Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(36)

“A little. Mostly just writing, though.” He leans forward. “I want to hear about your fancy theater internship. Your boss is kind of a big deal, right?”

I sit up straighter. “Kind of, yeah. I mean, I don’t know how many people outside the queer arts scene have heard of him, but he’s won a bunch of awards.”

“Wow. Is he pretty hands-on? Like, do you get to talk to him and stuff?”

“Oh, definitely. Like, I mostly work with Taj, his assistant, but Jacob’s really chill. I ask him questions all the time.”

“That’s so fucking cool,” Ben says. “You must be pinching yourself. Your actual dream job.”

“I know.” I bite my lip. “I’m kind of bad at it though. I’m constantly messing up.”

Ben smiles a little. “I doubt that.”

“For real! It’s because there’s so much organization involved—like spreadsheets and keeping track of things, and I suck at that. Like, you should see Taj. He sorts emails into folders. He has a bullet journal.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s just a fancy journal and organizer. I don’t know, he has a whole system for it. He’s just so on top of everything. Like, you ask him when a package is arriving, and he’s like, ‘Want the tracking number?’”

“I hate tracking numbers,” Ben says.

“Me too!”

“Okay, so what about your role? Is it mostly the spreadsheets, or do you ever get to do director stuff?”

“Director stuff?”

“Like yelling into a megaphone? I don’t know.” He clocks my expression and laughs. “Is that not a thing?”

“Oh, it’s my whole job. Just yelling in megaphones. For hours.” He wrinkles his nose at me. “Yeah, no. It’s more the spreadsheets . . . I basically just do whatever Taj tells me to do. Like on Friday I had to go through all this makeup inventory to get rid of all the expired stuff. That kind of thing.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Ben says.

“Until I squirted it on Jacob.”

“Um. What?”

“Like, Jacob came over to ask us something, and I’m holding this bottle of foundation made for the whitest of white people. And I guess I was just antsy or something, because I don’t even realize I’m pressing up and down on this bottle pump until this goopy blob splooges out and lands on his thigh—”

“Hiiii! Welcome to Eileen’s Galaxy Diner. I’m Kat. Can I take your drink order?” I look up to find a ponytailed waitress smiling sweetly as she sets a pair of menus on the table. “Or should I come back once you’re done talking about—”

“Makeup!” I say quickly. “Not—you know. The squirt was makeup. The kind you rub on your face? Like, for skin?”

“Should you be rubbing foreskins on your face?” Kat asks.

Ben laughs so hard he can barely order his coffee, and he instantly declares Kat to be his all-time favorite waitress. I grab a menu, mostly to have something to hide behind. Scanning the list of options makes me hungry already—omelets, grilled cheese, milkshakes.

But then I look at the prices.

“Um. Ben?”

His eyes pop up adorably over his menu.

“I forgot how expensive this place is.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of how it goes with these tourist-trap places.”

“We don’t have to eat here. Why don’t we go grab bagels or something?”

“No, look! They have bagels!” Ben flips his menu around, pointing.

“I mean a bagel that doesn’t cost double digits.”

“Arthur, it’s fine. I knew what I was getting into.”

I study his face, trying to read between the lines of his expression. He seems sincere—but I’m never quite sure how to step when it comes to money stuff with Ben. It would be so much easier if I could just pay for his meal—but that feels so boyfriendy, like I’m trying to encroach on Mario’s territory. Not that Mario seemed territorial. Honestly, Ben’s probably the one feeling territorial, now that I’ve apparently confessed my love for Mario via claw-machine teddy bear. Because I’m—I can’t emphasize this enough—a full goddamn disaster.

“So, what’s up with Mario?” I ask.

Ben looks taken aback. “You mean—”

“Sorry.” I blush. “I just mean what’s he up to today? Why is he not having fancy bagels with us?”

“Oh!” Ben says. “He’s in LA. Visiting his uncle.”



“Oh, right! He mentioned that.”

Kat shows up with Ben’s coffee. “Are you guys ready, or do you need more time to . . . ?” She waves her hands around vaguely.

“Ready!” I shoot her a nice big not-talking-about-splooge-and-foreskins-this-time smile. I end up going for the challah French toast, which sounds great until Ben orders something five dollars cheaper off the appetizer menu. So then I go around in circles for a second, trying to decide if changing my order would make Ben feel more or less self-conscious.

“Why are you making your panic face?” Ben asks as soon as Kat leaves.

“What? I’m not!” I clasp my hands and tuck them under my chin. “Anyway! How’s the coffee?”