Page 106 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“Huh . . .”

“And if there’s one thing I know about you, Eli . . . it’s that you’re a fighter.”

“Mom.”

“You are.” She puts a soft hand on top of his. “I know that you doubt it, but you are. You’re a fighter because of your smile, and because of your heart. The way you care about other people, and about yourself.”

Eli balls his other hand into a fist under the counter.

“Maybe that means less to you coming from your mom, but I like to think I know you better than anyone.” She rubs the small of Eli’s back.

It’s been years since she held him this closely, since he felt this protected by her warmth.

The last time he can remember was after the funeral, when they’d both returned to the apartment by themselves, and for the first time in a week, they were totally alone. None of Eli’s aunts or uncles were racing around, freezing the surplus of food that people brought for them, no one was asking about funeral arrangements that hadn’t been made yet, no one was asking Eli how he felt, promising that his father’s suffering was over without admitting that Eli’s had just begun.

They sat on the couch, his mother holding him close as they turned on Who Framed Roger Rabbit, his father’s favorite.

For the first time in weeks, they both laughed.

And Eli felt like he was home.

Now, he tries to feel the same sense of comfort, the same sense of belonging. But he knows what’s coming. What’ll happen if Peter decides that he doesn’t want to be around Eli anymore? Every part of Eli’s being tells him that Peter would never do anything like that. But he never believed Keith would break his heart either.

“Now.” Rue continues to rub the small of his back. “I forget, do you already own ice skates?”

Chapter Thirteen

The Watermelon Woman, dir. by Cheryl Dunye

“Are you okay?” Eli asks while he and Peter are on the bus, both standing because every seat on the bus is filled, the evening riders packing themselves in like sardines.

“Yeah, yeah . . . I’m okay,” Peter says quickly enough to tell Eli that he is, in fact, not okay. “I’m fine. Are you?”

“You seem more nervous than the first time we went out. The real first time, when you spilled soup on me.”

“I’m fine, I promise. Totally okay.”

“Iced Americano,” Eli says to him.

Peter flushes. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes, you’re not telling me the truth.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Peter tries to assure him. But Eli likes to think that he knows Peter well enough by now to tell when Peter’s lying.

“Peter,” Eli whispers. The bus is one of the newer fully electric models the city has been rolling out slowly, meaning it’s almost eerily quiet, despite the amount of riders, and it’s all too easy for their conversation to be eavesdropped on by the other riders. “Please, tell me the truth.”

“I . . .” Peter opens his mouth, staring down at Eli before he turns away in embarrassment. “Yeah, I guess it’s your parents.”

“We don’t have to meet them,” Eli tells him. “I can call and cancel; we can do this some other time. They’ll understand.”

“No, I don’t want to do that. Besides, isn’t this supposed to be some big test for me?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Eli says. “Not if you feel like you’re not ready.”

“I just . . . What if they don’t like me? Or what if I make a total ass out of myself like I did that first date with you? I don’t . . . I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Well, I think you can rest easy. My mother has pretty much already adopted you.”