CHAPTER THIRTY ARTHUR

Tuesday, June 30

What sucks is that I really thought I was fine—or at least I was getting there. Sure, it stung when I couldn’t text Mikey about the Animal Crossing cosplayers at Pride, and I’m still checking in on Mario’s Instagram like it’s my full-time job, but at least my mouth was starting to remember the mechanics of smiling. There were even real stretches of time where I didn’t think about Ben or Mikey at all. I was just a guy in a Hamilton Pride shirt, walking with my best friends through the rainbow-spangled streets of Manhattan.

And then Ethan went home.

I really need to start learning the difference between fine and distracted.

Yeah. So, it turns out, the world doesn’t stop for heartbreak. I don’t get to skip work because I look like a sleep-deprived ghoul, or because I feel bad about Mikey, or because Ben doesn’t love me. I don’t get to unravel nine days before our first dress rehearsal.

Nine days—and just eight more days after that until we officially open. Shouldn’t I be at least a little bit excited about this? Here I am standing on a real New York stage, beneath a scaffolded ceiling and professional-grade lights. I’m not saying it’s Radio City Music Hall—it’s a black box, which is basically just a dark-painted cube, even at a top-tier place like the Shumaker. But the black box isn’t the problem. I’m the problem. Because my brain won’t shut up about the boy I’m not in love with.

Except when it remembers the one who’s not in love with me.

“I’m not buying it,” says Jacob. “Arthur—sorry—would you mind pushing the crib back a few feet? All I’m seeing is that creepy fake baby.”

I roll the crib upstage, almost to the backdrop. “Here?”

Jacob surveys the new configuration for a minute, before sighing and turning to Taj. “Should we bring in a real baby? We’re going to have to bring in a baby, aren’t we?”

“You mean the crying kind?” Taj asks.

Jacob pinches the bridge of his nose. “Maybe we age him up to three or four? I’ll play around with the script—”

“Totally. I totally hear you. But.” Taj’s voice is unnervingly calm. “I’m wondering if there’s a way we can avoid changing the entire script? Since we’re, uh, less than three weeks out from opening night?”

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, gaze drifting down the rows of empty chairs—right to left, like reading in Hebrew. Fifty seats arranged on platforms, ascending like stairs. But the front row is level with the floor and the stage, and that’s where Jacob and Taj are sitting.

“Yeah…” Jacob sighs. “Okay, why don’t we press pause for a second. We’ll circle back to this in fifteen.” He stands and stretches, tapping the screen of his phone. By the time I reach the front row of seats, he’s already halfway to the lobby.

“Yikes. Rough day for the GDB,” Taj says, peeling the lid off a soy yogurt container.

I grab a pack of cheese crackers from my messenger bag and plop down beside him. “He’s not actually going to age the baby up, right? Like, you’d have to rewrite the entire bedtime scene, plus anything in the park, and it’s just so—”

“Bananas,” Taj says. “It’s the whole banana grove. But he really hates those dolls.”

I turn back to the stage, currently set to resemble an apartment interior—living room, nursery, and kitchen. The design’s more suggestive than literal—it’s really just a few key pieces of furniture arranged in front of three canvas backdrops. Though when you see it with the lighting in place and the actors moving from room to room, it actually does feel like a home.

But even I have to admit: Jacob’s right about the goddamn baby. I guess it’s decently realistic for a prop doll, but you can’t pretend it’s not serving up some major corpse energy. Or lack of energy.

“There has to be an easier workaround,” I say.

Suddenly, I’m out of my seat, crossing the few feet of space between the front row and the stage. I stare for a moment at the trio of backdrops. They’re intimidatingly huge, but at least they’re on wheels. I give the center panel an experimental push.

“Redecorating?” Taj asks.

“Just trying something.”

Taj sets his yogurt down and stands.

Five minutes later, we’ve rolled the center panel back and pulled the side panels in, until the set’s no longer three adjacent apartment rooms. Now it’s just a living room and kitchen, with a hint of a nursery tucked behind them—just a foot of toothpaste blue backdrop and the edge of a crib. “So the baby’s always there,” I explain. “She’s just a little bit offstage.”

I watch Taj take it all in, following his gaze from panel to panel. It’s wild how the simplest tweak can change the entire feeling of a space. The overall focus is tighter, and the added depth makes the apartment feel that much more real. Like there’s this implication of life existing beyond the boundaries of these sets. No idea what Jacob will think, but I’m pretty sure I love it.

“Okay,” Taj says. “Say we’re Addie and Beckett, middle of scene eight, when they’re arguing and Lily wakes up—”

“Right! So what if Beckett’s actually offstage for that scene? Like we get a sound cue where she’s crying, and you see him go into the nursery—”

“Huh!” Taj purses his lips. “So… we keep Addie in the living room… are they just talking between rooms? Maybe he pops his head around the side, so we feel him in there?”

