Will Grayson, Will Grayson(42)
Author: John Green

me: why should you fix the salad?

mom: doesn’t tiny like salad?

me: i told you, i think tiny would eat baby seals if we gave them to him. but i mean, why do you have to fix the salad? who broke it? i didn’t touch it. did you break the salad, mom? if you did, YOU’D BETTER FIX IT!

I’m joking, but she’s not really finding it funny. and i’m thinking, aren’t i supposed to be the one who’s freaking out here? tiny is going to be the first b-b-b- (i can’t do it) boy-f-f-f (c’mon, will) boyf-boyf (here we go) boyfriend of mine that she’s ever met. although if she keeps talking about salad, i might have to lock her in her bedroom before he comes over.

mom: you’re sure he doesn’t have any allergies?

me: calm. down.

like i suddenly have supercanine sound skills, i hear a car pulling into the driveway. before mom can tell me to comb my hair and put on some shoes, i’m out the front door and watching tiny turn off the ignition.

me: run! run!

but the radio’s so loud that tiny can’t hear me. he just grins. as he opens the door, i get a look at his car.

me: what the—?!?

It’s this silver mercedes, the kind of car you’d expect to be driven by a plastic surgeon – and not the kind of plastic surgeon who fixes the f**ked-up faces of starving african babies, but the kind of plastic surgeon who convinces women that their lives will be over if they look older than twelve.

tiny: greetings, earthling! i come in peace. take me to your leader!

It should be weird to have him right in front of me for only the second time in our boyfriendship, and it should be really exciting that i’m about to be caught up in those big arms of his, but really i’m still stuck on the car.

me: please tell me you stole that.

he looks a little confused, and holds up the shopping bag he’s carrying.

tiny: this?

me: no. the car.

tiny: oh. well, i did steal it.

me: you did?

tiny: yeah, from my mother. my car was almost out of gas.

It’s so bizarre. all the times we’ve been talking or texting or IMing or whatever, i’ve always imagined that tiny was in a house like mine, or a school like mine, or a car like the one i might get someday – a car almost as old as me, probably bought off an old woman who isn’t allowed to drive anymore. now i’m realizing it’s not like that at all.

me: you live in a big house, don’t you?

tiny: big enough to fit me!

me: that’s not what i mean.

I have no idea what i’m doing. because i’ve totally slowed us down, and even though he’s right in front of me now, it’s not like it should be.

tiny: come here, you.

and with that, he puts his bag down and opens his arms to me, and his smile is so wide that i’d be an ass**le to do anything but walk right inside his welcome. once i’m there, he leans down to kiss me lightly.

tiny: hello.

I kiss him back.

me: hello.

okay, so this is the reality: he is here. he is real. we are real. i shouldn’t care about his car.

mom’s got her apron off by the time we get inside the house. even though i warned her that he’s the shape of utah, there’s still a slight moment of astonishment when she first sees tiny in the flesh. he must be used to this, or maybe he just doesn’t care, because he glides right over to her and starts saying all the right things, about how excited he is to meet her, and how amazing it is that she cooked dinner, and how wonderful the house looks.

mom gestures him over to the couch and asks him if he wants anything to drink.

mom: we have coke, diet coke, lemonade, orange juice –

tiny: ooh, i love lemonade.

me: it’s not real lemonade. it’s just lemon-flavored crystal light.

both mom and tiny look at me like i’m the f**king grinch.

me: i didn’t want you to get all excited for real lemonade!

I can’t help it – i’m seeing our apartment through his eyes – our whole lives through his eyes – and it all looks so . . . shabby. the water stains on the ceiling and the dull-colored rug and the decades-old tv. the whole house smells like debt.

mom: why don’t you go sit next to tiny, and i’ll get you a coke?

I took my pills this morning, i swear. but it’s like they ended up in my leg instead of my brain, because i just can’t get happy. i sit down on the couch, and as soon as mom is out of the room, tiny’s hand is on my hand, fingers rubbing over my fingers.

tiny: it’s okay, will. i love being here.

I know he’s been having a bad week. i know things haven’t been going his way, and that he’s worried his show is going to bomb. he’s rewriting it daily. (‘who knew it would be so complicated to fit love into fourteen songs?’) i know he’s been looking forward to this – and i know that i’ve been looking forward to this. but now i have to stop looking forward and start looking at where i am. it’s hard.

I lean into tiny’s meaty shoulder.

I can’t believe i’m turned on by anything i’d call ‘meaty.’

me: this is the rough part, okay? so just stay tuned for the good part. i promise it’ll come soon.

when mom comes back in, i’m still leaning there. she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t stop, doesn’t seem to mind. she puts our drinks down, then runs to the kitchen again. i hear the oven open and close, then the scrape of a spatula against a cookie sheet. a minute later, she’s back with a plate of mini hot dogs and mini egg rolls. there are even two little bowls, one with ketchup and one with mustard.

tiny: yum!

we dig in, and tiny starts telling mom about the week he’s had, and so many details about hold me closer that i can see she’s thoroughly confused. as he’s talking, she remains hovering above us, until finally i tell her she should join us, sit down. so she pulls over a chair and listens, even having an egg roll or two herself.

It starts to feel more normal. tiny being here. mom seeing the two of us. me sitting so that at least one part of my body is always touching his. it’s almost like i’m back in millennium park with him, that we’re continuing that first time-bending conversation, and this is where the story is supposed to go. as always, the only question is whether i’ll f**k it all up.

when there are no finger foods left to finger, mom clears the dishes and says dinner will be ready in a few minutes. as soon as she’s out of the room, tiny turns to me.

tiny: i love her.

yes, i think, he’s the type of person who can love someone that easily.

me: she’s not bad.