Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(9)

His lips tug up. “What?”

“You were right. I do need a tie. Chad from corporate is going to Broadway.” I stand again, scanning the room. “Now I just have to figure out where I packed them.”

“Cardboard box by your desk. Label says Arthur: Fancy.”

My hands fly to my heart. “You made me a fancy box?”

“I did.” He looks at me for a moment, smiling faintly. Then he stands, grabbing his shirt off the floor. “Okay, how about you finish up? I’ll go drop off my key and grab us some food on the way back?”

“Mikey Mouse, you’re my hero.” Even after he leaves, I can’t help but smile at the door.

But a moment later, I reach for my phone.

@ben-jamin liked your photo.



Apparently my heart’s going for a jailbreak from my rib cage. Over an Instagram notification. It’s the most ridiculous thing.

But I tap the notification, and moments later, I’m staring at my official New York announcement post from last week. It’s a selfie where I’m holding a postcard of Central Park, the one Ben gave me the last time we saw each other in person. There’s even a handwritten Ben-Jamin and Arturo scene on the back. But of course, the only person who would possibly recognize the postcard ignored the post entirely, like he always does.

Liked by @ben-jamin and others.



Until now. The day before I leave for New York.





Chapter Three


Ben

Sunday, May 17




The best thing about Pa being my boss is that now I get paid when he tells me what to do.

I’ve been able to put my Duane Reade checks toward what I hope will be my next job—mega-best-selling author of The Wicked Wizard War—by buying a writing program to help me keep all my world-building thoughts organized, and purchasing the domain name for the series website. I’m dreaming big here, but Mario has been an excellent hype-man, saying that my series could be the next big thing. It would be epic to have a franchise of movies, and I can write spin-off comics and play video games set in my world. And of course Pa and Ma won’t have to work anymore if they don’t want to, even though I’d love to boss Pa around at my eventual amusement park.

But until then, Pa hands me a basket of pregnancy tests and condoms. “Here’s some more for this aisle.”

“Shouldn’t condoms go elsewhere? Let’s create a Not-Family Planning section.”

“By all means, go for it. I’m sure corporate wants all their floor plans restructured by their new manager’s nineteen-year-old son.”

“Nepotism for the win.”

I still can’t believe my first official job is working for Pa. I thought it would be something like unboxing shipments at a bookstore. But when Pa told me they were hiring, I applied because I was positive all I’d have to do was stock shelves while listening to music. Nope. It’s a lot of memorizing where different items are in the store as quickly as possible because customers hate it when you can’t spit out the answer at Google-search speeds. And it turns out that working the cash register stresses me out. One time I didn’t give a customer his correct change, and he asked to speak with my boss. I stupidly called my father Pa in front of the customer, who snapped at Pa for not doing a better job at teaching me how to count. I blushed and Pa bit his tongue, and we were both upset for the rest of the shift.

It’s pretty clear why I prefer unboxing things in the back room when given the chance. No customers plus bonus time to think about my worlds—real and imaginary.

I pull out my phone.

“No phone while working,” Pa says.

“I’m just checking the time. Lo siento.”

“Está bien. You meeting with that boy later?”

He’s talking about Mario. “Just Dylan,” I say.

“It’s never ‘just’ Dylan, even when it’s just Dylan. He’s a lot.”

Pa approves of Dylan way more than he does Mario. He thinks I deserve more commitment, but Mario and I have only been playing around in a romantic space for a little over a month. There’s still so much Mario and I haven’t talked about. Like his own history with past boyfriends or whether he’s even looking for a new relationship. I’m not a fan of Pa judging Mario for not being my official boyfriend.

Pa taps my shoulder. “If I offer you a penny for your thoughts in Spanish, will you understand that yet?”

“No,” I say.

“Was that an English ‘no’ or Spanish ‘no’?”

I stare at the condom boxes some more.

Pa snaps his fingers. “Benito, talk to me.”

“We’re at work.”

“I’m your father before I’m your boss. Except when you want to leave early or need an unscheduled day off.”

He doesn’t understand that this is one of the problems. He’s my father and my boss. He might want to have a conversation right now, but I’m pretty burned-out and need to breathe. Everything would’ve been so different if my family had money like Dylan’s so I could’ve gone away for school. I’m not airing out any of this to Pa while we’re wearing our blue Duane Reade vests. Or even at home. I need my space.

“I’m okay,” I say.