“I’m sorry I said that. I’m really rooting for you both. I just feel threatened.”
We take a seat and she shakes her head. “No way. He’s obsessed with you. He talks about you as much as I go home and talk about him to my parents. Which he doesn’t know I do, by the way. I’m being careful even though it’s hard to keep my chill sometimes.”
When you spend time with Arthur, you’re pretty familiar with no chill. But Arthur and I didn’t have the time Dylan and Samantha do to take it slow. I wonder what our relationship could’ve looked like if Arthur lived here.
“I’m sure-sure it’s going somewhere,” I say. “If that counts for anything.”
“It does. Big-time.”
Dylan’s parents come through with coffee, and we catch up for a bit before they go in and see Dylan first. Samantha and I hang out, and I tell her all about the almost kiss with Hudson. It feels odd telling her before Dylan, but I snap out of it. No reason my best friend’s girlfriend shouldn’t be my best friend too. We’re all going to be rotating around each other anyway.
When his parents come back to the waiting room to do some paperwork, Samantha and I get up to see him at the same time.
“You go first,” I say.
“Let’s go together.”
So we do. We enter the emergency room, passing a patient’s curtained-off cubicle before reaching Dylan, and wow, what a sight.
“My loves!” Dylan’s voice is raspy, and kind of hot. He looks pale and just overall pleased with himself. “Death tried to have its way with me and I flipped the sumbitch off. I have afterlife spoilers.”
Samantha shakes her head as she approaches his bedside and hugs him. “You had a panic attack.”
Dylan turns to me. “Don’t believe Samantha, she’s trying to ruin my good name.”
“I’m not even going to shut you up,” Samantha says.
“I have just conquered Death, there’s no such thing as shutting me up.”
I watch his face as he hugs her back, the way his eyes close and lose a lot of his electric Dylan-ness. None of the arrogance, just pure relief he’s still alive and able to hold his girlfriend again.
It’s really sweet.
I can’t wait to make fun of him.
I’m so happy I get to make fun of him.
I hug my best friend. “Thanks for not dying,” I say.
And I mean it. Because yeah, it was a false alarm, but I know it felt real to Dylan. It scares him when his heart beats fast. I don’t blame him for hauling ass to the ER. I’m glad he did. Better a million false alarms than the alternative.
“I had to come back. Our last words to each other were trash and we would’ve been some bad cliché, and I’m too iconic for such nonsense.”
“Very iconic. The most iconic.”
“Speaking of, I almost died living a lie,” Dylan says. He takes Samantha’s hand. “So hear me out. Dream & Bean coffee is just in my blood. Kool Koffee’s coffee doesn’t do it for me. You’re so passionate about the money being donated to charities, but I have to be honest about buying my coffee elsewhere.”
Samantha squints. “What? I don’t care. You do you.”
“Really?”
“Very really,” Samantha says.
“This was never a real problem, D,” I say.
“Were you actually stressed about this?” Samantha says.
“Yes. Very much.”
She shakes her head and kisses him on the forehead. “You’re ridiculous.” She takes his hand and squeezes.
My phone buzzes. I grin a little because it’s Arthur.
Dylan catches me. “What was that? That little smile? The fuck was that? What’s happening?”
“You’re being hysterical,” I say. “Let’s up your drugs.”
“Respect your immortal best friend and tell me what’s happening. I didn’t go to hell and back to not be kept in the loop.”
“Arthur is asking how you’re doing.”
“You guys good again?”
“Well, we’re not boyfriends. But we’re texting.”
“Screw texting. Go see him. I would ask you to swear on my life that you’ll be more honest with him, but we’ve proven today that I’m untouchable. I will walk this world forever.”
Samantha takes a step away from him. “A lightning bolt is going to burst in here any second now and shut you up.”
“I eat lightning for breakfast.”
“Okay,” I say. “You’re alive and well. So well that maybe I can meet Arthur. I know you just came back from the dead, but it’s his birthday.”
