“Dylan, do not have sex in that bed,” I say.
“We’re going to role-play. I’m going to be a vampire and she’s going to be the slayer—”
Samantha is standing at the door. “Dylan. We’re going to sleep. Let’s go.” She turns back around and heads into Milton’s room.
“‘Sleep’ is code, FYI,” Dylan says, closing the door behind him.
Arthur and I turn off the lights and rest on top of the sheets, face-to-face.
“So. Good birthday?” I ask.
“It started a little on the mopey side.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Then there was a major improvement.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Then it got a little mopey again.”
“I’m sorry for Dylan.”
“And now we’re here.”
“Let’s not be mopey,” I say. “We’re finally alone, and I have something for you.”
Arthur lights up. “Really?”
I pull out my phone and open Gmail, where I save all my Wicked Wizard War chapters. I learned my lesson after losing Sorcerer Squad years ago after the old family laptop crashed. I get the chapter up. “I wrote you into The Wicked Wizard War.”
Arthur shoots up and bangs his head against the bottom of the top bunk.
I massage his head while laughing. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I mean. I’ve been written into my favorite story since Hamilton. Am I taller?”
“No. But you’re a king. King Arturo. You don’t have to read it now.”
“When did you write this?”
“I started on Monday. And finished yesterday.”
“Were you going to send it to me? If we didn’t start talking again?”
“I was working up the nerve. I think so, though. Even Hudson told me I should send it to you.”
Arthur nods.
“I shouldn’t have brought him up again,” I say. “Sorry.”
“You and Dylan should reach out to Hudson and Harriett. Try to make things right.”
“Really? That won’t be weird for you?”
“It’s only weird if I get in your way. I know you miss your friends. What if all hope isn’t lost there? You should find out.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say, lighting up with this possibility of getting Dylan, Harriett, and Hudson in the same room again.
“But only explore the friend stuff,” Arthur says. “Do not ask any what-if questions about you and Hudson dating again. That would probably end in literal heartbreak at the hands of someone pretty familiar with the law because of his summer internship but too reckless to care.”
“Death threat well received. You got it.” I’m lucky that Arthur is keeping his cool about this. “I was going to ask Harriett to swing by this week to pick up the box for Hudson. Get it out of my room. But I can just give it to him myself.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Arthur says.
“I want to.”
“No, really. I don’t need you getting rid of gifts and deleting fifty-six pictures on Instagram. It’s different. I know you love me. I would destroy anyone who tried to get me to erase any trace of you.”
“You’re really feisty today,” I say. “Still. It’s something I need to do for me.”
I don’t need little reminders of the person Hudson stopped being while we were dating. Not when I’m trying to remember who he is as a friend.
I return the focus to Arthur’s birthday, which is the most important thing tonight. We get comfortable and he begins reading his chapter. He laughs at all the King Arturo jokes I spent extra time getting right for him. He kisses me whenever King Arturo kisses Ben-Jamin. I can’t believe there was ever a chance I wasn’t going to see Arthur today. Maybe ever again.
“I love you, Arthur,” I say.
Arthur turns to me. “Te amo . . . too, Ben.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Arthur
When my eyes flutter open, Dylan’s an inch from my face. “Gentlemen, PLEASE UNHOOK YOUR DICKS IMMEDIATELY. IT’S AN EMERGENCY.”
“That’s not . . . how dicks work.”
Dylan winks. “I know how dicks work.”
Ben hugs me closer, mumbling something into my shoulder.
“And cover your naked selves. Think of the children.”
“We’re like . . . not even close to naked.” Ben sits up, tugging his T-shirt down. “We’re literally wearing more clothes than you are.”
Dylan waggles his eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”
“For you to put on more clothes? Sure.”
“What’s the emergency?” I ask.
“We’re getting doughnuts,” says Dylan. “And we need recommendations.”
