Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(95)

With every kiss and every breath, I’m more and more confident that Arthur and I will never let anything separate us again. You could launch us to opposite ends of this solar system, and we’d find our way back to each other. The universe always wanted us together.

When we finish, I want to start all over. But I’m exhausted and poor Arthur is doing a terrible job fighting back his yawns.

“Go to sleep, Art.”

“You’re not going to be in LA when I wake up, right?”

“I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“That’s really”—Arthur fights another yawn and loses—“sweet.”

“Everywhere you go this summer, I go. And I hope you’ll follow me around too. Like maybe even to Dylan’s wedding. As my date.”

Arthur pops up like someone has dropped a bucket of ice cold water on him.

“I do—I will!”

Saturday, July 11

My best friend is getting married. And he needs deodorant.

“Benito Franklin, you were supposed to bring deodorant.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“As best man, you have to anticipate all my needs.”

“D, if you’re grown enough to get married, you’re grown enough to pack deodorant.”

We’re using the guest bathroom in House O’Malley, which is a lovely property in Sunnyside, Queens. I’m scared that my pants are going to split as I search every drawer for deodorant. That’s probably for the best. I’d be more grossed out about Dylan using a stranger’s than his own smell.

“Should I use toothpaste?” Dylan asks. He’s standing in nothing but boxers.

“D, it’s this kind of thinking that has me really relieved that you’re moving back here to raise your kid.” I go into the shower and grab Dylan’s soap. “Here. And don’t ask me to help you.”

Dylan dabs his armpits with the soap. “Worst best man ever.” He already showered, but the nerves sweats don’t care. He lifts his arm. “Better?”

“Your nose reaches your own armpit.”

“Strike two, best man. One more and you’re out of the wedding.”

“Like, I’m kicked off the grounds, or I can go sit with Arthur during the ceremony?”

“You’re obsessed with your future husband.”

“Don’t start,” I say, tying my tie as Arthur taught me.

“Marriage is a wonderful thing, Ben. You’ll love it.”

“You’re not married yet.”

“Still time for you to make your move on me.”

“I’m not going to be a homewrecker out of respect for Baby Boggs.”

“Ugh, this kid is cockblocking me already.”

We finish getting dressed and I help Dylan with his tie.

“Benny Rabbit?”

“Dylan Pickle?”

“I’m really happy for you.”

“Shut up. It’s your wedding day. I’m happy for you.”

“I know. I love you and I’m Team Arthur. Lock it down!”

I shake my head. Marriage isn’t on my mind just yet. But when that day comes, I know what team I’m on. “I’m happy you and Samantha are locking it down, D. I believe in you guys, and I’m so excited to hang out with your kid.”

“You better make a Wicked Wizards Jr. for them.”

We finish getting ready. Dylan looks so striking that he should really look into a modeling gig. His man bun is being held up by a medallion-yellow band that complements his pocket square. The black suit is a perfect fit.

“These pants do nothing for my ass,” Dylan says.

Near-perfect fit, I guess.

“You ready to do this, D?”

“Been ready for years, Ben.”

He holds my hand as we leave the guest bathroom, waiting a total of one second before thrusting at the air for his parents to see. Mr. and Mrs. Boggs, also known as Dale and Evelyn, are seriously two of the most normal people in the world. You can’t even curse around Evelyn without making her feel weird. And here we have Dylan acting like we just had sex in the bathroom. He was probably switched at birth. Which means somewhere in this world there’s a lowkey Dylan not living up to the crude humor of his wild parents.

I still wouldn’t trade our Dylan for anyone else.

(On most days.)

“You look very handsome, Dyl,” Evelyn says, fighting back tears. “You too, Ben.”

“The pants are hiding my ass,” Dylan says, like he’s expecting his mother to fix that.

“We’ve very proud of you, son,” Dale says, ignoring Dylan’s complaint; he’s had a lifetime of practice. He straightens Dylan’s tie.



Dylan hugs his parents. “Thanks for showing that I can do this.”

His mother cracks, crying her mascara off and rushing into the bathroom to clean up. His father squeezes Dylan’s shoulder before following his high school sweetheart.

“That was really sweet, D.”

“Special occasion. But that’s it!”

“I hope you’ve saved some nice stuff for your vows.”

“I’m going out there with a you’re-pregnant-so-I-got-to-marry-you-now template.”