What If It's Us
Page 49
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“What is he doing here?” Arthur asks.
Hudson takes a step back. “I’ll give you a sec.”
“Ben. Why is he here?”
“He’s in summer school too.”
Arthur looks like I just punched him in the face. Like I punched him in the heart. He turns his back on me and heads into the rain, dragging his messenger bag on the ground. I stay by his side.
“So, what, you just hang out with your ex-boyfriend after school? Does he even know about me? Are you two-timing both of us?”
“We were literally hanging out so we could talk about you!”
“Since when do you guys hang out at all?!”
“Today was going to be the first time, I swear!”
Arthur throws his messenger bag against the wall. “NO! You just got caught today. That’s the only first.” He crouches over, holding his stomach. “I’m going to throw up.” I put my hand on his lower back and he swipes me off of him. “DON’T TOUCH ME.”
“Arthur, please, hear me out. This looks bad. Catastrophic. But I promise you that I love—”
“What ass-backward world are you living in where your ex-boyfriend is more in the loop than your boyfriend?” Arthur stands straight. He grabs his messenger bag and we go on to the next block with a little more distance between us. “How come he gets to know about me but I don’t get to know about him?”
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I say. “I tried to say something, but it just got harder and harder and looked worse and worse the longer I took and—”
“Then you should’ve just said something!”
“I should’ve, but nothing happened between us. I can’t control the fact that we’re both in summer school. Sorry we don’t have it together like you.”
“Don’t spin this around on me! I’m not pissed you’re in summer school, I don’t care about that. It would’ve been nice to know Hudson was there with you.”
“Oh yeah, like you would’ve been really chill about that. You clearly don’t even trust me. Why should you, we haven’t even known each other for a month.” I take a deep breath. “There were so many expectations and I honestly wasn’t sure we were going to be able to live up to them and then we did.”
“Ben, just stop. I don’t need to hear how this wasn’t real for you all along.”
“It was real, but what’s the point? You’re leaving the city in a week.”
Arthur squeezes his eyes shut and he’s shaking. When he reopens his eyes, there’s so much hurt and anger. “So you’re going to stand there and act like this has all been in my head? All these first dates and meeting your parents and your friends and . . . everything.”
“It wasn’t—”
“Did you ever send Hudson his box?”
“What?”
“The box that you were going to mail the day we met.”
The rain is pounding on us.
I don’t say anything.
I can’t lie to him, and telling the truth is even worse.
Arthur shakes his head. “And this is why I don’t trust you. Hope you and Hudson have an awful life together.” He looks me in the eyes. “We’re over.”
I reach for his arm. “Arthur.”
“No! I’m done. I can’t wait to go home.”
I don’t think he’s talking about Uncle Milton’s place.
He walks away, and even though I’m a huge idiot, I’m smart enough to know better than to follow him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Arthur
Of course it’s raining. Of fucking course. I’m drenched to my boxers, water dripping from my eyelashes, and everything hurts. Everything’s broken.
Ben and Hudson. This whole time. Well done, universe. Way to prove you were never on our side. Way to prove you don’t even exist. There’s no plan and no fate. It’s only us. Only me trying too hard. Only Ben trying not hard enough. But hey—why bother trying for a guy you barely even know. Because I guess that’s how he sees me. Just some stupid tourist here to entertain him for the summer.
A sudden buzz in my pocket. I’ve got my phone rainproofed in a Ziploc, but I duck under an awning anyway. Just to peek. If it’s him, I’m not answering.
But it’s not. Surprise, surprise. It’s just Jessie, swooping in for an impromptu FaceTime. I tug it out of the bag and decline it—but then I feel bad, so I text her. Sorry, am outside and it’s raining
She writes back immediately. Can you go somewhere to talk? It’s kind of important.
My stomach drops. Kind of important. I don’t like that phrase at all. It’s too serious, too urgent. Maybe this is about the Complicated Thing. Only maybe it’s not just a Complicated Thing. Maybe it’s Complicated Bad News, really bad news, and she’s been trying to tell me for days. Maybe I’m a really bad friend.
Give me one sec
I don’t even stop to think. There’s a guy in a tank top letting himself into a nearby apartment building. “Hey!” I call. “Sorry, can you hold that. My keys are . . .”