“Exactly,” I say—and for the first time since Ethan left, a light flickers on in my brain.

I usually feel like such a fuckup at work—even when I’m not dropping the ball, it always feels like I’m just about to. But something’s clicking today in a way I can’t quite explain. Taj keeps nodding when I talk and typing notes on his phone, like my ideas are worth writing down. Like I’m not just some dumbass intern. Or at least I’m a dumbass intern with potential.

“Oh, wow!”

Jacob’s voice—my heart leaps into my throat.

“This is so interesting,” he says, sidling up to Taj. “Walk me through it.”

Taj gestures toward me. “It’s all Arthur.”

Jacob clasps his hands. “Taking creative risks. We love to see it.”

“It probably won’t work,” I say quickly. “It’s just a random idea—I haven’t really had time to think it through. I was mostly just curious. Seriously, I can put everything back the way it—”

“Or,” Jacob says, smiling, “you could tell me about it.”

---

Ten minutes later, Jacob and Taj are off and running—photographing the stage from every angle, texting the stage manager, slipping into this whole second language of abbreviations and theater jargon. It’s the kind of thing that makes me feel like such an amateur, normally, but today feels different. Today, it’s just another piece of the magic I helped set into motion.

I watch from the front row, in dazed disbelief.

Jacob loved my idea. He actually gasped when I explained it. He called me a genius.

Yes, I’m a total disaster. Yes, Ben’s moving. Yes, I fucked up with Mikey. No, I’ll never be able to pull off a floral tie the way Taj can.

But.

Jacob Demsky. Called me. A genius.

When they wander back over, Jacob’s cradling the GDB like it’s his actual baby. “There’s been a truce,” Taj explains.

It feels so good to laugh.

“Arthur, you changed the game.” Jacob leans over Taj to fist-bump me. “I’m checking in with Miles tonight to get a couple of new cues locked in, but I actually think we’re in good shape. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I’m so happy to help.” I flush proudly.

“Seriously. God, take the rest of the day off. Or take Friday! Catch the Greyhound, surprise your boyfriend—”

Taj elbows him, and he stops abruptly, midsentence.

For a moment, no one speaks.

“Um.” My voice comes out an octave too high. “I don’t. Have one of those.”

“One of…”

“A boyfriend. Not anymore.”

“Oh.” Jacob turns toward Taj and me. “Oh, Arthur. I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s fine!” I add, a little too quickly. “I’m the one who initiated it. I care about him, but. I guess I realized I wasn’t—I’m not in love with him. I really wanted to be.”

“Then it sounds like you made the right call,” Jacob says, so simply it cuts me wide open.

The whole story spills out. “It just sucks, because we were actually really great together, and now I miss him. So much. But it’s just not it. And how could I fix that? I don’t know; maybe we could have gotten there eventually?” A lump swells in my throat. “I guess part of it was me realizing I’m still pretty hung up on someone else, which obviously wasn’t fair to Mikey. He shouldn’t have to wait around for me to get over Ben—that’s my other ex. My first ex. But that’s not happening either. Seeing as he’s following his boyfriend to LA.”

“Following him there, like moving there?” asks Taj.

I nod down at my messenger bag, and its brown surface seems to blur a little. “It’s fine. It’s just one of those things, right? The universe wasn’t building toward an Arthur endgame. It happens.”

“But you’re not over him,” says Jacob.

“Well, no. I’m in love with him.” My voice breaks a little, and I wince. I don’t know why I thought I could sound casual while dropping that bomb. I wrench my lips into something like a smile. “Kind of pathetic, huh?”

“No, not at all,” says Taj.

“I’m so curious. What makes you think it’s game over?” asks Jacob.

“You mean with Ben?” I glance at him sideways, and he nods. “Well… I guess the part where he’s moving to California with his new boyfriend.”

“Right, so. Boyfriend, not husband,” Jacob says. “Is this move, like, a forever thing, or just for the summer, or what?”

“I mean, he says he’s just trying it out for now, but it’s not like he’s going to hate living in California for free with his hot TV-writer boyfriend. It’s a dream scenario.”

“Sure, but—okay, look. I’m a writer. I have to look at this like a story. The guy you’re in love with is moving to California with another guy. That’s our narrative, right?”

“Pretty much.”

Jacob nods. “So the obvious question is about perspective, right? Whose story are we telling? What’s your role in it?”

“I’m the guy who figured it out too late?”

“Okay. Are you the obstacle? Is California the happily ever after? Or…” Jacob pauses. “Are you the guy running to the airport to stop him? Are you the protagonist?”

“I…” I blink. “How would I even know that?”

