Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(13)

It does and it doesn’t.

It was Arthur’s birthday at his uncle’s apartment: we split a Levain cookie; I got to know Jessie and Arthur’s other best friend from home, Ethan; Dylan and Samantha came through with a Hamilton-themed cake; Arthur’s coworkers Namrata and Juliet surprised him; and at the end of the night, Arthur and I cuddled up in bed while he read the TWWW chapter where I first introduce King Arturo.



I remember all that joy like it was yesterday.

“So much fun” is all I say.

“I’m surprised we didn’t get in trouble that night,” Jessie says. “Arthur’s parents didn’t come this time, so we can have more house parties.”

“Count me in,” Dylan says.

Jessie grins. “Arthur is going to be so jealous I bumped into you both.”

“Wish him luck from me on his New York do-over,” I say.

“And let him know I miss his raw sexual energy,” Dylan says.

Jessie laughs. “I should get in and get out.”

“Smart,” Dylan says. “I think the cashier might be a murderer.”

Jessie’s laugh seems forced this time. “I’m in awe of Samantha for putting up with you. Girl’s got stamina.”

“Oh, you don’t even know—”

I drag Dylan away. “Bye, Jessie. Have fun this summer.”

Dylan almost drops the box. “What’s the rush?”



“Because that whole thing was weird for me, D. You should know that.”

“It’s not like it was Arthur.”

“No, but it’s going to get back to him. How do you think that looks? I like his Instagram post yesterday and today I’m hanging around a bakery in his neighborhood. He’s going to think I’m trying to get his attention. I don’t want any weirdness, especially since he has a boyfriend.” I hold up a finger. “If you tell me that I have a boyfriend, too, I’m going to beat you to death with your cookie.”

“It won’t work,” Dylan sings.

I head back toward the train station, wishing that whole experience hadn’t shaken me so much. I want to be happy for Arthur, but it’s hard when I feel like he wasn’t even ultimately happy with me. I was just someone to entertain him until he found someone who fit better. But that’s okay.

I have someone who fits better with my life, too.

Instead of worrying about bumping into my past, I’m going to keep building my future.





Chapter Four


Arthur

Sunday, May 17




Arthur Seuss: fallen hero. Conquered warrior. Lost the last shred of his dignity at the hands of a fitted fucking sheet.

I sprawl back on Uncle Milton’s bare mattress, breathing like I’ve just run a marathon. This is like the time I tried to squeeze into my bar mitzvah blazer last year because Ben couldn’t believe I’d worn pinstripes. Did I get a cute selfie out of it? Sure. But I basically had to birth myself out of it afterward. And at least then I could sort of get the second sleeve on without the first one popping off, which is more than I can say for this shitshow of a bed.

I need Jessie. Of course she left for a “quick takeout run” an hour ago, which is enough time to confirm what I’ve always suspected: I’m laughably unequipped to live alone. But I guess the universe knew that all along, because Jessie’s summer housing fell through the exact same day I accepted Jacob’s offer. Fast-forward a week, and here we are: Manhattan roommates. Glamorous legal adults doing glamorous legal things in the city that never sleeps.

Okay, so far it’s mostly been a lot of putting socks away and looking for wall outlets and breathing heavily on my bare mattress for completely nonsexual reasons.

But it’s almost glamorous. It will be glamorous. I just need to do one quick panic selfie for Jessie where I’m bundled into the sheet like it’s a full-body shower cap. Death by linens SOS

She writes back instantly. It’s probably turned the wrong way, check and see if it has one of those top or bottom labels.

My bedsheet has its own grindr profile now??

But sure enough, sliding my fingers along the inside seam yields a full set of satin tags: Top or Bottom and Side. Guess which genius had it flipped around for half an hour.

Ten minutes later, my room looks like it sprang out of one of Mom’s Real Simple magazines—more than worthy of the triumphant Mission Accomplished photo I’m about to snap for Jessie. But as soon as I pick up my phone, it starts buzzing with a FaceTime request.

Mikey. I press accept, smiling at his awkwardly close-up face on my screen. You’d think a boy who inherited his brother’s old smartphone at age eight would know how to operate a selfie camera by now. But even Bubbe is better at video chatting than Mikey. It’s pretty fucking adorable, actually.

“Check it out. Good bed, right?” I flip the camera to show off my handiwork. “Only thing missing is you, naked—”

Mikey clears his throat loudly and scoots backward, cheeks flaming. A second later, his niece, Mia, pokes her head into the frame.

“Neigh, kid!” I flip back to selfie mode, grinning frantically into the camera. “Look! Hi, Mr. Horsie!” I tilt my phone upward, catching the giant horse painting centered above Uncle Milton’s headboard. “Hiiiiii, Mia!” I add in this fucked up quasi-British horse voice.