“Sorry I’m late,” Brian says. “I wasn’t expecting you for at least another hour.”
Josh shakes his head. “No problem. You know how these events are.”
“Do I ever.” Brian grins at us in the rear-view mirror. “You’ve got ninety minutes before curfew. Can I take you somewhere else?”
Josh leans forward in his seat. “You know that café on Amsterdam? Kismet?”
Brian snorts. It tells me that he already knows the story. “I think I can find the place.”
“Thanks.” Josh sits back. And then he turns to me with a sudden alarm. “Is that okay? Sorry, I’m still in stupid party mode. I didn’t even ask. I know we’re going there for New Year’s, but I thought an early visit would be nice. For nostalgia’s sake.”
“No, it’s perfect.” I force a smile. “Thanks, Brian.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” he says.
But the feeling inside the car is not perfection. There’s no hand holding. We’re quiet and ill at ease. As Brian merges into traffic, he tries to lighten the mood. “So, Isla. Did you get to see any of the museum?”
It’s a leading question. Clearly, Josh tells him a lot of things. “I did.”
“Aaaaand?”
I force another cheerful smile. “It was a beautiful gift.”
He pumps his fist. “Nice.”
“Went off without a hitch,” Josh says. “Thank you, Chuck.”
“Thank you, Chuck!” Brian repeats.
They discuss the plan, some last-minute part of the arrangement with Chuck that Brian hadn’t heard yet, and I squirm in my seat. How many people knew about this? Has Josh done this sort of thing before? The less private it gets, the more uncomfortable I feel.
There’s something I shouldn’t say, but for some terrible and unknown reason, I have to say anyway. I should save it for a more appropriate, less emotionally stressed day. I should save it for when we’re alone. I shouldn’t ever say it. Don’t say it.
“Rashmi likes ancient Egypt, doesn’t she?” I ask.
Shit.
“What?” Josh’s response is sharp as his attention snaps from Brian to me.
“I— I mean, in your book. Her rabbit, Isis. And then she goes to Brown to study Egyptology.”
“Yeah, she goes to Brown because she goes there. Those things are true.”
“And there’s that drawing of her as an Egyptian goddess.” I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud. And I’m saying it in front of Brian. I don’t know what’s happening, but something inside of me has short-circuited. I’m freaking out. The Egyptian thing is a coincidence, I know this, but I can’t stop. “Was that how you knew about the temple?”
His brow furrows in angry confusion. “Huh?”
“The Temple of Dendur. Did you ever take her there?”
Josh gathers himself. “First of all, I like the reflecting pool. I wanted some time alone with you tonight, so I chose – what I thought was – the museum’s nicest room. Second of all, no. I did not take you someplace where I previously made out with my ex-girlfriend. Or whatever else it is you think we might have done in there.”
“Well, I know that much. If you’d done anything more, I would have read about it. Very graphically! In your graphic memoir.”
Time stops.
And that’s when I know that I’ve just said the worst thing that I’ll ever say in my entire life. And I’ve said it to the person whom I love the most.
Josh’s voice is deadly quiet. “Anything else you’d like to share with me right now? Any additional criticisms of me or my work?”
I want to speak. I want to apologize. This isn’t about his ex or his work. I have no idea why I just said those things. I’m confused. I’m not sure why I feel this upset, why I’m picking fights about things that don’t even matter.
Brian glances at me in the rear-view mirror, and his expression is unbearably strained, as if he’d jump through the car window if he could fit through the hole.
“No. Really,” Josh continues. “As long as you’re finally opening up to me, why don’t you go on? Tell me what else is wrong with my book.”
I’ve backed myself into the furthest corner possible. “Nothing is wrong with it.”
“But there are things you’d change?”
“No! I mean, yeah, but…small things. You know?” Stop talking. “It’s not a big deal. All books require a little bit of editing.”
The street lights cast Josh in shadow. I can’t see his expression, but it doesn’t feel nice. He remains silent. Waiting.
“Okay.” I gulp. “Well. There was this one flashback that was in a weird place. When you get your tattoo? That scene…it just didn’t flow with what came before and after it.”
“All right.” It comes out like ice.
“And your parents. They were, like, this big deal in the beginning, but by the end, it was like you didn’t even have parents. They completely dropped out.”
“Because they live in another country.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t in your life any more. Even if it’s their absence that matters, it’s still something that should be acknowledged.”
His jaw is clenched. “Anything else?”
“Um.” My voice lowers to a near whisper. “There were a lot of drawings of Rashmi. In the middle.”
“Shocker.”
“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, there were a ton of one-page panels that were just…there. Completely unnecessary. They didn’t contribute anything to the story.” I can’t believe that I’m saying this – all of this – aloud. A good girlfriend would keep her mouth shut. “And then sections of your junior year were really crowded. You needed more variation between the panels. More space.”
“More space.”
“Um, yeah. Spaces. Breaks. For the reader to contemplate things. To figure out what’s important, on their own.”
“Spaces,” he says. “To figure out what’s important.”
“I’m sorry.” I’m drowning in a river of my own making. “I didn’t say anything earlier, because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. It’s great, I promise.”
“You’ve used that word to describe it in the past. And yet, I still don’t believe you.”