“Here’s a hint.” Jacob smiles. “It’s your life. You’re always the protagonist.”

My heart flips, but I tamp it down. “Right, but. My ex is also his own protagonist. And so is his boyfriend.”

“Absolutely,” says Jacob.

“So it’s not that simple. I don’t just get to declare myself the protagonist because I want to be in this story.”

“Sure. You can’t control how it’s going to play out, of course. And if Ben says no, that’s that. But if you want to be in the story, go be in the story! Chase him to the airport!”

“I think he’s driving.”

Taj leans toward me. “It’s a metaphor. He’s saying you should tell Ben how you feel.”

“Oh! God, no. That’s—yeah, no. Ha ha. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Taj asks.

“Because I’m not trying to shit all over his happiness?” I wince. “He’s in a new relationship. I don’t want to interfere with that.”

“You’re only interfering if he has feelings for you, too,” Taj points out.

“I haven’t even told him Mikey and I broke up. It’s just not—” I cut myself off, heart pounding. “I’m just worried I’ll make things harder for him.”

Jacob looks at me. “Or are you worried he’ll reject you?”

“I’m terrified he’ll reject me,” I say, without hesitation.

Pretty sure he already has.

---

Jacob keeps telling me to go home, but I’d rather throw myself into work—I barely even leave the stage until Jacob shoos us out at five. It’s been hours since I’ve looked at my phone, but I feel it ringing in my bag before I even step outside.

It’s Jessie, who usually texts, so I rush to accept it. “Hey! Everything okay?” I ask.

“Are you okay? You got my texts, right?” Her voice is both exasperated and concerned, and I realize with a pang that I’ve heard this combination before. Senior year, the first few weeks after Ben and I broke up.

“Totally fine.” I root around in my bag for my earbuds. “Sorry, I was onstage all day. They were working on cues and stuff.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry. I was just checking in about Sunday, but it’s all in the texts. I don’t want to repeat myself. Basically, I’m just wondering if we can bump the Friday night Grayson thing to Sunday dinner.”

“Works for me. Can’t wait to meet him.” I slip in my earbuds, so I can see my texts while we talk.

“Me too! I think you guys will get along,” she says, and the next thing I know, she’s listing off restaurants. But I lose the thread completely when I see Dylan’s text. Okay Seussical, Friday night escape room, bros night. Be there

“So maybe sevenish?” asks Jessie.

“Sure.” I stare at my screen. “Hey, so. Dylan just invited me to an escape room on Friday?”

“Oh, cool. Those are really fun. I did one in Providence.”

“Yeah, but—” I step to the right to let a family pass me on the sidewalk. “You don’t think it’s weird that Dylan’s inviting me to hang out? And to an escape room? Why would I want to be locked in a room with Ben and Mario? Unless he’s trying to sabotage the California thing by—”

I stop short, trying to dislodge the tiny seed of hope threatening to take root in my brain. Because even if Dylan is trying to spark something, it’s not like Ben has to go along with it. At the end of the day, Dylan doesn’t get to vote on Ben’s love life.

And neither do I.

“Oh yeah. Yikes,” Jessie says. “I don’t know.”

“I should say no, right?”

“Sure, unless you want to go—”

“I absolutely don’t.” My voice booms so loudly, a dog drops his stick. “I’m done. I don’t need to get tangled up in that whole group and all their weird enmeshed friendships. I just want to hang out with my people. Like you and Ethan. And I can’t wait to meet Grayson, and—oh, I’m almost at the subway, but listen, I know Grayson can’t be there, but if you still want to hang out on Friday night, let me know. I’m free. Obviously.”

“Oh, um. Actually.” Jessie hesitates. “I hope this isn’t weird, but I’m… hanging out with Samantha that night?”

“Oh!” I nod—always a galaxy brain move on an audio call. “Yeah, no. Okay, cool. That’s. Great.”

I stare at the screen for a full thirty seconds after we hang up.

For the whole ride home, all I can think about is my last night in New York. My first last night, when Ben and I spent the whole evening studying chemistry. I remember how his mouth twitched every time he got a question right. Has there ever been anything as beautiful as Ben Alejo’s face when he’s proud of knowing something?

He told me the difference between physical and chemical changes—didn’t even have to peek at the flash cards. Physical reactions are the no-big-deal kinds of changes, the surface stuff. But chemical reactions break bonds and forge new ones, until the composition of the substance is irrevocably changed. “For example, baking a cake,” Ben had said. “You can nope out halfway through, but you’re not getting your ingredients back. Chemical change.”

See also: Jessie’s friendship with Samantha. Dylan in my texts. And the fact that I can’t go a single subway ride without thinking about Ben, because he’s bonded himself to every cell in my brain, and I’m starting to think he’s rebuilt my heart from scratch.