Page 41 of Isn't It Obvious?
And boy, does she get that squeal. “Bitch, you’re going to befamous!” Sanaa shrieks.
“God, I hope not,” Yael says. “Besides, I don’t think podcasters can actually get famous, because most people don’t know what they look like.”
“You once called me from your car because you thought you saw Aubrey Gordon at Costco.”
“It was definitely her,” Yael says. Sanaa clicks her tongue. “Okay, but I’m not exactly normal.”
“I mean, that’s true.”
“Yeah, I walked right into that one.”
“This is big, Yael. I’m so proud of you. And also, I told—”
“Sanaa.”
Sanaa laughs, one of Yael’s favorite sounds. So loud and messy, the complete opposite of how you’d picture it from looking at her. “Yes, okay. I promise not to say anything until you do, but if it works out, youbettertell me immediately.”
“I will.”
“I have to go—there’s a Women in Design networking thing tonight. Love you, babe.”
“Love you, too,” Yael says just before the call ends, and then she gives herself permission to still feel celebratory the rest of the way home.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
On Friday night, Suresh tells Ravi that he needs to get out of the house, and Ravi doesn’t have the wherewithal to argue. Unsure what to do with himself and equally unwilling to go to a bar alone—the Charles situation is still too fresh in his mind—he takes himself to a late showing of an indie film he’s never heard of at Laurelhurst Theater.
There, he orders a slice of pizza and a pilsner, well aware that his East Coast–acclimated taste buds still cower at the thought of a PNW IPA. It’s luxurious, eating dinner at eight thirty completely on his own. Maybe Suresh had a point. And so did Ravi, when he jokingly told Elle that he was taking himself on a date tonight.
The film is beautiful, has a great score, and is sort of a shoddily told story, but he enjoys himself nonetheless. As he exits, he turns his phone back on, planning to text Elle something likeDo you think the recent success of visually interesting but ultimately empty films is because of TikTok?because he’s pretty sure he’d get a five-hundred-word essay in response, but he has two missed calls and a voicemail from an unknown number from twenty minutes ago.
The message is nearly incoherent between the slurred speech and the poor service: “Hey, Ravi… It’s Leo frombook club… number from the Kennedy SafeRide list… can’t drive… Could you…” But it’s enough to have him pulling up a rideshare app on his phone as he calls back.
“Hello?”
“Leo? It’s Ravi. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just… I’m at a party and I want to leave, but I’m too drunk to drive. And anyway, Eli drove me. I don’t know where he is. Well, he’s here, but I don’t know whatroom…”
“Can you send the address? I’ll head out now and make sure you get home.”
“I didn’t think you were going to be able to come, since you didn’t pick up,” Leo says.
“I’m really sorry,” Ravi says. “I was at a movie, but I can come now.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“Can you send the address?” Ravi repeats.
“Yeah, okay,” Leo says.
“I’ll text you my ETA. Let me know if you need anything before I get there. I’ll turn my ringer on.”
“Thank you, Ravi.”
“No problem,” he says, and Leo hangs up.
The party is only a fifteen-minute drive away, at some condo in the Pearl. A relief. Ravi spends the time drumming his fingers on his knee, repeatedly checking his phone for a call from Leo that never comes. When he’s two minutes out, he sends Leo a text to let him know, and Leo replies that he’ll meet him outside.
