What If It's Us
Page 66

“Mmm. You might be.”
“Arthur!” I look up to find Samantha turning the corner. She jogs toward us, immediately crushing me in a hug. “You’re early! Your next clues aren’t here yet, but they’re coming in, like, one second.”
“Clues, plural?”
“Definitely plural.”
“You done with my headphones, Seussical?” Dylan plucks them off my head before I can answer. “Hey, don’t look now . . .”
And right away, I see them. They’re crossing the street, walking toward us, their steps perfectly synchronized. But they’re not wearing rompers this time. They’re wearing lederhosen.
“Holy. Shit,” I murmur.
“I . . .”
“So this is Wilhelm, and this is Alistair,” Samantha says. “And they’re here to escort you to your last stop.”
I can’t stop staring. The handlebar mustaches. The man buns. The way they’re even more identical up close. They’re each holding an envelope with Ben’s handwriting.
“How did he . . . find you?” I ask.
Wilhelm smiles, mustache twitching. “Craigslist.”
“I’m just.”
Holy shit. Ben put up a missed connection. For me. Well, for the twins. But I’m the reason he did it. Me.
“We check Craigslist every day,” says Alistair. “We’ve had thirty-six missed connections since we moved here.”
“Is that . . . a good thing?” asks Dylan.
“It’s a very good thing,” says Wilhelm. “Open the envelopes.”
“In order,” Samantha reminds me.
Ben’s handwriting. Four sentences.
Arthur, I know you’re the one with the grand gestures and no chill.
But the truth is, no one deserves a grand gesture more than you.
I’m not as creative as you, but this is me going the extra mile.
And making you walk an extra mile. I love you.
My eyes prickle with tears—I feel so achy and happy and strange. The next thing I know, the twins are herding me back uptown. It doesn’t even feel real. If it weren’t for my rioting heart, I’d swear I’d left my body. The twins keep asking me chatty questions about music and movies and Ben, but I can barely form words. It’s hard to be a fully functioning Arthur when your heart lives in four envelopes.
I try to catch my breath. Be normal. Make conversation. “So do you guys live in, uh, Brooklyn?”
“Nah, Upper West Side. Well, we used to live on the Upper West Side, but we just moved back in with our parents on Long Island.”
“We’re writing a webcomic,” says Wilhelm.
“About dinosaurs,” adds Alistair.
I stop short. “Of course you are.”
Wilhelm points up the street. “Look, we’re almost there.”
I follow his gaze. And without a doubt, I know.
I break off from them at full speed, weaving around strollers, shoving between couples, clutching the envelopes to my chest. I’m sure I look ridiculous, or at least ridiculously determined. I didn’t even know I could run this fast. I’m a five-foot-six southerner in glasses, and I’m the fastest fucking dude in New York.
I see its awning from a full block away—its white stone exterior gleams in the sun.
United States Post Office.
And there’s Ben, leaning next to the doorway, balancing a cardboard box on his knee.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Ben
We’re back at the start.
Arthur walks into the post office, and wow. His face is winning the game. Like always. It doesn’t matter if he’s just reading chemistry trivia off index cards or eating a hot dog or embarrassed because his parents are talking about his childhood or even now, looking tired and wearing glasses. My heart is running wild, which wasn’t the case when we first met. It should’ve been love at first sight like all the great stories, but I wasn’t ready yet. And that’s okay. We still got somewhere great. The worst story would’ve been never finding each other again, or never meeting in the first place.
I put down the box as he hugs me.
“How’d I do?” I ask. Mapping out memory lane seemed like an epic way to close out this summer.
“Best curtain call ever,” Arthur says. “I really don’t want this to be over.”
“Me either. Super me either.”
“I want a time machine. Go back and do everything right. Literally everything would’ve been different if I had just gotten your name. I would’ve just followed you on Instagram and taken it from there.”
“The universe knew that was too easy and outsmarted us.” I kiss his forehead. “Everything means so much more because of all the hoops we jumped through, right?”
I don’t know if we’re a love story or a story about love. But I know whatever we are that it’s great because we kept jumping through the hoops in the first place.
“I still want the time machine,” Arthur says. “So we can jump ahead. I want to leave right now and see where we end up.”
“Won’t fight you there,” I say.
He looks down at the box. “That better not be what I think it is. Don’t bring this full circle with my very own breakup box.”
“It’s not.” I pick up the box. “It’s a best friend box.”
“Really?” His smile will still be wonderful on FaceTime, but it won’t be the same.
“Really. But don’t tell Dylan. He doesn’t believe in multiple best friends, and he might hire someone to make you go missing.”
“Noted. What’s inside?”
“Just some things so you always remember our summer.”
Arthur shakes his head. “I don’t need this box to remember.”
“Fine. I guess I’ll keep this very sexy scene between Ben-Jamin and King Arturo on the back of a Central Park postcard—”
“—I want the box.”
“—And the packaged cookie from Levain Bakery that was supposed to be one hundred percent for you.”
“I said I want the box!”
I’m going to miss him and his no-chill energy so much. “There’s also a touristy magnet with my name. I’m keeping the one with yours.” I take a deep breath in his silence. “And I framed the photo Dylan took of us with your birthday cake. I have one in my room too.”
Arthur is tearing up. “Thanks for this. For everything. This morning. This summer. I know I’m a lot, and you’ve been so cool about it.”
I laugh a little. “We’re the worst. I mean, we’re the best. But we’re the worst. You always think you’re too much, and I feel like I’m not enough.”
“I will say it a hundred more times, but you are more than enough.”
“I’m starting to believe you.”
We get to the clerk’s window and I kiss Arthur’s name on the box before handing it over. The clerk gives me a what-the-hell look because he doesn’t know what Arthur and I have gone through in the past few weeks to be back here right now.
Once the box is off on its way, so are we.
This time when I leave the post office, I’m holding Arthur’s hand. We stop underneath the metallic lettering of the post office.
“One last pic to hold us over,” Arthur says, pulling out his phone.
I close my eyes and kiss his cheek while he takes the picture. When I look at the picture, Arthur has this Hamilton-ticket-lottery-winning smile.