I trail off, at a loss, but I guess I must have sold it, because tank top guy keeps his foot in the door long enough for me to slip in behind him.
The lobby’s kind of bare-bones—no couches, not even a bench. Just a small bank of mailboxes, a fake plant, and a single wooden chair. I collapse into it, feeling clammy and strange. Jessie accepts my FaceTime immediately.
She’s with Ethan—they’re on Ethan’s basement couch. I swallow. “Hi. Everything okay?”
“Um, Arthur, are you okay?”
“What?” I peek at my face in the little selfie box on my screen, and wow. I look like shit. Like steaming-hot shit. “I’m fine. I’m just wet.”
“Okay, good.”
She’s silent for a moment, and Ethan’s not looking at me.
“So . . . ,” I say finally. “What’s up?”
“Okay, I’m just going to come out with it.” She pauses, and my throat feels thicker with every passing second. I’ve never seen her like this.
“Jess?” I say softly.
She takes a deep breath, and then blurts it out fast. “I have a boyfriend.”
My heart skids to a stop. “What?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you.” She smiles nervously.
I force myself to smile back. “A boyfriend. Wow.”
I mean, this is good. It’s a good thing. Especially considering that thirty seconds ago, I thought she might be dying. And yeah, I’m happy for her. Obviously. Even if it’s a little out of nowhere.
“Okay . . . so, what’s his name?”
“Well.” She glances sideways. “Ethan.”
“Really?”
“No, I mean, Ethan and I are a couple.”
I freeze. “A couple of what?”
“Very funny,” says Jessie. She doesn’t laugh.
“Wait. So.” My chest tightens. “You guys are like . . . a couple couple?”
Ethan nods. “Yes.”
“With each other?”
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“Well.” Jessie smiles faintly. “Prom.”
“WHAT?”
“Yeah.” She twirls her hair. “Okay, remember that moment—they were playing that Chris Brown song, and we walked off the dance floor to protest, and we found Angie Whaley crying in the hallway, because Michael Rosenfield dumped her, and Ethan was like, that guy’s a dick—”
Hudson takes a step back. “I’ll give you a sec.”
“Ben. Why is he here?”
“He’s in summer school too.”
Arthur looks like I just punched him in the face. Like I punched him in the heart. He turns his back on me and heads into the rain, dragging his messenger bag on the ground. I stay by his side.
“So, what, you just hang out with your ex-boyfriend after school? Does he even know about me? Are you two-timing both of us?”
“We were literally hanging out so we could talk about you!”
“Since when do you guys hang out at all?!”
“Today was going to be the first time, I swear!”
Arthur throws his messenger bag against the wall. “NO! You just got caught today. That’s the only first.” He crouches over, holding his stomach. “I’m going to throw up.” I put my hand on his lower back and he swipes me off of him. “DON’T TOUCH ME.”
“Arthur, please, hear me out. This looks bad. Catastrophic. But I promise you that I love—”
“What ass-backward world are you living in where your ex-boyfriend is more in the loop than your boyfriend?” Arthur stands straight. He grabs his messenger bag and we go on to the next block with a little more distance between us. “How come he gets to know about me but I don’t get to know about him?”
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I say. “I tried to say something, but it just got harder and harder and looked worse and worse the longer I took and—”
“Then you should’ve just said something!”
“I should’ve, but nothing happened between us. I can’t control the fact that we’re both in summer school. Sorry we don’t have it together like you.”
“Don’t spin this around on me! I’m not pissed you’re in summer school, I don’t care about that. It would’ve been nice to know Hudson was there with you.”
“Oh yeah, like you would’ve been really chill about that. You clearly don’t even trust me. Why should you, we haven’t even known each other for a month.” I take a deep breath. “There were so many expectations and I honestly wasn’t sure we were going to be able to live up to them and then we did.”
“Ben, just stop. I don’t need to hear how this wasn’t real for you all along.”
“It was real, but what’s the point? You’re leaving the city in a week.”
Arthur squeezes his eyes shut and he’s shaking. When he reopens his eyes, there’s so much hurt and anger. “So you’re going to stand there and act like this has all been in my head? All these first dates and meeting your parents and your friends and . . . everything.”
