Page 12 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“What? What’s the point in lying to him?”

Eli knows that she’s right, that he isn’t okay, no matter how often he tells himself he is. “I’ve tried,” he admits to them both. “I’ve been trying! Guys just . . . they fucking suck.”

Despite living in one of the queerest cities on the planet, Eli feels lucky to get a single-word response to most of the messages he sends. He could count on one hand how many conversations went past the introduction. And he could count on two hands how many of those messages ended up being from couples looking for a third, or a group trying to get him to join their polycule.

And while he doesn’t see anything wrong with that, Eli strongly prefers monogamy. A concept that—seemingly—most of the men in San Francisco consider strange and foreign.

“We understand that you’re still hurting from Keith. It’d be stupid to think that a few months would be enough to get over a relationship that lasted more than half a decade,” Patricia continues. “But we don’t think that you’re doing yourself any favors by isolating yourself in the apartment and smoking weed on the weekends.”

“You know I prefer edibles,” he tells them. No smell from edibles.

“Not the point. You’re hurting now, but it’ll get better,” Rose replies. “Day by day, it might seem slow, but it does get better. You don’t ever get rid of the pain, you just learn to live with it, to tolerate it.” Her voice goes quiet. “That’s what I had to tell one of my kids when her dad died.”

Patricia and Eli both turn toward her slowly, concern vibrant in their expressions.

“Jesus, Rose . . .” Patricia whispers.

“Or maybe it was a dog . . .” She seems to think for a moment. “I can’t really remember.”

“Either way . . .” Patricia says, dragging out her words, like she’s trying to brush past whatever it was that just happened. “Rose is right. You just get used to it.”

“It was a guinea pig!” Rose finally reveals. “Her guinea pig died. Her mom didn’t see it and sucked it right up with the vacuum cleaner.”

“Okay . . . that’s enough talking from Rose for the night, I think,” Patricia jumps back in, then stands and offers a hand to Rose to help her up from the couch.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing, sweetie. Nothing at all. Go down to Orphan Andy’s and get some milkshakes. I’ll handle talking to Eli.”

“Two chocolate and a peanut butter?” Rose slips on her teal Crocs at the door before she grabs her phone and keys.

“Please and thank you!”

“I’ll be back!” Rose heads to the door. “Oh, and Patricia!”

“Yes?”

“Convince Eli that he needs to get back out there again and it’s really sad that he just wants to sit on the couch and watch old Swedish movies.”

“Will do, sweet cheeks.”

“Eli!”

Eli braces himself for whatever it is she’s about to say. “Yes?”

“Realize you’re a treasure and that you just need to get over yourself to find a guy who you will fall madly in love with.”

“Thanks, Rose.” He appreciates the enthusiastic truthfulness that Rose loves to hand out when she’s even slightly intoxicated. Both Patricia and Eli watch as she disappears out the front door, and then listen to her footsteps as she marches down the stairs, the silence of the apartment juxtaposed with Tyra Banks giving girls a lesson on smizing.

“So, you’re saying that I like . . . need a rebound or something?” Eli asks, pulling a throw pillow from the couch close to his chest, his fingers playing with the strands that dangle from the edges.

“Well . . . it might not hurt? But I think you need something a little stronger than just a rebound,” Patricia says. “You need to get out there, go on a date with someone other than the toys in your nightstand.”

“Okay, but how do I do that when people don’t seem interested in me at all?”

“I think that maybe you’re reading the situation wrong, Eli. Maybe it’s not that these people aren’t interested, but maybe you’re putting out the wrong energy.”

“So, what’s the right energy?”