Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(4)

First Belvedere Castle and now this woman. It’s like the universe is flashing Arthur Seuss’s name in Broadway neon lights.

I haven’t spoken to Arthur in months, but I have to tell him.

I record a quick video of the bride walking toward the groom on my phone. Dylan and Samantha snuggle together as they watch. I open my chat with Arthur—the last text I got from him was on my birthday, April 7. I didn’t respond because, well . . . yeah. I didn’t have it in me then because everything was going so well for him with his new boyfriend, and I wasn’t trying to pretend my birthday was a happy one. I should’ve said something, though, because now I feel weird saying anything.

It’s like we don’t know each other anymore.

I go on Instagram, where I’ve had his profile muted for my own sanity. It hurt too much to go online and find pictures of Happy Arthur and Happy Mikey being Happy Arthur-and-Mikey. I needed to create some space for myself; life was stressful enough with school and feeling cramped at home and lonely without Dylan or a boyfriend of my own.

Going to Arthur’s profile is like ripping off a Band-Aid.

His blue eyes are piercing as ever in his circular profile picture. The most recent pictures on his feed include one of a box in his dorm room, then a Stacey Abrams quote (“No matter where we end up, we’ve grown from where we began”), a throwback of young Arthur with his mom, and Arthur and Mikey holding up a Playbill in their college’s theater—which sends blood rushing into my head. Then my chest tightens when I see a selfie of Arthur holding up the postcard of Central Park that I gave him when we said goodbye two summers ago; written on the back is a sexual scene between our The Wicked Wizard War characters, Ben-Jamin and King Arturo, for his eyes only.

Why is he taking a picture with that?

I read the post:

Arthur Seuss’s upcoming tour stop—New York City! May 17

He’s coming back.

Tomorrow.

He used a postcard from our past to announce his future.



There’s a lot of love in the comments from Mikey and his best friend, Jessie, and his former colleague Namrata. I’m the only asshole in New York who hasn’t shown any excitement. I feel weird liking it now. Though what if this is the best first step to reconnecting? Knowing our luck, we’re bound to bump into each other at some point. The only time New York kept us apart was when I was here and he wasn’t.

I like the post. And even though I’m standing still, my heart is racing like I’m running.

Before I can leave a comment, Dylan snatches my phone. “Love is happening, Ben!”

“We can’t even hear them—”

“Feel the love, Ben, feel the love.”

“I actually saw this proposal happen.”

“Really?” Samantha asks.

“The day I met Arthur. Remember that flash mob I told you about? It was all for these two.”

During the chaos of that moment, I left. My breakup with Hudson was really fresh, and even though I had a fun debate about the universe with Arthur, I wasn’t expecting anything to come out of that. Not once did I think I was going to fall in love with the boy wearing a hot dog tie.

“That’s some luck stumbling into their wedding,” Samantha says.

More like the universe at work.

“They’re so young,” I say. “What are they, early twenties?”

“Engaged for two summers,” Samantha whispers, like she’s trying to hear the vows. “Must be real.”

“My parents got married young,” Dylan says. “That all worked out.”

“Your mother hates your father,” Samantha says.

“She hates that he chews with his mouth open, never replaces the toilet paper roll, lies about his taxes, and wakes her up in the middle of the night to talk about his dreams before he forgets them. But she doesn’t hate him.”

I know his parents—there’s a little hate going on there.

I can’t believe I’m witnessing the Post Office Woman’s wedding. When they exchange their first kiss as married people, we cheer for them like they’re old friends, even though she was really rude to me. I never thought this would be the first wedding I’d attend. Maybe I can use this in a story one day.

Then, suddenly, everything goes dark as hands cover my eyes, and a familiar voice says, “Guess who, Ben Hugo Alejo.”

“Someone very super,” I say.

Mario removes his hands. “Don’t you forget it.”

I spin and take him in. This is one of those days where I’m kind of breathless at how effortlessly beautiful he is. He’s not just photogenic, he’s beautiful IRL, too. His hazel eyes are so pretty, even if they didn’t instantly catch my attention like Arthur’s blue eyes. But the closer Mario and I have gotten the past month, the more they strike me. Some attractions take more time to grow and aren’t any less great because of it.

“The Mario to Ben’s Luigi,” Dylan says.

“The Duke Dill to Ben’s Ben-Jamin,” Mario says, going straight in for a hug like he and Dylan already know each other. We’ve talked about how our Puerto Rican parents have raised us to be very affectionate, even with strangers, something we’re trying to be more mindful about out of respect for other people’s personal boundaries. Though these two seem magnetized to each other. Mario turns to Samantha. “And you, world-renowned book cover designer.”