Wednesday, June 17
I’ve been summoned to Dream & Bean.
I get out of the train station and finish up my text conversation with Arthur as I walk down the block.
I think Dylan just needed to cool down, I say.
I’ve never seen him so upset, Arthur texts. You turned him into a real boy, Geppetto.
I laugh. And he’s treating me like I’m some big nose Pinocchio! I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell him yet. I stop outside Dream & Bean and snap a picture. Throwback!
Arthur is typing a message. Stopping. Typing. Stopping. Typing. The suspense is getting to me. The text finally comes in: Get Dylan an extra-large iced coffee to cool him down!
He must have deleted something. Maybe even paragraphs of something, and I can’t help but wonder about the text that might have been.
Maybe it was about California.
I wish I knew what Arthur was thinking. He hasn’t really said anything about it so far, other than letting me spiral about Dylan’s reaction. If anything, he’s seemed almost cheerful about it. Which makes sense. Or at least it doesn’t not make sense. Except when I think about how stunned he looked at Bloomingdale’s.
I can’t help but wonder if there’s something he’s not saying. And of course he doesn’t owe me a reaction. He’s allowed to keep things to himself if he wants to. But the thing is, this is exactly how it started last winter. This is how Arthur and I lost each other. And when I think about losing Arthur again…
Maybe it’s pointless. Maybe I should push him away now so I can get that loss over with already.
Okay, wow, I’m overthinking this. He’s probably just busy at work, or being really extra about the wording of a joke, because it’s Arthur, and that’s who he is. And it’s not a question. We’re going to stay in touch, no matter what time zone I’m in. I’ll send messages before I go to sleep, and by the time I wake up there will probably be half a dozen texts from Arthur describing everything about his morning from choosing outfits and what he and Mikey are up to. Then I’ll walk him through my day with Mario.
Maybe Arthur-and-Ben-as-friends is the best us all along.
I send a quick text back: Going in. Wish me luck. Send rescue texts in case I need an out.
Aye, aye, captain, he writes.
I walk into Dream & Bean, and it feels like a walk down memory lane. Except this feels nothing like the time Dylan and I discovered Arthur’s poster with my photo on the wall here. Dylan is sitting with Samantha in the corner table. His hands are folded and he makes eye contact with me before staring up at the ceiling like he didn’t see me.
I roll my eyes.
I walk over to Samantha’s side and give her a kiss on the cheek. “Hey. How are you?”
“Tired,” she says. “Long night.”
“Everything okay?”
“Some family stuff. I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”
“No worries. I hope everything gets better.” I turn to Dylan. “Hey, D.”
Dylan looks away.
I don’t even bother pulling out a chair yet. “Dude, you—I quote—‘summoned’ me here to talk. Are you really going to not talk?”
“He will talk,” Samantha says.
“Through you?”
“What do you think?”
“I think we’re too old for this.”
Samantha claps. “That’s what I said. Sit and talk with me instead. Dylan can join us when he grows up.”
Dylan turns to her. “I am grown.”
Samantha pulls out her phone.
“Don’t set a timer,” he says.
“I’m not. I’m setting a stopwatch so I can have it on record how long you keep this act up.”
“That seems rather childish.”
“Pot, kettle.” Samantha starts the stopwatch. Dylan eyes it but says nothing. “Anyway, Ben. This LA business. How long have you been thinking about this?”
“A while. I mean, sort of. Mario brought it up, but I’ve been feeling restless in New York. My life isn’t changing at all, not like you guys. I know all that’s changed is you two seeing each other twenty-four/seven, but that’s nice. Even if I don’t know how you survive this.” I gesture at Dylan who looks like he wants to retaliate but remembers he’s not talking to me.
“I survive this because it’s not twenty-four/seven,” Samantha says. “I take really long showers and practically beg my campus counselor to let me hang out with her longer.”
“Sounds healthy,” I say.
“Sounds healthy,” Dylan mockingly echoes.
I lean in. “Oh, what’s that? You heard me?”
Dylan says nothing.
Samantha shakes her head. “Ben, I think this is really sudden. You’ve registered for fall already and you love your classes and—”
“I only love my creative writing class. And Mario won’t be there.”
“But since when are you following Mario across the world?”
“That’s really dramatic.”
“Pfft,” Dylan adds, like he’s not being ridiculously dramatic right now.
“Fine, you’re thinking about following Mario across the country. To a city you’ve never been to before.”
“I don’t have to stay there if I hate it.”
“I personally think you’ll love Los Angeles, but I’m not sure this is the right move to get you there.”
“Is this an intervention?”
“It’s a loving check-in. We want the best for you, even if Dylan’s childish silent treatment says otherwise.”
My phone vibrates. I almost don’t check the text, but I’m glad I do. It’s Arthur cheering me on and telling me to stay strong. It’s like he’s sitting in this empty seat next to me.