“No way that’s more superior than my resurrection, but sure.”
I clap my hands. “Great. Samantha, you can fill him in on all the Hudson stuff, if you want. And make sure he doesn’t die again to prove a point.”
Samantha returns to his side and takes his hand. “Future husband will live to see another day. Go get your boy.”
“What did you just call me?” Dylan asks with the biggest smile, like a kid on Christmas.
“This is my cue to get out of here before you strip out of your gown,” I say.
I hug and kiss Dylan and Samantha and bounce.
When I’m out in the hallway, I text Arthur back. Everything is good. Dylan is very Dylan. I take a deep breath. I really want to see you. Can I meet you somewhere?
My phone buzzes.
Yeah, I’ll meet you in the waiting area in ten seconds. Don’t be late.
What.
I look up.
There he is.
Part Three
And Only Us
Chapter Thirty-Three
Arthur
I spent all this time thinking Ben was the king of chill, but I guess no one’s chill when their best friend almost dies. You know how you open the door in some houses and a dog rocket-launches toward you with his whole trembling body? That’s Ben when he sees me. He flings his arms around me before I can say hello, and now he’s just standing here hugging me like a cobra.
“You came.” His voice breaks.
“Of course.”
He draws back a few inches, still gripping my arms—and suddenly, our eyes lock. For a moment, we just stare.
“So he’s okay?” My heart’s thudding.
“Who?”
“Dylan!”
“Oh my God.” Ben scrunches his nose. “I’m an idiot. Yeah, he’s totally fine. It was just a really bad panic attack. He gets those—”
“Right, I remember that.” I exhale. “Thank God.”
“Yeah. His parents are dealing with paperwork, and Samantha’s there. He’s getting discharged soon.”
I nod. “You should get back in there.”
“He kicked me out.”
“Really?”
“Well.” He smiles faintly. “I kicked myself out. But I had to. Important birthday today.”
“Barack Obama?”
“Obviously what I meant.” He disentangles our arms. “Should we walk?”
“Okay.”
Now we’re side by side, all over again. It’s sort of nice.
“What do you think Barack’s doing today to celebrate?” Ben asks.
“Oh, he’s having a party, for sure. Michelle’s organizing it, the girls are there, obviously Biden’s there, and Trudeau. And maybe Lin-Manuel Miranda? Okay, and Ben Platt, probably Tom Holland, too, and obviously Daveed Diggs and Jonathan Groff. Maybe Mark Cuban?”
“So Obama’s basically having your ideal birthday party?”
“I’d call it a universally ideal birthday party.”
Ben laughs. “I really missed you.”
“Me too.” I pause. “Where are we going?”
“Oh. I don’t know. I should have asked you if it was even okay for me to hang. I totally get if you’d rather—”
“Don’t go.”
He smiles. “Okay.”
“Want to head back to my apartment? No one’s home.”
“Oh!”
I blush. “I don’t
mean—I just mean we could talk, if you want.”
“I’d like that. I think I owe you a conversation.”
I pause. “Right.”
“I mean. Ugh. Sorry, we don’t have to talk about this on your birthday.”
“No, we should. I want to.”
We cross an intersection where everyone’s honking and yelling and cussing, but somehow Ben’s silence is the loudest sound of all.
“Okay,” he says finally. “I want to try to explain the Hudson thing. Is that okay?”
I take his hand. “Yeah.”
“It’s not even about Hudson, really,” he says, threading our fingers. “It’s just me. I’m really bad at this.”
“Bad at what?”
“At relationships? At feeling like I should even be in relationships? I’m so . . .” He stares straight ahead, furrowing his brow. “I have this thing where if someone likes me, I feel like I tricked them into it. Like I can’t trust it. I’ll fuck it up somehow, like with Hudson.”
“But Hudson’s the one who fucked up. He cheated on you.”
“Well, maybe I wasn’t worth it.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I lift our twined hands. “I’m sorry, but how could anyone think you’re not worth it?”
