What If It's Us
Page 52
“I’m giving Namrata and Juliet your number, okay? I’ll have them check in on you.”
I shrug.
We’re both silent. Mom clears her throat. “So, do you want to talk about—”
“Nope.”
I mean, what would I even say? Too bad I won’t be losing my virginity while you’re gone, Mom, because Ben broke my fucking heart, and now I’m single and alone. Here, have six boxes of condoms. I’ll literally never need them.
“Well, if you change your mind . . . ,” she says, pursing her lips. Here we go. “I don’t know, Arthur. Your dad and I are just so worried about you—”
“Okay, you don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“The whole parental unity game. Your dad and I. Come on.”
“Sweetie, I—”
“You know what’s awesome? The way everyone—every single one of you—just walks around lying to me. All the time. Because, oh, it’s Arthur, and he can’t handle our scary big secrets.” I thrust my palms up. “You guys want to get a divorce? Fine. Just fucking tell me.”
Mom’s mouth falls open. “Divorce?”
“Come on.”
“Arthur, what? Your dad and I are fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
She peers at me strangely. “How long have you been stressing about this?”
“Since forever! You’ve been fighting nonstop all summer.”
“Sweetie, no. It’s just been kind of a tough time, with your dad being out of work and—”
“Oh, believe me, I’m up-to-date. You need to learn how to have quieter fights.”
It’s like someone sucked all the air from the room. I stare at my hands. I swear I can hear my heartbeat.
“Okay, why don’t we call your dad?”
“Right now?” I groan, covering my face.
She presses the phone to her ear and stands, murmuring something under her breath, but I don’t even try to eavesdrop. I’m tired of caring about this. I’m tired of trying. That’s what I need to do: stop giving a shit and stop trying. Just like my parents stopped trying with each other.
Just like Ben stopped trying with me.
Ben, who texted me once. Literally once. And there you have it. That’s how hard he was willing to fight for me. But why would he fight? Why would he fight for a boy who’s moving back to Georgia when he’s had Hudson sitting two feet away from him all summer? And yeah, I know he can’t control that. But he lied about it. Every single day. Every word he’s ever said. He never even mailed the box.
Mom steps back into the living room and hands me her phone. “Here’s Dad. He’s on speaker.”
“Hi,” I say flatly.
“So, who told you we’re getting divorced?”
He sounds amused, which is annoying.
“Uh, well, seeing as you can’t even go five minutes without being assholes to each other, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist—”
“Wow.” Mom sits back down on the couch and hooks her arm around me. “Don’t hold back.”
Dad laughs. “Kiddo, we’re not getting divorced.”
“You can tell me! Just be honest.”
“We are being honest!” Mom shakes her head. “Arthur, we’ve always argued. That’s just us. We’re not perfect. Relationships are messy. You and Ben haven’t been a hundred percent smooth sailing—”
“This isn’t about Ben!”
“Art, I’m just saying, things get stressful. You mess up, you say the wrong thing, you get on each other’s nerves—”
“But you guys are married. You should have your shit together.”
Mom does this choked little laugh—and when I glance up at her, she’s grinning full force at Dad’s name on the phone screen. So, that’s a little disorienting—it’s like catching Valjean and Javert holding hands. But maybe my parents really are a Saturday-night-on-the-sofa kind of couple. And an arguing-over-stupid-shit kind of couple. Maybe they’re both.
“So you’re just a regular mess,” I say finally. “Not a pending-divorce mess?”
“Regular hot mess. Standard-issue,” says Dad.
Mom hugs me sideways. “Maybe you should give your hot mess another chance to explain himself?”
“Psh. That’s different.”
“Oh, Arthur. If you say so.”
Maybe the universe doesn’t hate all of Team Seuss, but it definitely hates me.
Chapter Thirty
Ben
Hanging out with Hudson and Harriett has felt pretty easy. It’s sort of like when I put away my winter boots because it was spring again and I got to slip back into last year’s sneakers; I grew a little bit, but they still fit. We’ve been catching up and filling in the blanks on everything that’s been going on since Hudson and I split, though we’re not bringing up our breakup at all. Even last night when I went over to Hudson’s, he was just listening to me whine about Arthur and Dylan. He’s being the friend he used to be.
