Page 143 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

Because there’s only one notification he’s looking for.

It’s wrong of him to expect Peter to give him the time of day, he knows that. He knows there’s probably no forgiving what he’s done and no undoing it. Every few hours, he’ll go to the Vent website, just to see his work there.

Of course, it doesn’t end there. Eli’s still—rightfully so—being taken down a peg or several in screenshots, TikToks, Instagram comments. At the very least, it’s not as bad as it could’ve been, especially after he locks his Instagram. He breathes a sigh of relief when some TikTok influencer makes a thirty-part series about an ex-friend of hers, and the internet is quick to leap onto their drama, Eli forgotten just as swiftly as he’d become a target. He closes his laptop where it sits on the coffee table, then picks up his phone. No emails, no calls, no texts.

Not the one he wants, anyway.

He’s considered calling Peter, asking him how he’s feeling, if he’d dare to see Eli ever again.

But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t want to force Peter into that, to bring him back into a space that maybe he’s finally worked his way out of.

Eli doesn’t want to cause him any more trouble than he has already.

He just wants to know if Peter’s okay, if he survived what Eli did to him, the hurt that he caused.

The doorknob turns, the lock clicking as both Rose and Patricia stroll into the apartment, bags hanging from their arms. Eli gets up quickly to help them before their bags fall to the floor.

“You two are late,” he says.

“I met Rose at Grocery Outlet and we got some things for Friendsgiving,” Patricia says, dropping the other bags in her hand on the floor and then dragging them into the kitchen.

“What are you making?”

“I’m going to do an apple pie,” Patricia says, starting to organize things on the counter. “Rose is doing spring rolls and bún bò huế.”

“Really?” Eli whines.

“It’s not too late,” Rose says with a smile, pulling the noodles out. “You can still come with us.”

“Yeah, you try telling my mom that I’m not coming for Thanksgiving.”

“Fair,” Rose says, having only ever met Rue once, but knowing that she’s a woman of tradition. “Can you steal some of her stuffing for me?”

“Me too?” Patricia implores.

“You guys act like she’s not going to have an entire platter ready for me to take home for just the two of you.”

“And some of her ham too,” Patricia adds, letting out a satisfied sigh. “God, that woman knows how to bake a ham.”

Eli winces in disgust. “Okay . . . I feel like we’re veering dangerously close to you calling my mom hot.”

“I mean . . .” Rose starts. “I’d hit it.”

“God.” Eli crams his head into the pantry.

“What? Rue’s a total MILF, that streak of gray in her hair, and the whole boss lady thing? She’s a total fox.” Patricia lets out a purr.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Eli says, his voice muffled. But he can’t help the smile on his face that steadily replaces the straight line of his mouth that he’s had for weeks now, along with the same hoodie that belonged to Peter.

Because he just can’t let some things go.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?” Patricia asks. “I don’t mind canceling. Harriet is going to be there.”

“Harriet?” Rose groans, letting her head fall to the counter. “If she doesn’t return my bowl she borrowed I’m ripping out her extensions.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” Patricia tells her before she looks at Eli again, scratching the back of his neck softly.