Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(90)

Or, in Ben’s case, you don’t.

All I can do is plod through my longest-ever workday. Even if everything runs on time, dress rehearsal won’t be over until eight thirty tonight. And thanks to the scheduling glitch, we have to strike the set right after and bring everything back to the studio for a week. It kind of makes me wonder why Jacob’s bothering with a full dress rehearsal in the first place. So much effort and care poured into this thing that ends almost as soon as it starts.

I check my texts again. Nothing.

Pretty sure it’s time for someone to take this phone away from me and bury it. Way past time. Pretty sure the right time was when my mom texted me a picture of my aunt’s new puppy this morning and I cried, because apparently I’ve reached the fuck-you-puppy-you’re-not-Ben stage of heartbreak.

Forty hours and counting. I think I might be losing my mind. Did my big rom-com confession even happen? Did I dream it? Is Ben trying to make me think I dreamed it? He’s just never going to mention it, is he? Is that even allowed? Who would do that?

Something stops short in my brain.

Me. I would do that. In fact, it’s exactly what I fucking did.

Three weeks. I went three weeks without giving Mikey an answer, and when I finally did, I was a wishy-washy asshole about it. And then he took a train to New York, grabbed a mic, and put his heart on the line in front of a roomful of strangers. At which point I promptly stomped all over it and never once looked back.

“So, let me know,” Taj says brightly.

I look up. “Sorry—what?”

“Starbucks? Full offense, you look like you could use it. Mocha frappe with extra whipped cream, right? What size?”

“Tall, I guess?”

“Let’s go with venti,” he says. “Just in case Jacob decides to change all the sound cues, too.”

“Oh God. Why?”

“Because he’s Jacob?” Taj shrugs. “You’ll get used to it, though. Trust me, by next summer, you’ll be anticipating his every move.”

“Next summer?”

“He already submitted a grant application so we can pay you properly,” Taj says. “If you’re up for it, of course.”

My mouth falls open. “Like a do-over?”

“More like a well-deserved encore,” Taj says, ruffling my hair.

Forty-one hours. I’m staring at my text app again, but now it’s Mikey’s name I’m stuck on. The last dozen messages in our thread are all in blue. All from me.

I can’t really blame him.

Intellectually, I’ve always sort of known Mikey was the one who’d fallen harder, but I’m not sure I fully believed it. It just seemed a little ridiculous that anyone could like me that much. I don’t leave that kind of a mark. Or I didn’t think I did.

I should call him.

Or not. Definitely not. I don’t want to put Mikey on the spot. Texting’s better. That way he can take his time with it, or reply with emojis or something. Maybe he won’t even write back.

I stare at the empty text box for a full fucking minute.

Hey, I write finally.

No immediate response, but that’s fine.

I keep going. I know you’re probably busy with Robbie’s wedding, so no need to respond to this right away

Or ever

Seriously, no pressure at all

I just wanted to say again that I’m so fucking sorry. The more I think about how I treated you, the more horrified I am.

And like

You were SO honest with me, and I can’t imagine how it must have felt when I left you hanging. I wish I’d been braver

And more self-aware

Wish I’d taken better care of your beautiful heart

I’m so sorry, Mikey Mouse.

I press send—and as soon as I tap out of my texts, a notification pops up from my photo app.

July 9. Two years ago, today.

Skyscrapers, shot from such a low angle, they seem to tip over. A flare of brightness peeking through the background. I remember this moment so clearly, I practically feel the sun on my cheeks.

The Arthur who took that picture didn’t know he was on his way to the post office. He didn’t know he was minutes away from meeting a boy with a box.





Chapter Thirty-Seven


Ben

Thursday, July 9




I haven’t been to Hudson’s in almost a year and a half.

I buzz the intercom and I’m still surprised he’s letting me in.

The lobby hasn’t changed much. Packages left in front of the mailbox. A smudgy mirror. The elevator has maintained its lemony scent. The dim hallway leading to his apartment always smells like someone’s making dinner, no matter the time of day, but fitting for this early evening. I ring the doorbell that’s still as loud as ever.

My heart is pounding as the door unlocks and opens. Hudson is wearing glasses, which is a first. They look really good on him.

“Hey, Ben.”

“Hey.”

Hudson invites me inside, but doesn’t open up his arms for a hug. I’m now incredibly uncomfortable inside this space that used to feel like a second home. But he doesn’t owe me a super-warm welcome, especially when he knows why I’m here. I’m grateful he’s not being so cold that he wasn’t willing to talk about my love life. Especially when he haven’t seen each other since last spring, when I bailed at the last minute on bowling for Harriett’s birthday.