What If It's Us(18)

“Arthur, you are something else,” says Namrata. Translation: I nailed it.

Juliet ruffles my hair. “Want to grab lunch with us?” Translation: I super nailed it.

I’m so happy, I could sing. If the girls and I are lunch friends now, we’re probably on track for tasteful matching BFF tattoos by next week. And then they’ll introduce me to cute law school boys, cuter than Hudson, and I’ll never go home. I’ll just stay here in New York with my awesome new squad. My new best friends. I mean, who even needs Waffle House? I’ll just be here grabbing business lunch in New York fucking City, the culinary center of the universe. Ethan and Jessie can spend the rest of their lives eating at chain restaurants. From now on, I’ll only eat at farm-fresh artisan food trucks and iconic celebrity delis.

“I’ve always wanted to try Tavern on the Green,” I say.

“Arthur, we have thirty minutes.”

“Sardi’s?”

“How about Panera?”

I gasp. “I love Panera.”

“Yeah, I figured,” says Namrata, throwing back a fistful of candy corn.

Five minutes later, we hit the streets, and I can’t get over how different the girls are outside the office. They’re so open. Up until today, most of my Namrata and Juliet intel came from one of three sources: eavesdropping, Instagram, and my mom. Now I know Juliet’s a dancer and Namrata’s a vegetarian, and they hated each other their whole first year of law school, but now they’re best friends and they go on runs together and eat cupcakes, and neither of them has skipped a single reading for any class ever. All this before we’re even in line at Panera.

“I’m beyond disgusted,” Namrata’s telling Juliet. “I was like, you know what? That’s fine, don’t call them out, but guess what. I’m done spending the night there. Sorry, David, but dinosaur porn crosses a line for me.”

Juliet moans. “Ewwww.”

“Wait, who’s David? And why is he into dinosaur porn?”

Okay, real talk: I hate when people drop a random name like I’m supposed to magically know it.

“No, it’s David’s roommates,” Juliet explains.

“And they’re not only into dinosaur porn,” adds Namrata, “but they’re actually creating their own—I’m not even kidding—dinosaur porn webcomic. Which—okay, you do you. But then they leave their sketches in the fucking living room, and I’m like, David, can I please not have to look at this picture of a T. rex getting himself off?”

“But . . . T. rex arms.” Juliet looks baffled. “How?”

“Seriously, who’s David?” I ask.

Namrata looks amused. “My boyfriend.”

“You have a boyfriend?”

“They’ve been dating for six years,” Juliet says.

“What? No way.” I turn to Juliet. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“I have a girlfriend,” Juliet says.

“You’re a lesbian?”

“Next,” says the guy behind the counter.

Juliet steps up and orders a soup. Then she turns back to me and says, “Well, I’m biromantic ace, which means—”

“I know, I know. But you never mentioned it. Why don’t you guys ever tell me anything?”

“We tell you to get back to work,” says Juliet. “We tell you that a lot.”

“But you never tell me about your love lives. I’ve told you every single thing about Hudson, and I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend! And I definitely didn’t know Namrata had a boyfriend named David who draws dinosaur porn.”

“No, David’s roommates draw dinosaur porn,” Namrata interjects, drifting back from the counter. “That is a critical piece of information. Arthur, you’re up. Go order your PB and J Happy Meal.”

“Pssh. I’m getting grilled cheese. Grown-up grilled cheese.”

Namrata pats my head. “Very sophisticated.”

“Hudson,” someone says over a microphone, and I freeze. Namrata and Juliet freeze. The whole world freezes. “Hudson, your order’s ready.”

“Arthur.” Juliet presses a hand to her mouth.

“It’s not him.”

“How do you know?”

“It can’t be him. That would be too weird. Like, what are the odds?” I shake my head. “It’s some other Hudson.”

“We’re near the post office,” says Juliet. “He probably works around here or lives here or something. It’s not really that common of a name.”

“Yeah, we’re going up there,” Namrata says.

“No way. That’s shady!”

“No it’s not.” She gives me a not-so-gentle yank toward the pickup counter. Standing with his back to us is a boy in jeans and a fitted polo shirt—white, taller than me, hair totally covered by a backward baseball cap. “Is that him?”

“I don’t know.”

“YO, HUDSON,” Namrata says loudly.

My heart stops.

And the boy turns around, looking slightly apprehensive. “Do I know you?” he asks Namrata.

It’s not him.

It’s not Hudson. Well, apparently it is Hudson, or at least he answers to Hudson, but he’s not my Hudson, if my Hudson’s even a Hudson in the first place. My head’s kind of swirling. This Hudson isn’t terrible-looking. He’s got really nice cheekbones and incredible eyebrows. He’s staring at us now, looking bewildered, and I’m absolutely pissing-my-pants mortified.