The Cotton Anniversary | Part 5
I blew out the first set of candles at 8:00.
Eli stepped into his apartment lobby and was immediately smacked by the thick smell of dog shampoo and eucalyptus. The eucalyptus was probably meant to cover up the scent of the dog shampoo, but the scents were in an active airborne battle. It was not pleasant.
The super allowed his labradoodle to roam free, and that was probably where the first scent was coming from. Eli stepped into the mirrored elevator. He looked tired but used his reflection in the mirror to make sure the fit of his pants was just right. He wasn’t sure about this more high-waisted cut, but the mirrors convinced him it was a great choice. His shirt was stuck to his back from sweat, but he liked the way it looked. He pushed his thumb to the 7 and watched the aesthetic white light circle the button.
On his floor, the hallway was carpeted for some reason with this brown, puce color. It wasn’t half bad paired with the dark green walls, and it helped highlight the framed prints of dogs that were hung every few feet. Each of the dogs had an Instagram account with over 150k followers. The decor was a great conversation starter at their dinner parties.
Their door looked the same as always, but the brass knob had that judgmental look that only came from knowing you were already in trouble. Eli braced himself, turned the key to unlock the door, and carefully entered. The curated space that he and Luke called home looked like a page out of one of those home-design coffee-table books. A blur of simple and quirky, with a polished raw wood table, where, if you looked closely, tiny cartoon faces had been painted on the edges. There were two matching chairs, and a row of skinny candles that had been added a few hours earlier for ambiance. The table also sported a linen runner that had been ironed flat and perfect. There were two plates and place settings, each with a folded napkin tied with a cute cotton string. That damn little string jolted Eli’s memory. Tonight was their second anniversary. The cotton anniversary. Eli had mocked the tradition the week prior when they were riding the Uptown 6 train.
Paper was year one. Cotton was year two. Leather was year three, which would give them the chance to cosplay as Old West cowboys. It was perfect because it was a roleplay Eli wanted to try, but was too afraid to bring up.
The whole apartment smelled like rosemary. The Spotify playlist had reached the part where the artificial, upbeat DJ was only playing songs from your top five. The candles had been burning for hours, nearly burned to their bases. A roasting pan sat on the stove, with a little aluminum-foil tent. A shiny tent of shame.
Luke was on the couch scrolling on his phone. He was wearing a white shirt tucked into acid-wash denim. His hair was styled. He had definitely spent time making it look perfect. He didn’t acknowledge Eli.
Eli clicked the door shut and latched the locks. He set his bag down by the coffee table, the one Luke had purchased in Rhode Island and had to have shipped into Manhattan. It was a huge pain, but it did go really nicely with their white carpeting. Eli didn’t say anything, but he really needed to. He defaulted to the easiest option: “I’m sorry,” he said.
“You are two hours late,” Luke quickly responded. His voice sounded more sad than harsh.
“The Ford pitch went long, and then I got stuck at the office doing the debrief from the pitch…” He should have rehearsed the excuse in the hallway before he stepped into the apartment. It was sounding dumb and flimsy, the same way you hear someone trying to open a pack of Skittles during the quiet part in a movie.
“Right,” said Luke.
Eli moved toward the kitchen and lifted the foil. The steaks Luke had roasted in the oven looked like sad, congealed blobs. The green beans were floppy. The potatoes didn’t look half bad.
“I can reheat,” Eli offered. He noticed the notes taped to the microwave. Oven at 375. Steak should be soft to the touch (for medium). Let rest for five minutes before slicing.
“I was setting the table,” Luke looked back at him, “and I thought… should I do cotton napkins? Like, you know, a fun joke.”
“They look good,” Eli said, because they did. It was the kind of thing that Eli would never think of.
Luke got up from the couch and leaned on the kitchen island. He did his best to make Eli feel the weight of his lateness. “I sat down at 7:15,” he said. “I blew out the first set of candles at 8:00 because I was worried about wax getting on the runner. I lit them again at 9:10, which I now realize was absurd. I texted you at 9:20. You responded at 9:50 with a thumbs up.” He looked at Eli. “A damn thumbs up. Might as well have been a fuck you.”
“I shoulda called,” Eli said. “I don’t even think we won it…the Ford project.”
Luke cocked his head. He didn’t care about Ford, their trucks, or any piece of creative collateral that did or did not get approved. “Darn,” he responded flatly. He didn’t care if electric vehicles had friends or personalities, or commented on @Wendy’s latest Instagram post.
“I made a playlist,” Luke said. “I picked songs from the last two years. The first time we met at that dumb Gramercy bar. Some of the songs we listened to on the way upstate when your phone wouldn’t connect, and we were stuck with the radio. That song your niece made us play on repeat.”
“How do you remember what we listened to on the radio?” Eli asked.
Luke pulled out one of the chairs and sat at the dining table. He looked especially handsome in this light. He looked up at Eli like something had finally clicked. “I know your job is very, very important,” he said with every bit of sarcasm he could muster. “But I left work early. I went to Trader Joe’s. I trimmed the green beans like Julia Child.”
Eli sat down across from him. He wanted to make the point that his work was far more important than candles or dinner. He wanted to make the point that responding to a comment from @Wendy’s would, in fact, have an impact on overall Instagram engagement. Instead, he said, “You’re right.”
After a quick stint in the microwave, the steaks made it to the table. They ate a few bites. The steak was very tough. The room was stiff, but the situation was a bit funny. That awkward kind of funny when you’re with someone you like, but don’t know what to say.
“What did you get for cotton?” Luke asked after a moment.
“Pillowcases,” Eli said. “I ordered good ones from that company that keeps getting its ads defaced in the subway. They’re Danish, I think.” He nodded his head toward the bedroom. “I’ll put them on after dinner.”
Luke smiled. “I got you socks,” he said. He stood and walked to the coffee table, opened the middle drawer, and pulled out a small box wrapped in that brown paper that old-fashioned packages have.
Eli opened the box. The socks were white and soft. They had cute little yellow stripes at the top. He felt something in his chest. Longing? No, that couldn’t be it. Maybe real regret?
“I am sorry,” he said again.
Luke nodded. “I know,” he said. “Please just…before nine next time.”
They moved to the couch. Luke dropped his feet in Eli’s lap. They watched a show where people date each other with no intention of finding love, but were more in the market for internet fame. Eli leaned back. This was nice. This was calm. He did not say that Ford would probably call tomorrow and officially pass. He did not say that his job seemed to require the part of himself that had cost them dinner. He did not say anything about a cliff’s edge.
If you’re new here, I write a monthly serialized novel called Everything is Advertising, about a burned-out Creative Director and his cynical team that accidentally create QAnon through a viral marketing campaign. If you like that kind of thing, you can start at Part One and catch up from there.
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Photo Credit: Ehud Neuhaus
We're ready for part 6!
How many dogs have 150k?