Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(11)

“Te quiero, mijo.”

“Love you too, Pa.”

Pa coughs.

I sigh. “Te quiero, Pa.”

In our family, we always say that we love each other before we leave home, go to bed, hang up the phone. My parents have always made it clear that we might have some economic challenges from time to time, but we’ll always be rich in love. And I get it—but if love was cash, I wouldn’t want to spend it all in the same place. Maybe I want to invest in a cute guy with the name of a cartoon plumber.

I leave Duane Reade and Dylan is waiting outside for me. The block is always crowded with people because it’s right next to a couple subway stops and right across the street from Union Square, where people are playing chess, walking their dogs, reading, and riding skateboards. It’s one of my favorite parts of the city—was one of my favorite parts of the city. Even Union Square is losing its shine because of how often I see it now. A couple weeks ago, I was meeting up with Mario around here and I unintentionally walked straight into work, making it all the way into the break room before I realized what I was doing. I was on total autopilot because this is my life now.

“What should we do?” I ask.

“You mean without the missus and the mister?” Dylan links his arm with mine and leads me toward the subway.

“He’s not my mister,” I say.

“Not with that attitude he won’t be.”

Every day, my feelings for Mario grow. I keep trying to play it down to protect myself after having been burned by guys I loved. First Hudson and I had that massive argument and he kissed some stranger before we could make up. Then Arthur, whose love for me seemed to crash into a wall once he met Mikey, who seemed so much more compatible with him. Now it’s my turn to be with someone who is more compatible with me.

“To uptown we go,” Dylan says. “I got to pick up some cookies for Samantha’s parents’ twenty-fourth anniversary.”

“That’s a strange anniversary to celebrate.”

“Text that to Samantha immediately! I said the same thing. It’s not twenty, it’s not twenty-five. What’s their angle, Ben? They just in it for the cookies?”

“What’s Samantha doing?” I ask, ignoring the question.

“She’s—” Dylan stumbles in front of the MetroCard machine. “She’s going to Skype with Patrick.” He spits on the ground.

“You could hate on Patrick without spitting every time,” I say as we swipe our way onto the platform.

“He leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“I don’t get why you’re at war with him.”

“He talks about Samantha like he’s known her forever.”

“D, they grew up together. They have known each other forever.”

“Forever is a lot longer than nineteen years, Benzo. Do you need more summer school?”

“Do you want to pick up these cookies by yourself?”

“Ooh, feisty. Dylan like.”

The train arrives, blasting us with wind and drowning out Dylan’s next sexual advance. We hop on, squeezing onto a bench while the train takes us uptown. Dylan catches me up on how great things have been with Samantha. There were some rough patches when they first moved away because, no matter how much they loved each other, they still had to adjust to living together. Samantha had to get used to Dylan being Dylan 98 percent of the time and how to be there for him on those 2 percent days where he was off. And Dylan had to learn how to sit in silence while Samantha was studying and how to give her some space just because.

We get off the train as I tell him about how much I’m hating my non–creative writing classes and how expensive school is in general. Walking through the Upper West Side doesn’t help. There’s a group of people standing outside a café with shopping bags. I’d bet a dollar that someone there just bought a shirt that costs more than I make in two weeks of work. I would feel like such a fraud walking around any of those stores. Who needs them anyway? I’d much rather pay Mario to customize clothes for me.

“I am parched, my fine Bengentleman,” Dylan says in a pretentious accent. “I hope Levain does iced teas or perhaps a crisp seltzer water.”

It takes a second for the name to sink in. At first I think it might be some character from a fantasy novel. Then I stop above a sewer grate, feeling like I’m going to melt through it as I realize where we’re going. “Levain Bakery?”

“See, you are smart. I take back the summer school comment.”

“That’s where—” I feel like I’m being thrust back in time, two summers ago. “That’s an Arthur spot.”

“And?”

“And I’m sure he’s going to be in there with his boyfriend, buying cookies and—”

“And you’ll be with me!”

“But you’re not my boyfriend.”

“Whose fault is that, Mr. Hard-to-Get?”

I take a deep breath as we approach the bakery. There are millions of people in New York and billions of things to do, and I’m still nervous I’m about to bump into Arthur. He’s always been an absolute believer in the universe pushing people together, whereas I had more doubts about destiny and shit like that. If we step into Levain and find Arthur, I’ll change my tune about the universe. I’ll become a total believer, but I draw the line at knocking on doors and sharing the good word.