I laugh. “Hopefully not.”
I peer around the space, drinking it in. Whenever Ben and I FaceTimed, I’d picture myself sprawled on his bed or sitting at his little dining room table. It looks the same, down to the place mats. Honestly, the whole apartment looks the same, apart from a few tiny details—Ben’s high school diploma now framed on the wall, a few new family pictures.
“Well, look who the cat dragged in,” Diego says, striding toward me.
“Bags can go on the counter there, conejo,” Isabel says. “Thank you so much.”
Diego hugs me. “What on earth brings you here? Just in the neighborhood?”
“He works near here,” Ben says.
“With a very famous director,” adds Isabel.
Diego claps his palms together. “Is that right?”
I blush. “He’s—kind of? In certain circles, I guess.”
I start to unload one of the grocery bags, and Ben wanders over to help me. Diego watches us for a minute, eyes gleaming. “Benito, keep bringing these boys around. We’ve got Georgia here taking care of the groceries, California coming this weekend to make asopao de pollo. We’ve never even met the guy, and he’s cooking for us.”
It lands like a punch to the throat—for a moment, I swear I stop breathing.
“Asopao,” Ben explains, as if the main course is the bombshell. He looks vaguely panicked. “It’s a Puerto Rican rice stew. You can make it a lot of different ways, but Abuelita’s recipe is with chicken—that’s the pollo—and pigeon peas. Gandules.”
“Nailing that pronunciation.” Diego pats his shoulder. “Benito, I’m impressed.”
“He’s been working so hard,” Isabel says, but I can’t stop staring at the package I just pulled out of the grocery bag.
Pigeon peas.
Right. I didn’t think the universe would find a way to have me unpacking the ingredients for Ben and Mario’s big meet-the-parents dinner, but here we are.
“Now tell me, Arthur,” Diego says, sidling up to me. “Have you met this Mario character? This one tells me nothing.” Isabel shoots him a look and quietly murmurs something in rapid-fire Spanish. Diego’s eyes flick to me, and he lifts his palms defensively. “Okay, okay.”
Isabel squeezes my shoulder. “An-y-way,” she says, drawing out all the syllables. “We’re just so glad you’re here. Why don’t you join us for dinner tonight?”
“Oh—uh.” I shake my head and set the peas down. “Thank you. I should—I better get home.”
Ben’s brow furrows. “Can I walk you to the subway?”
“It’s fine—”
“At least let me walk you downstairs.” He pauses. “Please.”
“Arthur, you’ll have to come back for longer next time. I want to hear how your parents are doing.”
“They’re good,” I say, nodding quickly, already halfway to the door. “Really good to see you guys.”
Ben follows me into the hallway, and our eyes meet as soon as the door shuts behind us.
I clear my throat. “So you and Mario are getting serious, huh? Meeting the folks.”
His laugh fills the corridor. “Okay, it’s actually not like that—”
“No, I’m happy for you! I guess you changed your mind about long-distance relationships, huh.”
“Oh—”
“Sorry. Okay!” My face goes white-hot. “I’m heading out, but yeah. I’ll see you!”
I’m pretty sure my throat’s closing in on itself. But that makes no sense. He’s not my boyfriend. Ben’s not my boyfriend.
I guess I should be glad he finally found a boy who’s worth the distance.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ben
Saturday, June 13
Days later, and I’m still stuck on Arthur’s expression the moment Pa mentioned Mario. I don’t know why he thought it was okay to casually ask someone’s ex about the guy who replaced him. I think I’d forget how to breathe for a minute if someone asked me about Mikey like that.
It just sucks, because everything up until that moment had been perfect. Walking next to Arthur again felt so right, as if we were picking up right where we left off two summers ago. Even talking about our own friendship stuff wasn’t too bad. It was actually kind of a relief—like maybe things could finally be normal again between us.
But Arthur was so far from normal in the hallway, he couldn’t even fake it.