Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(40)

I can’t kiss him. Mikey’s so shy about PDA, and it doesn’t get much more public than the main terminal of Penn Station. But him being here feels like the first few steps off a roller coaster, when solid ground feels brand-new.

Good. This is good. The math checks out. Two weeks without Mikey equals I’m so fucking glad that he’s here. I’m feeling everything I’m supposed to feel. Nothing off-kilter. No weird doubts or unspoken questions. Nothing but— Is it cool if we see Ben tonight?

Hey, so Ben’s meeting us for ice cream.

It’ll be fine. I’m not even worried, you know? We’ll talk it out on the subway ride home, and it will be sorted before we even reach Columbus Circle.

Except Columbus Circle comes and goes, and then Lincoln Center comes and goes, and then we’re on Seventy-Second Street, turning the corner past Citarella, and I still haven’t told him.

It’s not that I was avoiding the topic. But the subway was crowded and sweaty, and Mikey looked so wide-eyed and overwhelmed. And now he’s in the middle of telling me about this eighth-grade overnight choir trip, his only other time in New York. Chatty Mikey, his rarest and most fascinating natural form. No way am I going to derail this. I don’t even cut in to tell him we’ve reached my building—I just take out my key and slip it into the lock while he talks.

But the minute we’re alone in the lobby, I kiss him so hard he drops his roses.

I can hardly believe he’s here. Real-life Mikey, in all three dimensions. In New York. In this building. It’s like running into your math teacher at Publix, or seeing a bird fly in through your window. It just doesn’t seem scientifically possible that I could be kissing Mikey in the same place I pick up mail for my great-uncle Milton.

When we finally resurface, Mikey’s adorably flustered.

“Okay!” I say, slightly breathless. “That’s the lobby.”

Mikey picks his bouquet off the floor. “So far, so good.”

On the elevator, we’re weirdly shy around each other. Mikey keeps getting startled by his own reflection in the mirrored elevator walls, and I keep smiling down at my phone, thinking about how Jessie’s not usually home for another hour or so. And, of course, we’re not meeting Ben until nine. Which I’ll tell Mikey about momentarily. For real this time. I’ll tell him the minute we’re settled in at home.

The elevator lands on the third floor with a ding, and I grab Mikey’s suitcase. But the moment my hand grazes the knob of 3A, the door swings wide open.

“Hey! Sorry!” Jessie props the door open, smiling brightly. “I don’t want to get in your way. Just dropped off my laptop. I’m meeting Namrata and Juliet for appetizers. Anyway, Mikey! Hi! I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Glad to be here.” He smiles shyly.

“Remind me, what time are you meeting up with Ben?” she asks, turning to me.

My stomach drops. “Um. We haven’t really . . .”

Jessie’s eyebrows shoot up, the world’s most crystal clear What the fuck, Arthur? expression.

Mikey doesn’t say a word, even after she leaves. He just follows me into the apartment, where I jerk the door shut too loudly and then fumble around with the light switches. My heart’s pounding so hard, I can practically taste it. “Hey. So. I was just about to tell you.”

He’s staring down at the floor, his expression inscrutable. When he speaks at last, his voice is as faint as a ghost. “You’re doing something with Ben tonight?”

“We!” I say quickly. “Oh my God, not like, without you. Here, sorry, I don’t mean to make you stand in the foyer.” I laugh weakly, spreading my arms. “Welcome to Uncle Milton’s apartment.”

Mikey nods stiffly.

“Are you thirsty? I could get you some water or, I don’t know. I think there might be Coke—”

“I’m fine.” He looks pointedly away from me.

“Okay.” I cross the room, sinking into the love seat, scooting to one side to make room. “Can we talk about it?”

He doesn’t reply, but he sets his flowers on the table and settles in beside me, his back perfectly straight. When I take his hand, he doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t lean into it either. There’s no trace of the flustered softness from the lobby. I study his profile. “Mikey.”

He’s staring at his knees. “So we’re seeing Ben. Tonight.”

“I know it’s not ideal. It’s just, we have the show tomorrow afternoon, and then Ben’s got dinner with Dylan, and then Mario gets back from his trip, and you leave so early on Sunday, so—”

“Tonight’s the night. Got it.”

“Not until later. And it’s only for dessert, and I think you’re going to like the place I picked.” I squeeze his hand, but he doesn’t look up. I hesitate. “I just really want you guys to meet each other, you know? It’s important to me.”

Mikey meets my eyes at last. “Why?”

“Because you’re important to me? I don’t know. He’s my friend, and I want him to meet the guy who makes me really, really happy. Okay?”

His expression softens. “Okay.”

“Mikey Mouse, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung this on you literally the second you walked in the door.”