There’s an explosion of cheering when the song ends. Kat shows up with our food a minute later, and I’m treated to yet another intriguing performance: Ben Alejo in the nonverbal role of Fanboy Visibly Losing His Shit.
“I can’t believe you’re having your Broadway awakening at this very moment.”
Ben grabs a mozzarella stick. “If you say so.”
“Pretty sure I know the hip hooray and ballyhoo when I hear it.”
Ben looks at me blankly.
“‘Lullaby of Broadway’？ From 42nd Street?”
“Oh, does the awakening come with a full encyclopedia of obscure Broadway references?”
“Did you just call 42nd Street obscure?” He tilts his palms up. “Ben, it won a Tony. And then the revival won a Tony.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Unacceptable. I’m making you a playlist. No, you know what? I’m making you a whole playlist of playlists. One for ballads, one for love songs—” I feel my cheeks go warm. “Oh, and just so you know, Mikey and I haven’t discussed that yet.”
Ben holds his mozzarella stick aloft. “The playlist?”
“No, the I-love-you thing. We haven’t said it yet.”
“Oh!” He blinks. “Sorry, I just figured—”
“No, you’re fine. Yeah, we’re just . . .” God, I don’t even know how to finish that sentence. But Ben’s looking at me, waiting to hear the rest of my bullshit. “Like, I’ve thought about it. Obviously, I love him. I just don’t know if I’m—” I stop short.
“If you’re in love with him?”
I shove a giant bite of French toast in my mouth, scanning the room as I chew. Maybe a waiter’s about to break into song right now? Maybe a nice, loud, full-ensemble number? Anyone?
“You don’t have to answer that,” says Ben.
I swallow. “I know.”
Something flips in my chest when our eyes meet.
I quickly look away. “It’s just hard to pin down sometimes. I always thought love was a certain feeling, and it’s either there or it’s not. But with Mikey, it’s just . . .” I tilt my palms up, looking back up at Ben.
He doesn’t reply. He just furrows his brow and watches me.
“But I don’t actually think it’s supposed to feel like Broadway, you know? It’s not a rom-com. It’s just, I don’t know. Real life. He makes me happy. And I love who he is as a person.”
“He seems great.”
“He is.” I smile. “Like, he’s really funny, but he’s so quiet that hardly anyone knows he’s funny. So you feel like you’re in on a secret. And he’s so smart. And he can sing—sorry, I know I sound like a checklist.”
“No, I get it,” says Ben.
“It’s just . . . I think about it a lot, actually. I keep trying to add it all up in my head. Like at what point does all of this mean I’m in love with him?”
Ben wrinkles his nose. “Why are you trying to turn love into a math problem?”
“I’m not, I swear!” I laugh. “I just wish I knew is all? I keep waiting for it to click or something, and maybe that’s not—I don’t know. I’m probably doing this wrong. I’ll probably look back in a year and say, ‘Wow, I was in love with him the whole time,’ right?”
I shift in my seat, feeling squirmy and strange. I’ve never said any of this out loud before, and now I wish I could snatch the words back out of the air. All these questions about Mikey, these tiny back-burner thoughts in my head. It’s like they’re highlighted and bolded, stamped all over my face: ARTHUR DOESN’T KNOW HIS OWN HEART.
The thing is, two years ago with Ben, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind.
I shake the thought away, turning brightly to Ben. “Seriously, you should come meet him next weekend,” I say. “Mario, too, of course.”
“Right.” Ben pauses. “Mario’s still going to be in LA.”
“But you’ll be here, right?”
“Yeah. But . . . would that make things weird?”
“What? No way. I know Mikey would love to meet you! He’s heard a lot about you. Not in an overshare way—”
“Of course not. Never.”
“Shut up. I’m just saying.” I grin. “It’ll be fun! Universes colliding! You know, I actually think you guys will hit it off. You have a lot in common.”
“We do?”