Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(35)

I hope I’m not misreading the Mario vibes.

Maybe Mario should switch from tutoring me in Spanish to Marioish so I can become fluent in understanding him better.

I go through our WhatsApp chat, where he sent me a bunch of pictures from last night at Dave & Buster’s. I wish I had been bold enough to ask him to take photo booth pictures with me.

I come across the group selfie after our game of Mario Kart. I remember the heat on my face with Arthur leaning on me, but the glow of the arcade conceals my blushed cheeks. The lights expose Arthur’s forced smile. I could be overthinking it, but I know what Happy Arthur looks like: sitting on the curb in Times Square while we listened to music, the day we finally decided we didn’t need another do-over date, and when I kissed him for the first time.

Friendships are two-way streets. He shouldn’t be the only one walking toward me. I have to meet him in the middle.

If Arthur can hang out with Mario, I can be better talking about Mikey.

If I can’t, I’ll lose him again.

And I want Arthur in my life.

I should keep writing. I know I should, but I have to reach out to him.

I send Arthur a quick text: Between Mario and Mario Kart and Dylan and his Dylan-ness I feel like we didnt get to talk much. Do-over hangout?

There. I’ve put it out into the universe and now I wait to see—

Arthur has texted back already: Do-over hangout!





Chapter Twelve


Arthur

Monday, May 25




The line outside the diner’s already halfway down the block, but it barely even feels like I’m waiting. The weather’s mild and sunny, I’ve got the whole day off work, and I’m on literal Broadway—the street and the district. Plus, the Winter Garden Theatre is practically within spitting distance, and I’m not even going to try to be cool about it. If I have to crouch to get that perfect low-angle shot of the marquee, so be it.

Which is exactly how Ben finds me: popping a squat on the sidewalk. He peers down at me with an expression that’s half amused and half disturbed, and I jump up so quickly, I almost conk his chin with my skull. “Sorry! Hi!”

“Hi! Yikes. Am I really late?” He surveys the line, looking vaguely distressed.

“Not at all. It’s not even open yet.”

“But why are there so many people here?”

“Because it’s Eileen’s Galaxy Diner. Ben, it’s a landmark! Have you never been here?”

His face falls. “Have you?”

“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, maybe once? Years ago, though. I don’t even really remember it.”

Ben looks at me like he’s never seen someone so full of shit in his entire life.

“Fine, it was two years ago and I remember everything, but so what? It’s amazing! The waiters sing. It’s like a full Broadway performance while you’re eating.”

“Yeah, that’s why I suggested it. It has extreme Arthur energy.”

“And New York energy.” I peer around happily, taking in the souvenir shops, yellow cabs, and pretzel stands, the impossibly huge billboards. “God, I love New Yorkers. You guys embrace every single moment. Just look at all these people.” I gesture down the line. “No one’s pissed they have to wait, no one’s driving around Alpharetta or wherever, looking for a place with parking, because God forbid—”

“Alpharetta, Georgia?” An older white woman ahead of us turns around, clasping her hands. “Don’t mean to interrupt, but are y’all from there?”

“Yeah! I mean, I’m from Milton, which is pretty much—”

“Oh, I know it well. We’re from Woodstock.” She gestures to a guy wearing an FDNY T-shirt. “Bill, you won’t believe where these gentlemen are from. Milton, Georgia!”

“Well, how about that?” says Bill. “And you know, the young lady with the big puffy sleeves up there? She’s Australian!”

“Big New York energy,” Ben whispers.

“Shh!” I elbow him, and he elbows me back, and I can’t believe how different this feels from Dave & Buster’s, or even the post office. I spent all week reminding myself that the awkwardness between us was normal. Seeing your ex for the first time in almost two years isn’t exactly a chill situation, and meeting his new boyfriend? Whole new level of weird. But in this moment, it’s almost hard to remember the awkwardness ever existed. I feel as instantly at home with Ben as I always did.

The line moves quickly, and before I know it, we’re seated in the middle of a bank of identical rectangular tables, all barely an elbow’s distance apart. “Well, this is cozy,” says Ben, glancing sideways.

“You mean the fact that I could literally reach out and pull that lady’s ponytail?”

“That’s definitely what I meant. Touching strangers’ hair.”

We smile at each other.

“So,” I say.

“So.” He cups his chin in his hand. “No Jessie, huh?”

I make a face. “She’s at work.”

“On Memorial Day?”

“Can you believe it? She’s there catching up on paperwork. It’s tragic.”

“I would cry.”

“Oh, me too, for sure. I love my job and everything, but—” I stop short, looking up at Ben. “Wait, how do I not know what you’re up to this summer? Are you working?”