sounds like heaven.” My stomach growls in agreement. Thinking back, I’m not sure I ate dinner last night. Which might also explain how shit faced I must have been.
Clara busies herself with breakfast as I sit on one of the kitchen stools and will myself to stay upright and not puke everywhere.
“You told me something last night, sweetie,” she says as she puts a toasted bagel down in front of me.
The bottom drops out of my stomach. I can tell from the look on her face that I didn’t just confess to finding my coder kind of cute.
Or even that Brody is actually human, because I know that really no one is actually going to give a shit.
This was a bigger secret. Something important.
Fuck. But all I say is, “Oh?” As if it was nothing at all because after all I don’t keep secrets from my best friend, do I?
“You were drunk and a bit upset about the whole Only Fangs thing. You kept telling me about all the things you’d need to do to get it off the ground and how expensive it would all be and that you didn’t think you could make it work.”
“Oh. Well… that’s what Brody was telling me yesterday. It must have just been at the forefront of my brain. You know.”
“You’re broke, aren’t you?” Clara asks softly.
“You know things haven’t exactly worked in my favour.” It isn’t like Clara doesn’t realise I’m poor, just maybe not quite as poor as I am. Or in quite as precarious a situation.
“Darling, there’s a difference between broke,” she says it like it’s casual, a nothingness. “And broke.” This time she draws out the word and mimes turning out her pockets to no avail.
“Things are tight.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll figure it out.” I say it with finality, hoping she’ll leave it and stop asking questions.
“Fine.” She puts up her hands as if to say that she’s dropping it.
Both our phones ding at the same time. It’s Ivan in the group chat. “Ivan wants to do dinner tonight,” I say reading it.
“It doesn’t actually say that, does it?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.
“Can we be bitches who dine? Eight o’clock at the Cloisters.” I read out the message verbatim.
Clara shakes her head. “When will he learn?” she mutters under her breath. “But we’re going, right?”
“Is Ivan paying?” The Cloisters is seriously expensive.
“Of course. He owes us for the whole ‘bitches’ thing.”
I head home and the question of how to raise funds for Only Fangs continues to plague me as the sun rises in the distance.
I walk at human speed, tamping down my natural urge to move from A to B as quickly as possible.
I’ve read all the books, I understand the importance of taking time to appreciate the smaller things, to touch the grass and all that.
I even take a bit of a detour to walk along the riverfront.
I love this part of the city in the summer, when all the restaurants spill out on the street and the sun sets over the water.
In the winter though there’s a quiet desolation to the area, but it makes it far easier to remember how everything used to look.
It’s important sometimes to recognise how much everything has changed over the last hundred and fifty years.
There’s a couple in front of me walking an adorable little dog.
They’re discussing what to get for breakfast, weighing up the pros and cons of pancakes versus bacon sandwiches.
The dog can sense me and turns to look. I brace myself for an onslaught of barking and the requirement for me to warp speed out of there.
But instead the dog stops in her tracks and waits for me to catch up.
“Sorry about her,” the woman tells me. “Lily just wants to meet everyone.”
I reach out a hand, expecting the dog – Lily – to bare her teeth. But instead she rubs her soft snout against my palm.
I’ve always loved dogs, but most of them won’t tolerate being within even ten metres of me. Vampires have cats. That’s the rule. But I’m so much more of a dog person. I stroke Lily’s silky fur and a sense of calm floods over me. “She’s very friendly,” I say to the owners, a huge grin on my face.
“Yeah, she’s a softy,” the man says.
I lean in to drop a kiss on Lily’s forehead and she chuffs slightly.
I straighten up. “Well, I’d better leave you to your day,” I tell the couple, before reaching out for one final tickle under the dog’s chin.
And then I leave them on the path, buoyed along by a sensation of inner peace, or least that’s what I’m assuming this feeling is, I’ve never felt it before.
With the inner peace comes a feeling of absolute clarity. I don’t know what I need to do about Only Fangs. But I know I can definitely figure this out. People start companies all the time. I might be a little naive, but men do it every day. Seriously, how hard can it be?
Back at the flat, I have a shower and make a vat of coffee. Brody and I have a lot of work to do today.