“I’m living for Mr. Hayes’s Instagram,” Harriett says as we step out of the frozen yogurt store, a smoothie in one hand and her phone in the other.
“I didn’t know he has one.”
“When you have a face like Mr. Hayes’s, your Instagram magically appears.”
On a bench with Harriett in the middle, we lean in as she scrolls through Mr. Hayes’s Instagram profile. I expected rows and rows of shirtless selfies, and while some definitely exist, everything else is motivational, like removing the clutter in your home and living minimalistically and balanced breakfasts and this mega cheeseburger he conquered in Germany.
“See, he’s living his best life,” Harriett says. “Just look at his feed. He’s been to so many countries. Prepare for my Instagram to be nothing but ads for organic baby food and sugar-free gum and goat milk shampoo, because I have to save up so I can unleash myself on the world.”
“Then you’ll return to a life of selfies?” Hudson asks. “The onslaught of selfies is really important; if I go two minutes on Instagram without seeing your face, I’d probably forget what you look like.”
“You won’t be selfie shaming when you see pictures of me flying solo on boats and on mountains and on hot guys’ laps.”
“You wouldn’t want a travel buddy?” I ask. If I had the money to see the world, I’d want Dylan there. He’s in all my other stories, and I’d want him in all the new ones too, when things settle down again. If they do.
“Are you volunteering your company?”
“Yeah, right.” I chuckle. Harriett’s parents have well-paying jobs and they love spoiling her. I can’t side hustle with my Instagram.
“Down the line, I mean,” Harriett says. “After you’ve sold your book and you’re raking in that Netflix and amusement park money.”
“No pressure.” The Wicked Wizard War feels like such a waste now. Arthur was my biggest fan, and I doubt anyone would love the story as much as Arthur does. And he was my boyfriend. If I wanted to post somewhere public like Wattpad, I would be opening myself up to feedback from strangers who won’t care if this is the story of my heart.
“Just saying. We really missed you, Ben,” Harriett says. Hudson shoots her a look. “What. Let’s stop acting like there isn’t a big gay elephant in the room and try to move on.” She holds our hands. “We’re all friends, right?”
I shrug.
We’re both silent. Mom clears her throat. “So, do you want to talk about—”
“Nope.”
I mean, what would I even say? Too bad I won’t be losing my virginity while you’re gone, Mom, because Ben broke my fucking heart, and now I’m single and alone. Here, have six boxes of condoms. I’ll literally never need them.
“Well, if you change your mind . . . ,” she says, pursing her lips. Here we go. “I don’t know, Arthur. Your dad and I are just so worried about you—”
“Okay, you don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“The whole parental unity game. Your dad and I. Come on.”
“Sweetie, I—”
“You know what’s awesome? The way everyone—every single one of you—just walks around lying to me. All the time. Because, oh, it’s Arthur, and he can’t handle our scary big secrets.” I thrust my palms up. “You guys want to get a divorce? Fine. Just fucking tell me.”
Mom’s mouth falls open. “Divorce?”
“Come on.”
“Arthur, what? Your dad and I are fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
She peers at me strangely. “How long have you been stressing about this?”
“Since forever! You’ve been fighting nonstop all summer.”
“Sweetie, no. It’s just been kind of a tough time, with your dad being out of work and—”
“Oh, believe me, I’m up-to-date. You need to learn how to have quieter fights.”
It’s like someone sucked all the air from the room. I stare at my hands. I swear I can hear my heartbeat.
“Okay, why don’t we call your dad?”
“Right now?” I groan, covering my face.
She presses the phone to her ear and stands, murmuring something under her breath, but I don’t even try to eavesdrop. I’m tired of caring about this. I’m tired of trying. That’s what I need to do: stop giving a shit and stop trying. Just like my parents stopped trying with each other.
Just like Ben stopped trying with me.
Ben, who texted me once. Literally once. And there you have it. That’s how hard he was willing to fight for me. But why would he fight? Why would he fight for a boy who’s moving back to Georgia when he’s had Hudson sitting two feet away from him all summer? And yeah, I know he can’t control that. But he lied about it. Every single day. Every word he’s ever said. He never even mailed the box.
