What If It's Us(31)

I have to write back. Holy shit. This is real.

Unless.

I stare at the message. Okay.

Okay.

So, it’s technically possible that someone’s trolling me. Which means I can’t get excited. Not yet.

I have to test him.

Hey Ben.

Ben. So you claim.

Thanks for your email. It’s very nice to meet you. Please answer the following question in detail: on the day of our meeting at the post office, what type of piercing did the postal employee have?

Send.

A minute later: Is this a joke?

Excuse me?

In detail? You sound like my teachers. Smiley face.

Okay, that’s rude, right?

I type quickly. Yeah . . . this actually isn’t a joke, so if you’re just here to make fun of me, please don’t.

Send.

But Ben doesn’t reply, for what feels like an hour.

“Wart, are you alive in there?”

Dad. I almost jump.

“Coming! Just—”

My phone buzzes. You think I’m making fun of you?

Well. Yeah.

Okay, wow. I’m sorry. I’m not, I promise.

My stomach flips. Okay.

Look, do you want to just call me? I think maybe that would work better.

He wants me to call him. Like an actual phone call. With Benjamin. Ben. Who isn’t making fun of me. Of course he’s isn’t. He’s Ben. He would never.

He sends me his number.

I click call. And it’s ringing. This is happening. This is— “Hey.”

Oh my God.

“Is this Arthur?” His voice sounds muffled. “Hold on.”

I hear shuffling and footsteps. Then a door closing.

“Okay, sorry. It’s just—my friend. Anyway, listen. I’m not making fun of your email. It just—I don’t know. It sounded like something a teacher would write. It was cute.”

“Teachers aren’t cute.”

That makes him laugh. Which makes me smile. But I can’t tell if it’s him. I can’t tell if Ben’s my guy. I was so sure I’d recognize his voice. I thought I’d know him as soon as I heard it.

“You never answered my question,” I say.

“Right.”

“I’m not trying to be a jerk. It’s just that I’ve been getting lots of responses from random people, and—I guess I need to know it’s really you.”

He pauses. “Well, I don’t remember the piercing.”

“Oh.”

“But I can send you a selfie if you want. And you were wearing that hot dog tie. And there was a flash mob and those twin guys wearing rompers and I think I called you a tourist? Oh, and you mentioned your Jewish uncle—”

“Milton.” My heart is thudding.

“Right.” Then he seems to stop short. “So it’s you.”

For a moment, I’m speechless.

“I’m kind of flipping out,” I say finally.

“Yeah. This is weird.”

It’s beyond weird. It’s astonishing. It’s the New York moment of my dreams. The lovers are reunited. Cue the orchestra. Box Boy is real.

He’s real. And he’s Ben. And he found me.

“I can’t believe this. I told you the universe isn’t an asshole. I told you!”

“I guess the universe did do us a solid.”

“No kidding.” I grin into my phone. “So now what?”

He pauses. “What do you mean?”

Oh shit. Okay. Maybe he doesn’t want to meet. Maybe this is it. This call. It’s the end of the line for us. Maybe he was interested until he heard me on the phone. Because I talk too fast. Ethan told me that once. He asked me, When do you even breathe?

“What do I mean?” I ask finally.

“I mean . . . Do you want to hang out again?” He says it just like that. Emphasis on “you.” As if I haven’t made that crystal clear. Like, come on, my dude. I put up a poster to find you. I think you know where I stand.

“Do you—” I start to ask, but now we’re both speaking at once. I blush. “You go first.”

“Oh, it’s just.” I almost hear him bite his lower lip. “I gotta ask. Are those your real eyes?”

“What?”

“Those are contacts, right?”

“I wear . . . clear contacts.”

“So, your eyes are that blue.”

“I guess so?”

“Huh,” he says. “That’s really cool.”

“Um. Thank you?”

He laughs. And then falls silent.

“So . . . ,” I say.

“Right.” He pauses. “So how do we do this?”

“Arthur?” calls my dad.

I slide quickly out of bed, nudge my door shut, and lock it. “How do we do what?”

“The hanging-out thing. Should we—”

“Yeah,” I say, too quickly. Deep breath. “I mean. If you want.”

“Sure,” Ben says. “Want to grab coffee?”

Coffee. Really? I mean, technically, yes. I’d grab coffee with Ben. I’d sit in traffic with Ben and hang out with him at the DMV. But this feels bigger than coffee. I’m pretty sure this is fate. Like we were meant to meet, meant to lose each other, and meant to find each other all over again. So this date has to be extraordinary. This date needs scavenger hunts and carriage rides and fireworks and Ferris wheels.