Ben blinks. “You woke us up to get doughnut recommendations.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, is Dunkin’ Donuts out of business, or—”
“Are you actually suggesting Dunkin’ Donuts? Did you just look me in the eye and say that?”
“What’s wrong with Dunkin’?”
Dylan shudders. “They’re the Starbucks of doughnuts.”
“Starbucks has doughnuts,” says Ben. “Starbucks is the Starbucks of doughnuts.”
“Please stop.”
“Doughnuts are doughnuts.”
“Bennis the Menace, you’re better than this.”
Samantha pokes her head in the doorway. “Come on, we’re going to Beard Papa’s. We’ll bring stuff back. Ben, you coming?”
“Put your pants on, Ben 10,” says Dylan. “You just got enrolled in Doughnuts 101.”
When I wander into the living room, Jessie’s legs are in Ethan’s lap. It hits me that this is the first time the three of us have been alone together all summer.
I sink into a chair, wrapping my arms around my knees. “This is strange.”
Jessie laughs nervously. “What’s strange?”
“I don’t know. The fact that you’re here. In New York. And you’re dating!”
“And you have a boyfriend,” says Jessie. “A really cute boyfriend.”
“Heh. Yeah.”
“So everything worked out? You guys are good again?”
“We’re good. Totally good. For two more days anyway.” I try to smile, but it won’t stick.
Jessie looks at me expectantly. “Are you guys gonna—”
“No. I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.”
“You should,” Jessie says.
My chest tightens. “Yeah.”
Now Ethan’s hands are resting on Jessie’s . . . calves? Sort of her knees? I’m trying not to fixate on it, but wow. It’s like the time Dad shaved off his beard, and he was Dad, but he wasn’t, and my twelve-year-old brain couldn’t handle it. And here I am all over again, not handling it. Or maybe this is me handling it.
“Art, I’m really, really sorry we didn’t tell you about . . . us. I know it’s weird for you. Of course it would be.”
“No, you weren’t weird.” I shake my head quickly. “I was weird. It’s just—I don’t know. I felt like Amneris in Aida. Like I should have seen it coming.”
“Dude.” Ethan exhales. “I’m so sorry. We did that. We Amneris’d you.”
“Please speak English,” says Jessie.
“But I was such a dick. I’m sorry. You guys are happy, and I’m happy for you!”
“No—”
“And I hate how I reacted. I hate that I made you feel weird.”
“Well,” says Ethan, “I hate that I made you think I had issues with you being gay.”
“Yeah, but that was in my mind”
“I should have made it really clear.” Ethan shakes his head. “I should have been in your texts every day. I’m really sorry, Art.”
“It’s fine.”
“I know. I just wish I’d handled it differently.”
For a moment, no one speaks.
“Well, maybe we should have a do-over,” I say.
“A do-over?”
“Je
ssie . . . Ethan. I have something to tell you.” I pause. “I’m gay.”
They both look at me expectantly.
“We know?” says Jessie.
“No, this is a do-over. Now you guys say something.”
“Okay.” Jessie nods. “What do you want us to say?”
“Whatever you want to say. Like, ‘sweet’ or ‘two thumbs up’ or ‘oh, cool, that’s badass’ or—”
“Oh, cool, that’s badass,” says Jessie.
“Two thumbs up,” says Ethan.
“Okay, good. And now it’s your turn.”
Jessie furrows her brow. “You mean—”
“Hey, guys, what’s up? What’s your big news?” I ask loudly.
“Well,” Jessie says.
Ethan grins down at his phone screen.
“Ethan and I are dating.”
“What? That’s great!” I clasp my hands together. “I’m so happy for you, THIS IS ROMANTIC AS FUCK.”
Jessie laughs. “I think dial it back two notches.”
“Okay, but I am happy for you. You know that, right?”
“I know. But it’s a little weird, too. It’s different.” Jessie shrugs. “I get that.”
“Well, you guys are my best friends. That’s not different.”
“True.” Jessie smiles wetly, sliding her legs off of Ethan’s. “Come on.”
