Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(85)

“We won’t, but making new friends is part of the adventure. It’s the experience you were wanting by going away for college. Everyone you love will be here when you get back. So what’s scaring you?”

He’s right. Back to my box metaphor, sometimes things go in storage for a bit. You don’t take them with you, but you don’t throw them away either. They’re waiting for you when you get home. That’s the case for my family. Dylan and Samantha.

But not everyone I love will be here whenever I come back.

“What if it doesn’t work out?” I ask.

“What if what doesn’t work out?”

“Us,” I say.

I’m so used to being the one trying to remember a word in Spanish that I’ve never seen Mario speechless.

“It’s just, we’ve never even talked about being boyfriends, Mario. And soon I’m going home to pack boxes to follow you across the country.”

“I don’t see it as you following me across the country. It’s you escaping the city that you’ve said numerous times is suffocating you.”

“I guess I’m worried that moving somewhere else isn’t going to help me breathe either.”

Mario keeps starting sentences, then stopping. He definitely isn’t prepared for this conversation. Even I wasn’t planning on bringing any of this up. For so long I’ve wanted to make sure that I don’t disturb our flow because I want him to want me, to see that I’m not complicated. It’s so hard to come by guys like him. We’re so compatible that it feels like we were made for each other. But then why doesn’t this decision feel easier?

“It’s not too late for you to back out,” he says. “If you decide to stay here, though, I’m not sure I have it in me to do long-distance.”

Am I going to have as many regrets about Mario as I do about Arthur if I don’t follow him? I’m not sure I want to find out. It took so long to recover from that breakup that I don’t want to find myself in another one again—official or not.

“I hear you,” I say.

Then it’s really quiet. It probably isn’t even for that long, but it’s uncomfortable. I feel like I’ve messed up. Like I should’ve shut up, been happy, and let everything play out.

“We can keep talking about this,” Mario says.

“No, I’m good. It’s just a big week with Dylan’s wedding, too.”

“You also just found out he has a kid on the way. It’s a lot, Alejo.”

“I’m scared of missing out on that, too.”

“They’ll be one flight away. It’s Los Angeles, not Mars,” he says with his first smile since this conversation took a turn.

The thing is, Los Angeles might as well be Mars. Not having the money to hop on a plane whenever I want might as well mean that my best friend is planets away.

“Totally,” I say so I don’t rock the boat anymore.

I’m going to make all of this work. I’ll get a job out in Los Angeles. I’ll create a special savings account specifically for trips to New York. I’ll finish my book and hopefully sell it for a lot of money, and I can have the best of both worlds.

“It’s your life to live, Alejo,” Mario says, resting his hands on my shoulders. “Just make sure you’re living it for yourself and not anyone else.”





Chapter Thirty-Four


Arthur

Tuesday, July 7




The evening drizzle turns to rain as soon as I reach Tompkins Square Park. I should have known the universe would come through with the perfect finishing touch on this shitpile of a moment. This could be the last time I’m alone with Ben Alejo for the rest of my life, and now I get to show up sopping wet and panting, like a sad, gay Mr. Darcy.

I make a run for the first structure I see—half gazebo, half statue, with the word “CHARITY” engraved in all caps near its roof. There’s a water fountain in the middle, and the rain creeps in through its wide-open sides. But it’s enough shelter to protect my phone and Ben’s present, so it’s good enough for now.

My hands are shaking, so I call instead of texting. “Hey! Sorry—okay, wow, the rain’s really loud. Can you hear me?”

“You okay?” Ben asks. “Where are you?”

“Tompkins Square Park, and it’s pouring. But I’m in a gazebo, so I’m just going to wait it out for a bit—”

“A gazebo . . .” He pauses. “Is there a bronze lady on top?”

“Yes! And a bunch of virtuous words.”

He laughs. “Okay, wait right there. I’ll grab an umbrella and come get you.”

“What? Ben, no—”

“Already on my way. See you in a sec!”

Staring at the rain lulls me into such a glassy-eyed daze, I don’t even notice Ben until he’s right in front of me, holding a peacock-patterned umbrella. He smiles when he catches me eyeing it. “It’s my mom’s. It’s so extra, I know, but it’s the biggest one I could find.”

“No, I love it,” I say. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

“Of course,” he says, lifting the umbrella so I can slip under. Then he pulls it back down about an inch above his head and half a foot or so above mine, like a little nylon-and-metal cocoon. I’m acutely aware of how close he’s standing—only my messenger bag hangs between us.