“I just want some support. I’ve always supported you two, even back when this one was calling you his future wife way too soon. I’m not trying to marry Mario, okay? I’m just thinking about spending some time in Los Angeles with him.”
“Quitting school to do so,” Samantha says.
“Yes, quitting school! I’m not on some scholarship like you, and this education isn’t worth stressing my family’s finances. These other classes haven’t exactly been super useful with my writing. I can register for some local classes and not bankrupt my family.”
Samantha nods. “I understand. Ben, you know that publishing a book isn’t guaranteed to change everything, right?”
“What, you don’t believe in me?”
“I—” Samantha takes a deep breath and turns to Dylan. “Cut it out. Your best friend is struggling and I’m not going to be the villain because you’re being immature.” She turns back to me. “Ben, I love you and I believe in you. You’re an amazing and dedicated writer. I want you to have some magical story where you publish a book and your life changes in all the best ways. But I don’t want your dream to bite you in the ass in the long run.” She gets up and shakes her empty juice bottle. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to use the restroom.” She turns back to Dylan. “If you aren’t talking to Ben about how badly you want to make sweet love with him by the time I get back, then you’ll be making sweet love to yourself for a long time.”
Samantha walks toward the bathroom line, dropping the bottle into the trash like it’s a mic.
Dylan closes his eyes. “One cappuccino, two cappuccino, three cappuccino, four cappuccino…”
He was never a big fan of counting with Mississippis because he thinks no word should be that tricky to spell. It’s always been stupid to me since he’s not spelling the word when he says it, but Dylan is going to Dylan.
“… ten cappuccino.” He opens his eyes and hits stop on Samantha’s phone’s stopwatch. “Hello, Benjamin. I appreciate you taking time out of your day so we may converse like civil men.”
I glare at him.
“I would like to speak with you about something I found rather upsetting if you’re willing to dialogue with me about said matter.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Once again, I appreciate your presence. So, the matter at hand was the discovery that you are considering a move to Los Angeles. Not from you, as one would expect between best friends for life, but instead by one Mario Colón. He dropped the bomb as if it were a plaything when I assure you that bombs are no toys.”
“Take that up with him.”
“I’m not particularly fond of him right now. He’s taking my best friend away from New York.”
“You don’t even live here anymore.”
“That could change! Chicago’s winters are the worst!”
“You know where winter isn’t the worst?”
“Don’t say it—”
“Los Angeles.”
“Damn you, Benjamin. You said it when I asked you not to, and I’m our worried our civil conversation is at risk of becoming uncivil.”
This is giving me a massive headache. “D, why do you care? You talked this big game about how we were going to hang out all summer, and instead you’ve canceled on me a thousand times—”
“Falsehood! Falsehood!”
“And your reasons are so weak. Why should I have to stay in New York when you’re not here? And even when you are, you’re being weirder than usual?”
Dylan leans in. “There are forces at play here that I cannot speak to because I have been sworn to secrecy,” he whispers. “The stuff happening in Samantha’s family is huge, but that’s her business and as her boyfriend I have been trusted with that and I can’t abuse it. Not even to you, my freckled best friend who equates my canceling of plans to the same crime as moving across the country without telling me.”
“I haven’t moved yet. We don’t even know if the show’s getting picked up!”
“And when might that information be forthcoming, pray tell? Or should I ask Mario?”
“I mean, Mario thinks we’ll know soon. Maybe a week or two? But even if Mario has to head out sooner, I don’t think I’d leave until next month.”
“Next month?!”
Samantha returns from the bathroom. “I don’t see anyone making sweet love.”
Dylan turns to her. “He’s moving next month!”
Samantha takes his hand. “It’s his life. We have to respect that.”
“I might hate it and come back,” I say.
“Oh, please, you’re going to walk away from your hot boyfriend who probably makes the best sandcastles and surfs like an Olympian and looks hot all the time?”
“Mario can’t swim, actually.”
“What about the sandcastles, Ben? What about the sandcastles?”
I shrug.
Dylan sighs. “I guess let me know when you move to Los Angeles forever next month.”
“We just all have to hang out some more,” Samantha says. “Dylan and I are going to an open mic night on Friday. Why don’t you and Mario join us?”
I nod. “That sounds fun.” I pick up my phone, distracted as Dylan mutters something to Samantha. I type out Open mic night this Friday with Dylan and Samantha? and ask, “What’s that, D?”
“Nothing,” he says.
“He said that he’s hoping the open mic night will trick you into loving New York again,” Samantha says. “Which is not my intention. I just want to see you while we can.”
My phone buzzes.
Sounds FUN! Where?
The world grinds to a halt.
I texted the wrong person.
“Um.” I swallow. “I accidentally texted Arthur instead of Mario about Friday. Should I…?”
“Oh, it’s fine,” Samantha says. “Invite them both! The more the merrier.”
“Thanks.”
I text Mario—for real this time—and he’s immediately game. Just the five of us this Friday, hanging out.
What could possibly go wrong?