And the next thing I know, she’s squeezing into my chair beside me. “Excuse me. Personal space.” I push her away, biting back a grin.
“Not a chance.” She flings her arms around my shoulders and nuzzles closer.
My phone buzzes with a text. Jessie shamelessly reads over my shoulder.
I love you, dude.
From Ethan. And not the group chat. It’s in our solo thread.
And when I look up to catch his eye, he’s already halfway to the armchair. “I want in,” he says, planting himself firmly in both of our laps.
I collapse beside Ben on the couch. “They’re all gone. All those terrible people are gone.”
“Finally.” He tugs me closer. Ben’s funny. He’s weird about touching in front of our friends, but now that they’re gone, there can’t be an inch of space between us. “I like Jessie and Ethan, though.”
“JessieandEthan. One word. I’m still . . . wow.”
“Must be hard to get used to.”
“It’s weird. I think I really am happy for them.” I smile up at him. “Maybe I’m just happy.”
He buries his face in my shoulder. “I know what you mean.”
“This is the best. It’s like we’re dads.”
He laughs. “Dads?”
“Like we’re an old New York couple just sitting around doing nothing.”
“I like doing nothing with you.”
“Me too.”
And I do. I like it so fucking much. I always thought love was about the showstopper moments. No dialogue, no filler. But if the quiet parts are filler, maybe filler’s underrated.
“We should do this every day,” I say.
“All two of them?” asks Ben with this sad half smile.
My heart sinks. “Oh.”
“Sorry to be a downer.”
“No.” I kiss his head. “You’re being real with me, just like you said.”
He nods.
“But I hate this.”
“Me too,” he says softly.
“Hey. Come here.” I shift over to lie down, and then I pull him down with me—chest to chest, limbs in a tangle. He tucks his head in the crook of my neck and sniffs, and my heart beats in triple time. He’s so palpably sad. It almost catches me off guard.
I pull back, and for a moment, I just study his face—the thick eyelashes fanning across his flushed cheeks, the constellation of freckles on his nose. It’s one of those silences that’s so thick, it feels solid. I press my lips to his forehead.
Deep breath.
“So,” I ask finally, “what happens in two days?”
Ben pauses. “I don’t know.”
“I move back to Georgia.”
He catches my gaze. “I’ve never had a long-distance boyfriend.”
“I’ve never had any kind of boyfriend until you,” I say. “I don’t even know how it works.”
“How what works?”
“Time apart.” My hands linger on his jawline. “Like in movies, it’s just a montage. You know, they’re pining, maybe they talk on the phone a few times, someone gets a haircut or grows a beard or whatever, so you can see the passage of time. But I don’t know if that’s realistic. I kind of think we’d just FaceTime and text and miss each other a lot. And maybe masturbate on the phone with each other sometimes. Is that a thing?”
Ben looks taken aback. “Um. I have no idea.”
“But then what if it goes south? Like, I’ll be the guy who’s sad, drunk, and alone, and you’ll be going to raves and kissing boys, and I’ll try to call, but you’ll be in a sex den with a bunch of hot guys with celebrity parents, but they’re all dead around the eyes, and there’s probably cocaine—”
“Jesus, Arthur. You realize I spend ninety-nine percent of my time writing about wizards and playing The Sims, right?”
“I know.”
“You just have no filter, do you?”
“None.”
He kisses my cheek. “Okay, I have to go do something now.”
“Ooh, what? Is it a secret? Should I close my eyes?”
“You don’t have to close your eyes. Just hang tight. Listen to three Dear Evan Hansen songs, and I’ll be ready.”
I sit up straight, beaming. “You got it!”
But I’m barely past Zoe’s part in “Only Us” when my FaceTime app pops up with a call.
I press accept. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetie!” She’s in the most generic-looking hotel room I’ve ever seen in my life. Stark white bedding, plush headboard, framed picture of the beach. “How did the surprise go?”
“It was great.”
