What If It's Us(86)

My heart sinks. “Oh.”

“Sorry to be a downer.”

“No.” I kiss his head. “You’re being real with me, just like you said.”

He nods.

“But I hate this.”

“Me too,” he says softly.

“Hey. Come here.” I shift over to lie down, and then I pull him down with me—chest to chest, limbs in a tangle. He tucks his head in the crook of my neck and sniffs, and my heart beats in triple time. He’s so palpably sad. It almost catches me off guard.

I pull back, and for a moment, I just study his face—the thick eyelashes fanning across his flushed cheeks, the constellation of freckles on his nose. It’s one of those silences that’s so thick, it feels solid. I press my lips to his forehead.

Deep breath.

“So,” I ask finally, “what happens in two days?”

Ben pauses. “I don’t know.”

“I move back to Georgia.”

He catches my gaze. “I’ve never had a long-distance boyfriend.”

“I’ve never had any kind of boyfriend until you,” I say. “I don’t even know how it works.”

“How what works?”

“Time apart.” My hands linger on his jawline. “Like in movies, it’s just a montage. You know, they’re pining, maybe they talk on the phone a few times, someone gets a haircut or grows a beard or whatever, so you can see the passage of time. But I don’t know if that’s realistic. I kind of think we’d just FaceTime and text and miss each other a lot. And maybe masturbate on the phone with each other sometimes. Is that a thing?”

Ben looks taken aback. “Um. I have no idea.”

“But then what if it goes south? Like, I’ll be the guy who’s sad, drunk, and alone, and you’ll be going to raves and kissing boys, and I’ll try to call, but you’ll be in a sex den with a bunch of hot guys with celebrity parents, but they’re all dead around the eyes, and there’s probably cocaine—”

“Jesus, Arthur. You realize I spend ninety-nine percent of my time writing about wizards and playing The Sims, right?”

“I know.”

“You just have no filter, do you?”

“None.”

He kisses my cheek. “Okay, I have to go do something now.”

“Ooh, what? Is it a secret? Should I close my eyes?”

“You don’t have to close your eyes. Just hang tight. Listen to three Dear Evan Hansen songs, and I’ll be ready.”

I sit up straight, beaming. “You got it!”

But I’m barely past Zoe’s part in “Only Us” when my FaceTime app pops up with a call.

I press accept. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetie!” She’s in the most generic-looking hotel room I’ve ever seen in my life. Stark white bedding, plush headboard, framed picture of the beach. “How did the surprise go?”

“It was great.”

“What are Ethan and Jessie like as a couple? I can’t picture it.”

“Oh, they’re the worst,” I start to say, but then my bedroom door creaks open.

And I lose the ability to speak.

Because—wow. Wow. There’s my boyfriend. Wearing only boxers. Looking straight at me like— “You okay, sweetie?” Mom asks.

Ben’s hand flies over his mouth. He scurries back into my room, yanking the door shut behind him.

“I’ve got to go, Mom. Sorry.” I end the call before she can ask why.

When I walk into my room, my bed’s covered in heart stickers, with a line of tea lights trailing from my door. And then there’s Ben, perched in the middle of the bottom bunk, next to his laptop. “I didn’t light the candles. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to set your apartment on fire. And Duane Reade didn’t have rose petals, so I went with stickers.”

“Ben.”

“I know it looks ridiculous—”

“It’s perfect.”

“You like it?” The corners of his mouth quirk up.

“I love everything in this room,” I tell him. “Every single thing.”





Chapter Thirty-Six


Ben


This morning I got to wake up next to Arthur, and I can’t believe there was almost a world where that never happened. I felt the same way last night when we were passing out with my face pressed against his shoulder, breathing in his T-shirt. And this afternoon we’re lying on our sides, shirtless, with our locked hands resting between our faces.

“We seriously don’t have to do this,” I say. “We don’t know what’s next for us and . . . It’s a big moment. You can’t take it back. It’s okay if you want to wait for someone else and—”

“You’re the only one I want to do this with, Ben. Do you want to?”

“So much.”

“Me too. I just . . . I don’t know how to . . .”

“I know.”

“I know you know. Just be patient with me.”

“Of course.” If Arthur psyches himself out like last time, I’ll be cool with it. I just never want him to feel uncomfortable. I kiss his knuckles. “I love you.”