Mom steps back into the living room and hands me her phone. “Here’s Dad. He’s on speaker.”
“Hi,” I say flatly.
“So, who told you we’re getting divorced?”
He sounds amused, which is annoying.
“Uh, well, seeing as you can’t even go five minutes without being assholes to each other, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist—”
“Wow.” Mom sits back down on the couch and hooks her arm around me. “Don’t hold back.”
Dad laughs. “Kiddo, we’re not getting divorced.”
“You can tell me! Just be honest.”
“We are being honest!” Mom shakes her head. “Arthur, we’ve always argued. That’s just us. We’re not perfect. Relationships are messy. You and Ben haven’t been a hundred percent smooth sailing—”
“This isn’t about Ben!”
“Art, I’m just saying, things get stressful. You mess up, you say the wrong thing, you get on each other’s nerves—”
“But you guys are married. You should have your shit together.”
Mom does this choked little laugh—and when I glance up at her, she’s grinning full force at Dad’s name on the phone screen. So, that’s a little disorienting—it’s like catching Valjean and Javert holding hands. But maybe my parents really are a Saturday-night-on-the-sofa kind of couple. And an arguing-over-stupid-shit kind of couple. Maybe they’re both.
“So you’re just a regular mess,” I say finally. “Not a pending-divorce mess?”
“Regular hot mess. Standard-issue,” says Dad.
Mom hugs me sideways. “Maybe you should give your hot mess another chance to explain himself?”
“Psh. That’s different.”
“Oh, Arthur. If you say so.”
Maybe the universe doesn’t hate all of Team Seuss, but it definitely hates me.
Chapter Thirty
Ben
Hanging out with Hudson and Harriett has felt pretty easy. It’s sort of like when I put away my winter boots because it was spring again and I got to slip back into last year’s sneakers; I grew a little bit, but they still fit. We’ve been catching up and filling in the blanks on everything that’s been going on since Hudson and I split, though we’re not bringing up our breakup at all. Even last night when I went over to Hudson’s, he was just listening to me whine about Arthur and Dylan. He’s being the friend he used to be.
“I’m living for Mr. Hayes’s Instagram,” Harriett says as we step out of the frozen yogurt store, a smoothie in one hand and her phone in the other.
“I didn’t know he has one.”
“When you have a face like Mr. Hayes’s, your Instagram magically appears.”
On a bench with Harriett in the middle, we lean in as she scrolls through Mr. Hayes’s Instagram profile. I expected rows and rows of shirtless selfies, and while some definitely exist, everything else is motivational, like removing the clutter in your home and living minimalistically and balanced breakfasts and this mega cheeseburger he conquered in Germany.
“See, he’s living his best life,” Harriett says. “Just look at his feed. He’s been to so many countries. Prepare for my Instagram to be nothing but ads for organic baby food and sugar-free gum and goat milk shampoo, because I have to save up so I can unleash myself on the world.”
“Then you’ll return to a life of selfies?” Hudson asks. “The onslaught of selfies is really important; if I go two minutes on Instagram without seeing your face, I’d probably forget what you look like.”
“You won’t be selfie shaming when you see pictures of me flying solo on boats and on mountains and on hot guys’ laps.”
“You wouldn’t want a travel buddy?” I ask. If I had the money to see the world, I’d want Dylan there. He’s in all my other stories, and I’d want him in all the new ones too, when things settle down again. If they do.
“Are you volunteering your company?”
“Yeah, right.” I chuckle. Harriett’s parents have well-paying jobs and they love spoiling her. I can’t side hustle with my Instagram.
“Down the line, I mean,” Harriett says. “After you’ve sold your book and you’re raking in that Netflix and amusement park money.”
“No pressure.” The Wicked Wizard War feels like such a waste now. Arthur was my biggest fan, and I doubt anyone would love the story as much as Arthur does. And he was my boyfriend. If I wanted to post somewhere public like Wattpad, I would be opening myself up to feedback from strangers who won’t care if this is the story of my heart.
“Just saying. We really missed you, Ben,” Harriett says. Hudson shoots her a look. “What. Let’s stop acting like there isn’t a big gay elephant in the room and try to move on.” She holds our hands. “We’re all friends, right?”