“What are Ethan and Jessie like as a couple? I can’t picture it.”
“Oh, they’re the worst,” I start to say, but then my bedroom door creaks open.
And I lose the ability to speak.
Because—wow. Wow. There’s my boyfriend. Wearing only boxers. Looking straight at me like—
“You okay, sweetie?” Mom asks.
Ben’s hand flies over his mouth. He scurries back into my room, yanking the door shut behind him.
“I’ve got to go, Mom. Sorry.” I end the call before she can ask why.
When I walk into my room, my bed’s covered in heart stickers, with a line of tea lights trailing from my door. And then there’s Ben, perched in the middle of the bottom bunk, next to his laptop. “I didn’t light the candles. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to set your apartment on fire. And Duane Reade didn’t have rose petals, so I went with stickers.”
“Ben.”
“I know it looks ridiculous—”
“It’s perfect.”
“You like it?” The corners of his mouth quirk up.
“I love everything in this room,” I tell him. “Every single thing.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ben
This morning I got to wake up next to Arthur, and I can’t believe there was almost a world where that never happened. I felt the same way last night when we were passing out with my face pressed against his shoulder, breathing in his T-shirt. And this afternoon we’re lying on our sides, shirtless, with our locked hands resting between our faces.
“We seriously don’t have to do this,” I say. “We don’t know what’s next for us and . . . It’s a big moment. You can’t take it back. It’s okay if you want to wait for someone else and—”
“You’re the only one I want to do this with, Ben. Do you want to?”
“So much.”
“Me too. I just . . . I don’t know how to . . .”
“I know.”
“I know you know. Just be patient with me.”
; “Of course.” If Arthur psyches himself out like last time, I’ll be cool with it. I just never want him to feel uncomfortable. I kiss his knuckles. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
We get going and we go slow. I want this to be the unforgettable experience Arthur has been dreaming of for who knows how long. And it’s a different kind of first time for me. Arthur is a completely different boy, and we’re in a completely different bed. This apartment isn’t home for either of us, but we’re home to each other, and that’s what makes every wall fall away so I only focus on him. I really want this to last as long as possible for him. No one starts a movie and immediately wants to see the credits rolling, so when this is over, I hope he looks back on this and considers it a win.
The pressure is getting to me. I can’t ruin this for him.
I snap out of it. It’s nonsense. Arthur and I have never done anything that’s perfect. Perfect for us, yeah. But not on paper. And I know his thoughts are extra busy with his own concerns, especially after some technical difficulties slow us down, and we get through everything together with patience and reassuring smiles.
I kiss him and I call him beautiful and I tell him I love him and we go on past that finish line.
We laugh and we catch our breaths and we peel stickers off each other.
No do-over needed.
Monday, August 6
My birthday—April 7—was the last time my group chat with Dylan, Harriett, and Hudson was active. I had sent out a text seeing if everyone wanted to meet up for lunch before Hudson took me to the concert. Harriett texted me and Hudson separately because she literally couldn’t stand the idea of her text bubble even being near Dylan’s, so the three of us grabbed breakfast. Dylan didn’t want any drama anyway, so I just met up with him at his place and he cooked me cauliflower tacos and we played video games, just the two of us. And then Hudson and I went off to do our own thing, and I couldn’t even vent about how disappointing a day it had been because his own spirits were really low from his parents’ divorce earlier that week. I really wish I would’ve been enough to unite everyone the way Arthur was able to do on his birthday, but that’s in the past now. Different times.
After I got home from hanging with Arthur last night, I resurrected the group chat. Just told everyone I wanted to meet up after class today to see if we could talk things out. I put it out into the universe—with a GIF of Puss in Boots begging with his huge glassy eyes. Dylan responded with a GIF of SpongeBob giving two thumbs up and said he’ll be there. An hour later Harriett responded with an “As you wish” GIF from The Princess Bride. And a few minutes after that, Hudson sent a GIF of Stewie Griffin bouncing around in anticipation.
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