Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(58)

Everyone’s exchanging stories, and as the bridge between Mario and my parents, I kind of know them all already. But I still pay attention when Mario starts talking about how his mother and father are both from Carolina in Puerto Rico and lived a couple towns apart but didn’t meet until they moved here to the States. There are all these new details, like how his mother was shopping for crystals at a flea market in Queens when she bumped into Mario’s father, who was shopping for his sister’s birthday. Mario’s mother helped him out, and after they got along, she asked for his number. They didn’t even know about their Carolina connection until their fourth date. It’s a really sweet story.

My parents ask Mario all about classes, and Mario and I quote our teacher’s most popular notes, stuff like Need? and I would cut whenever something is running long in our works. They want to know why he’s so willing to drop out of college, and he breaks it down for them the way he did with me. But it’s tricky for my parents to understand because they’re not creatives like we are.

“Following your heart can have its consequences,” Pa says.

Mario nods. “I think it’s less about following my heart and more about understanding that my heart is dragging me somewhere.”

I never thought of it that way before. It’s technically a choice to pursue his dreams, but deep, deep down, it’s not. It’s magnetic and inevitable. That’s how it feels for me with telling stories. I didn’t just wake up one day wanting to write—I just started doing it.

This is making a lot of sense to me. My parents are nodding along, too, like they’ve made peace with Mario’s decision. Totally helps that he’s not their son.

Once we’ve devoured dinner, Ma surprises us with churros with caramel dipping sauces. As Mario talks about the stages of getting a TV show picked up, I think back to that time I was out with Arthur and I introduced him to churros. It led to an important conversation between us about what it means for me to be white-passing and Puerto Rican, something I never had to educate Mario on since he’s in the same boat. Arthur was really amazing about all of that moving forward. That’s not a surprise given how big his heart is. And he taught me about Jewish stuff, too. I remember senior year, when we talked for three hours straight on Yom Kippur, because Arthur was fasting and needed me to distract him. He said Yom Kippur was all about owning up to your bullshit and vowing to do better, and I loved the way he laughed when I said it sounded like the ultimate do-over.

Of course, a year later, Mikey was the only distraction he needed.

Mario squeezes my shoulder. “Once Alejo here publishes his book, maybe I’ll be able to adapt it for film.”

“Yes, please,” Ma says. “Benito, I promise to watch the movie without asking a million questions.”

“?Mentirosa!” Pa says.

It takes me a second. Then I remember the meaning. “Liar?”

“Ayyy!” Mario says. “?Buen trabajo!”

Pa holds up the plate with the last churro. “Mario, my gift to you.”

“Muchas gracias,” Mario says. He splits the churro with me.

I catch my parents smiling.

It’s getting late, so after we finish our dessert, Mario helps clean up the kitchen. He says bye to my parents, telling them in Spanish that he hopes to see them soon. Ma and Pa say they’d like that, too. That means a lot to me, especially coming from Pa.

I go downstairs with Mario, barely even thinking about the time Arthur burst into tears and kissed me on the second-floor landing, because he’d just Google Translated “estoy enamorado.”

“I love them, Alejo,” Mario says. “My parents are fantastic, but between all my brothers it’s hard to get that kind of attention at home. I see why you wouldn’t want to leave them.”

“Too much attention can be a problem. I’m ready for some more privacy.”

“Look, if this show moves forward, then LA could be a real chance for you to reboot your life. I meant it when I invited you there. I would really like it if you were out there with me.”

“I think I would, too.”

I kiss him out on the street and think about kissing him in Los Angeles, on streets where I’ve never kissed Arthur.





Chapter Twenty-Two


Arthur

Sunday, June 14




Jessie scowls into her light-up tabletop mirror. “Remind me why I’m doing this.”

“Because Namrata talked you into it, and you can’t say no to her.” I smile back at her from the bottom bunk. “Jess, this is how lawyers mate in the wild. The junior associates set up their interns, who then become junior associates who set up their interns—”

“I’m breaking the cycle. No blind brunch dates for my interns. Mark my words.” She squeezes a blob of makeup onto her fingertips with emphatic finality.

“You know how hard I’m going to laugh if this guy turns out to be your soul mate?” I tug up Jessie’s pillow, pinning it against the wall with my head. “Okay, let’s run through what we know about him. Grayson, age twenty, goes to Brandeis, from New York.”

“Long Island. Montauk.”

“Montauk! Taj was just there. His pictures were amazing.” I press my palms to the top bunk’s slatted bed frame. “You should have your wedding by the big lighthouse!”