He laughs flatly. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“Because you’re you! Ben. God. You’re funny and smart and—”
“But I’m not! I’m not smart, okay? I mean—I don’t know if you’ll be able to understand this, but a lot of school things are really hard for me. My mind doesn’t want to let that stuff stick.”
“Look.” I nod emphatically. “I get it. I mean—”
“I know, I know, but Arthur, you’re killing it in school. I know you have ADHD, and I’m not saying it’s not hard for you, but look—you’re applying to Yale. I mean, come on. You’re so smart, Arthur. It’s intimidating.”
I can’t help but grin. “I’m intimidating?”
“In that way. Only in that specific way.” He rolls his eyes, smiling slightly. “But really, Hudson and I had been a done deal for two weeks when you came along, and I’m like no, no fucking way, too soon, but the universe was like I insist, and I’m sitting there trying to resist it, because you’re leaving, and it’s pointless, and why would we even—but I don’t even know, Arthur. You’re just so . . .”
“I’m so . . . what?” I nudge him. “Go on.”
“Cute. Charming. Irresistible.” He stops suddenly, tugging me toward a Duane Reade. “Wait a second, okay? I need to run in there.”
“Should I—”
“Nope. I’ll be right back.”
And just like that, he disappears. I lean against the storefront to wait for him, pulling my phone out. There’s a missed call from Bubbe and another one from Mom, but still no birthday texts from Ethan and Jessie. Which isn’t terribly surprising, given what must be an extremely demanding makeout schedule. Not to mention the fact that they probably hate my guts now. And I probably deserve it. Hanging up on them was a dick move, but I guess some part of me was hoping for a birthday do-over. A rewind and redo.
After a minute, Ben emerges from Duane Reade with a bag he won’t show me. “Okay, where were we?” he asks. He can’t seem to stop smiling.
“You were just about to elaborate on me being irresistible.”
He takes my hand again. “You are.”
We go on walking without speaking, all the way to the end of the block.
“Hey,” he says finally, catching my eye. “Thanks for being there for me with Dylan.”
“Come on. What kind of asshole would ditch you in that moment?”
“An asshole who was justifiably mad at me for not telling him about Hudson?”
“I’m the asshole. I should have believed you when you said it was nothing.”
“You’re not an asshole,” he says.
“I am sometimes—”
“No, you’re not. You’re so—you’re just good. Do you even see it? We’re not even on speaking terms, and you drop everything to be there at the hospital with me.”
“Well, I really like you,” I blurt. “And I like us. Even if we are a hot mess as a couple.”
He hugs me sideways. “I like us, too. And I feel really lucky to have you, even as a friend.”
I stop short. Record scratch. “As a friend?”
“Well, I thought . . . I didn’t want to assume anything?”
“Excuse me, we are not platonic bros, Ben Alejo.”
“Okay then.”
“And when we get back to my apartment, we are not going to do platonic-bro things.”
“Good to know.” He bites his lip. “So we’re . . . boyfriends again?”
“Do you want to be?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” I nod, beaming. “This is a really great birthday.”
“For you or Obama?”
“Both!”
“Okay, one more thing,” Ben says. “I just want you to know I’m going to be open with you about stuff from now on. I’m not going to sugarcoat.”
“I like that. Totally open. Me too.”
“I don’t think you could be closed off if you tried.”
“You don’t know me.” I swat him, but he just laughs and wraps his arms around my waist.
“Here’s the thing,” he says. “I’m not going to pretend this Hudson stuff isn’t confusing, because it is. But I just want you to know that the way I feel about you? Isn’t confusing.”
“And how do you feel?”
“I mean—”
“Tell me in Spanish again, okay?”
He laughs. “Okay.”
“But—”
But then he kisses me right here on Columbus Avenue, and I forget what I’m saying. I forget how to speak.
The next hour is a blur, in the best possible way. Ben insists on a quick detour to Levain Bakery, where he skips all the bullshit and orders the biggest, warmest double-chocolate-chip cookie ever made. “Your favorite.”
