Chapter 3 #2
“Oh, god,” she breathes, looking horrified.
“I’m over it.”
“Our parents really did a number on us, didn’t they? Almost makes a person decide to stay single forever,” she says.
Our eyes meet, and I notice how I feel when she’s looking straight at me.
Something feels homey and familiar when she maintains eye contact, and I want to latch onto that.
“That’s exactly right. I don’t think I have the DNA to make a relationship last forever.
” Though if she keeps those eyes on me, I could probably figure it out.
“Me either,” she says. “It’s not that I don’t date.
It’s just that I’m unmatchable. I make matches on all the dating apps, but I fuck it up almost immediately.
I just don’t know how to relate to men. I ask for a coffee date, and half of them say that a coffee date is a cop-out.
So I suggest going out to dinner, and they spend the entire night talking about themselves.
I’ve taken it as a sign to just focus on myself and not worry if something long-term never happens. It’s possible to be happy and single.”
I can cope with blisters. I can also cope with hard work as long as I can listen to Ari talk. Literally, about anything.
A different kind of person would cut and run the moment they realized they were in for an all-nighter. For me, this is turning into a pretty good night.
When we come down the scaffold for the last time, it’s after midnight, and I’m tired as fuck.
Ari still looks like she’s running on a motor.
“This is going to look so good,” she says. She rises up on the balls of her feet in front of me, almost like a woman who wants to be kissed. I almost lose myself for a moment before I catch on. Of course she doesn’t want to be kissed. She’s simply perpetual sunshine and can never stop bouncing.
Me, I’m ready for a beer. Or seven.
“Let’s see how this looks,” she says.
Confused, I stand there staring at the ceiling, and I still don’t quite get what it’s supposed to look like.
“Uh…looks good,” I say, not wanting to hurt her feelings because I cannot make heads or tails of what we’ve actually done here tonight.
Ari laughs. “No, silly. We have to turn off the lights!” I’m still confused as she runs to the wall and switches off the big overhead lights, plunging the gym into darkness.
“Foster, could you go hit the switch by the outlets on your side?”
I realize that I’m standing right by the bank of electrical outlets, where the light strings are plugged in.
When I step on the cord switch, the room is softly illuminated from above by a thousand tiny white lights.
Finally, I see what we’ve done.
From this vantage point, the effect is, well, magical. It’s a starry night sky blurred by misty clouds, with soaring, feathered birds, and cherubs aiming their pointy arrows at unsuspecting mortals below.
Listen, I’m not a guy who throws the word “magical” around to describe anything.
Stars are balls of gas. Clouds kindly keep the sun out of my eyeballs, but they also bring rain, and rain puts a literal damper on a business like mine, which exists to outfit tourists for skiing and backwoods adventures.
Birds are loud, and they shit everywhere, and yet every person in this town is obsessed with them.
But this thing that Ari has designed and created, and that I have somehow been a small part of piecing together, is pure ethereal magic and romance and wonder and whimsy.
My eyes, my body, and my brain do not understand how I helped with this. I am stunned. Art does not, in general, touch me. But this. The way the light hits the paper sculptures, and the way those things move as they hang in the air, all make sense.
“Well, what do you think?”
I swallow hard, feeling weirdly emotional about what she’s done here.
“It’s spectacular,” I blurt out.
I don’t think I’ve ever described anything as that in my life.
Words don’t come easily for me at the moment. “Maybe I’m tired but…”
She takes a step closer to me. “Foster, are you crying?”
“No.” I step back, wiping the sweat off my face using my tee-shirt.
“Then why are your eyes so sparkly?” She’s closer once again. This time, I don’t move.
“It’s the stupid Christmas lights.”
“Do you need a hug?”
“I’m fine.”
“Aw, come here. If I bring someone to tears, they get a hug. That’s the rule.”
Ari opens her arms wide and crashes into me, holding on to me too tightly, and for too long.
And it feels too good to be appropriate.
We’re both sweaty and dusty, but she still has that sweet scent on her that she left on the coat I gave her.
She’s warm and fits nicely in my arms and makes me think the kind of thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking.
It’s not that I don’t want to feel her against me.
But I’m worried she’ll notice what is so very wrong with me.
I pull her off me before she can feel it.
“Uncomfortable with hugs. Got it. But we’re friends, right?” Ari asks.
Slowly, I nod, relieved she didn’t notice my erection. “I’ll be your assistant whenever you need one. I had fun tonight.”
Ari’s hand goes to her neck self-consciously. “We make a great team.”
A long, quiet moment follows with the fidgety Ari slowly swaying on her feet like she’s ready to burst. Her eyes flit from my face down to my middle and back up. Me, I’m just staring. She looks like a goddess under starlight.
“Do you want to go get a beer or something?”
Her smile fades, but only a little. “Magpie is closed on Tuesday.”
“How’d you know I like Magpie?”
She chuckles, “I’ve seen you there. You’re kind of hard to miss. You’re the only guy there in the off-season that I haven’t known since I was in diapers.”
“It’s the smell,” I joke, lifting my arm and sniffing. I’ll do anything to ward her off. Because if Ari’s repulsed by me, then it’s easier for me to stop staring at her like a lost puppy.
“False self-deprecation,” she says, playfully punching my shoulder. “You know you’re a hottie.”
“Am I?” This is the first I’ve heard of it.
“Stop it,” she says. “You know everyone around here is obsessed with fresh meat.”
I laugh. “The gossip network downtown is pretty rampant, so I can just imagine what they say.”
“Any gossip about me?” Ari asks, leaning in.
I decide to go for it. “Sure. Baddest glutes in the whole town,” I say, deadpan.
She laughs and swipes a hand over her face self-consciously. “It’s the squat machine.”
“See? You’re hard to miss, too,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes. “Please tell me it’s not because I talk really loud at the bar when I’ve had more than one glass of wine.”
“That, and you’re super friendly with everyone, whether you’ve been drinking or not.”
“Says the grumpy Yankee.” Ari rolls her eyes.
“And don’t forget that ass,” I say.
“Excuse me? You’ve been checking out my ass?”
“I told you, it’s a good one.”
She blinks up at me, and I know that look. Ari is fully eye fucking me.
“And now that I know you’re incredibly fucking talented, I’m banking a lot of information about you.”
“What, for your murder wall?”
“Not that kind of bank, Ari.”
She gives a shocked look. “Dude!”
“Not that! I’m just interested in learning things about my new friend. I don’t have many of those here.”
“Because you don’t try, Foster. You’re kind of short with everyone. You need to work on being more engaging.”
I lean in. “How am I doing now?”
We share a long, silent moment of me staring at her, not looking away, or making an excuse to leave, or saying something dumb like “I have to go home and get to bed,” even though it’s a fact we’re both bone tired.
“So,” she says. “Are you gonna kiss me or keep giving me compliments until I dry hump you to death?”
I would laugh, but my mouth is too busy at the moment, kissing Ari Little like she needs to be kissed. Kissing her like I’ve been wanting to kiss her.