What If It's Us
Page 61

When I wander into the living room, Jessie’s legs are in Ethan’s lap. It hits me that this is the first time the three of us have been alone together all summer.
I sink into a chair, wrapping my arms around my knees. “This is strange.”
Jessie laughs nervously. “What’s strange?”
“I don’t know. The fact that you’re here. In New York. And you’re dating!”
“And you have a boyfriend,” says Jessie. “A really cute boyfriend.”
“Heh. Yeah.”
“So everything worked out? You guys are good again?”
“We’re good. Totally good. For two more days anyway.” I try to smile, but it won’t stick.
Jessie looks at me expectantly. “Are you guys gonna—”
“No. I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.”
“You should,” Jessie says.
My chest tightens. “Yeah.”
Now Ethan’s hands are resting on Jessie’s . . . calves? Sort of her knees? I’m trying not to fixate on it, but wow. It’s like the time Dad shaved off his beard, and he was Dad, but he wasn’t, and my twelve-year-old brain couldn’t handle it. And here I am all over again, not handling it. Or maybe this is me handling it.
“Art, I’m really, really sorry we didn’t tell you about . . . us. I know it’s weird for you. Of course it would be.”
“No, you weren’t weird.” I shake my head quickly. “I was weird. It’s just—I don’t know. I felt like Amneris in Aida. Like I should have seen it coming.”
“Dude.” Ethan exhales. “I’m so sorry. We did that. We Amneris’d you.”
“Please speak English,” says Jessie.
“But I was such a dick. I’m sorry. You guys are happy, and I’m happy for you!”
“No—”
“And I hate how I reacted. I hate that I made you feel weird.”
“Well,” says Ethan, “I hate that I made you think I had issues with you being gay.”
“Yeah, but that was in my mind”
“I should have made it really clear.” Ethan shakes his head. “I should have been in your texts every day. I’m really sorry, Art.”
“It’s fine.”
“I know. I just wish I’d handled it differently.”
For a moment, no one speaks.
“Well, maybe we should have a do-over,” I say.
“A do-over?”
“Jessie . . . Ethan. I have something to tell you.” I pause. “I’m gay.”
They both look at me expectantly.
“We know?” says Jessie.
“No, this is a do-over. Now you guys say something.”
“Okay.” Jessie nods. “What do you want us to say?”
“Whatever you want to say. Like, ‘sweet’ or ‘two thumbs up’ or ‘oh, cool, that’s badass’ or—”
“Oh, cool, that’s badass,” says Jessie.
“Two thumbs up,” says Ethan.
“Okay, good. And now it’s your turn.”
Jessie furrows her brow. “You mean—”
“Hey, guys, what’s up? What’s your big news?” I ask loudly.
“Well,” Jessie says.
Ethan grins down at his phone screen.
“Ethan and I are dating.”
“What? That’s great!” I clasp my hands together. “I’m so happy for you, THIS IS ROMANTIC AS FUCK.”
Jessie laughs. “I think dial it back two notches.”
“Okay, but I am happy for you. You know that, right?”
“I know. But it’s a little weird, too. It’s different.” Jessie shrugs. “I get that.”
“Well, you guys are my best friends. That’s not different.”
“True.” Jessie smiles wetly, sliding her legs off of Ethan’s. “Come on.”
And the next thing I know, she’s squeezing into my chair beside me. “Excuse me. Personal space.” I push her away, biting back a grin.
“Not a chance.” She flings her arms around my shoulders and nuzzles closer.
My phone buzzes with a text. Jessie shamelessly reads over my shoulder.
I love you, dude.
From Ethan. And not the group chat. It’s in our solo thread.
And when I look up to catch his eye, he’s already halfway to the armchair. “I want in,” he says, planting himself firmly in both of our laps.
I collapse beside Ben on the couch. “They’re all gone. All those terrible people are gone.”
“Finally.” He tugs me closer. Ben’s funny. He’s weird about touching in front of our friends, but now that they’re gone, there can’t be an inch of space between us. “I like Jessie and Ethan, though.”
“JessieandEthan. One word. I’m still . . . wow.”
“Must be hard to get used to.”
“It’s weird. I think I really am happy for them.” I smile up at him. “Maybe I’m just happy.”
He buries his face in my shoulder. “I know what you mean.”
“This is the best. It’s like we’re dads.”
He laughs. “Dads?”
“Like we’re an old New York couple just sitting around doing nothing.”
“I like doing nothing with you.”
“Me too.”
And I do. I like it so fucking much. I always thought love was about the showstopper moments. No dialogue, no filler. But if the quiet parts are filler, maybe filler’s underrated.
“We should do this every day,” I say.
“All two of them?” asks Ben with this sad half smile.
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—”