“How did you know that?”
“I just know.” He insists on treating me—and he looks so pleased with himself that I don’t even protest. He holds my hand the whole way home, and when the elevator door closes, we’re kissing. When it opens again, we’re kissing. I kiss him while I root in my pocket for my keys, and I kiss him in the doorway, and I kiss him in our foyer. We shove the bags on the dining room table, and we kiss beneath Uncle Milton’s horses. You’d think I’d be tired of kissing right now. You’d think I’d get distracted, but I’ve never been more focused in my whole entire life.
I just love this. Every part of it. The hitch in his breath and his slightly swollen lips and knowing I’m the one who made both of those things happen. I love the way the spaces between our bodies vanish, like we can’t be close enough. I love the feeling of my hands in his hair. I love the softness of the nape of his neck. And most of all, I love it when our lips are touching and our mouths slide open and my heart’s a mile a minute, and breath becomes something we share. I’ve spent my whole life thinking talking was the best thing I could do with my mouth, but maybe talking’s overrated. Mouth is still the best organ, though. Hands down.
“What do you think is happening”—I kiss him gently—“at the Obama party right now?”
He kisses me back. “Probably this.”
It’s strange that you can laugh against another person’s lips. “Barack and Michelle?”
“Barack and Trudeau.” He kisses me again.
“With Joe watching wistfully.”
“So wistfully.”
My phone starts buzzing in my back pocket, which is currently right underneath Ben’s palm.
“Someone’s calling you,” he says.
“Let’s ignore it.”
“No. No way. Last time I ignored a phone call, Dylan was—”
“Sheesh. Okay.” I pull it out and peer at the screen. “It’s my dad.”
Ben kisses me quickly. “Answer it.”
“Hi, Dad.” I so
und breathless and guilty. I sound exactly like a boy who’s been making out with his boyfriend in an empty apartment.
“How’s the birthday going?” he says.
“Great.”
Ben keeps his eyes fixed on mine.
“I miss you, bud. I’m eating cake tonight in your honor.”
“Cool.”
“I got them to put your name on it, too, and now I’m like, why don’t I always do this? You don’t have to wait for a birthday. I’m going to start going once a week and giving the bakery guys some random name, and voilà.”
“Great idea, Dad.”
“So what have you been up to?”
“Not much.” I shake my head slowly. “Actually, Dad, this is kind of a bad—”
“Wait, I’ll let you go! But I just wanted to let you know your present from Mom and me just got delivered. It’s waiting for you now in the lobby.”
Ben just watches me, smiling.
“Okay. I’ll go get it in just a—”
“You should go get it now, bud. It’s perishable. Let me know what you think, okay?”
We say goodbye and hang up, and Ben wraps his arms around me.
My phone buzzes. Let me know when you get it!! Winky emoji.
“Awesome. Now he’s texting me.” I roll my eyes. “So apparently I’m supposed to pick up a package from the lobby right this second.”
“Okay.”
“Come with me.”
“You got it.”
“There’s a ninety percent chance that this is from Harry & David,” I tell Ben on the elevator.
“Who are they?”
“You know, the fancy gourmet guys who make Moose Munch and those pears? Fruit of the month?” Ben looks at me blankly. “It’s—anyway, let’s just grab the box, take a picture, text it to my parents, and then I’m turning my phone off all night.”
“That’s an extremely good plan.”
The first thing I hear when the elevator doors open is a very familiar voice. “Arthur!”
My mouth falls open. “Jess?”
“And Ethan,” says Ethan.
“I don’t understand.” I glance back at Ben, but he’s staring at his feet. I turn back to Jessie and Ethan, who look larger than life next to the rows of tiny mailboxes. Ethan’s in gym shorts and a Milton High T-shirt, and Jessie’s in a sundress, and they’re both carrying duffel bags. “What are you doing here?”
What If It's Us Page 23