“It wasn’t—”
“Did you ever send Hudson his box?”
“What?”
“The box that you were going to mail the day we met.”
The rain is pounding on us.
I don’t say anything.
I can’t lie to him, and telling the truth is even worse.
Arthur shakes his head. “And this is why I don’t trust you. Hope you and Hudson have an awful life together.” He looks me in the eyes. “We’re over.”
I reach for his arm. “Arthur.”
“No! I’m done. I can’t wait to go home.”
I don’t think he’s talking about Uncle Milton’s place.
He walks away, and even though I’m a huge idiot, I’m smart enough to know better than to follow him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Arthur
Of course it’s raining. Of fucking course. I’m drenched to my boxers, water dripping from my eyelashes, and everything hurts. Everything’s broken.
Ben and Hudson. This whole time. Well done, universe. Way to prove you were never on our side. Way to prove you don’t even exist. There’s no plan and no fate. It’s only us. Only me trying too hard. Only Ben trying not hard enough. But hey—why bother trying for a guy you barely even know. Because I guess that’s how he sees me. Just some stupid tourist here to entertain him for the summer.
A sudden buzz in my pocket. I’ve got my phone rainproofed in a Ziploc, but I duck under an awning anyway. Just to peek. If it’s him, I’m not answering.
But it’s not. Surprise, surprise. It’s just Jessie, swooping in for an impromptu FaceTime. I tug it out of the bag and decline it—but then I feel bad, so I text her. Sorry, am outside and it’s raining
She writes back immediately. Can you go somewhere to talk? It’s kind of important.
My stomach drops. Kind of important. I don’t like that phrase at all. It’s too serious, too urgent. Maybe this is about the Complicated Thing. Only maybe it’s not just a Complicated Thing. Maybe it’s Complicated Bad News, really bad news, and she’s been trying to tell me for days. Maybe I’m a really bad friend.
Give me one sec
I don’t even stop to think. There’s a guy in a tank top letting himself into a nearby apartment building. “Hey!” I call. “Sorry, can you hold that. My keys are . . .”
I trail off, at a loss, but I guess I must have sold it, because tank top guy keeps his foot in the door long enough for me to slip in behind him.
The lobby’s kind of bare-bones—no couches, not even a bench. Just a small bank of mailboxes, a fake plant, and a single wooden chair. I collapse into it, feeling clammy and strange. Jessie accepts my FaceTime immediately.
She’s with Ethan—they’re on Ethan’s basement couch. I swallow. “Hi. Everything okay?”
“Um, Arthur, are you okay?”
“What?” I peek at my face in the little selfie box on my screen, and wow. I look like shit. Like steaming-hot shit. “I’m fine. I’m just wet.”
“Okay, good.”
She’s silent for a moment, and Ethan’s not looking at me.
“So . . . ,” I say finally. “What’s up?”
“Okay, I’m just going to come out with it.” She pauses, and my throat feels thicker with every passing second. I’ve never seen her like this.
“Jess?” I say softly.
She takes a deep breath, and then blurts it out fast. “I have a boyfriend.”
My heart skids to a stop. “What?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you.” She smiles nervously.
I force myself to smile back. “A boyfriend. Wow.”
I mean, this is good. It’s a good thing. Especially considering that thirty seconds ago, I thought she might be dying. And yeah, I’m happy for her. Obviously. Even if it’s a little out of nowhere.
“Okay . . . so, what’s his name?”
“Well.” She glances sideways. “Ethan.”
“Really?”
“No, I mean, Ethan and I are a couple.”
I freeze. “A couple of what?”
“Very funny,” says Jessie. She doesn’t laugh.
“Wait. So.” My chest tightens. “You guys are like . . . a couple couple?”
Ethan nods. “Yes.”
“With each other?”
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“Well.” Jessie smiles faintly. “Prom.”
“WHAT?”
“Yeah.” She twirls her hair. “Okay, remember that moment—they were playing that Chris Brown song, and we walked off the dance floor to protest, and we found Angie Whaley crying in the hallway, because Michael Rosenfield dumped her, and Ethan was like, that guy’s a dick—”
