Page 147 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

He pushes out the back door, squatting in the alleyway near a stack of pallets that the city never bothered to pick up. Eli’s chest heaves slowly as he tries to take deep, heavy breaths, wondering how much air might be too much air. He buries his hands in his hair, slipping the cap off his head and letting it fall to the street.

He’s with someone else, Eli thinks again.

And he has to be okay with that. That’s what he tells himself. Because he needs to be okay with this. This was his mistake, and he has to reap the consequences of what he’s done.

But he can’t stop the way his heart thuds in his chest, how he wishes it would stop just so he wouldn’t have to think of Peter anymore. He wants this to be over, the heartbreak to work its way out of his system.

But it still hurts.

It hurts worse than when Keith ended things. Back then, there was a pain, a sting to the words that Keith said to him, the way he said he didn’t love Eli anymore. But it was so much easier to forgive in comparison.

Knowing that he’d once had Peter’s heart, that he’d known Peter’s true feelings—it wasn’t a pain, it didn’t burn.

It feels like nothing.

There’s an absence in Eli’s heart, a numbness. And now Peter’s moved on. And Eli has to be okay with that.

Because what other option does he have?

Chapter Twenty

Monty Python and the Holy Grail, dir. by Terry Gilliam and Terry Jones

“Oh! My baby boy!” Rue pulls Eli into the house before he can even fully open the front door.

“Careful, I’m holding something.” Eli holds the covered pie away from her.

“You baked?”

“Patricia did. She called it ‘payment for the stuffing.’ Which I’m hoping you have, otherwise you’ll need to clear out the guest room for me to move in.”

“I tripled the recipe this year. Those girls.” Rue shakes her head, taking the pie. “God, this smells good. I love her baking.”

“She’s a wizard in the kitchen,” Eli remarks, putting his jacket on the coat rack.

“So . . . you know I’m going to ask,” she says, leading him into the kitchen.

Eli pauses at the door, watching as John steals a slice of ham from where it sits on the counter, as if he can’t see what she’s about to ask coming from a mile away.

“Where is Peter? I was looking forward to him coming.”

Eli winces at the mention of Peter. His chronically offline mother had no reason to ever hunt down the article, but she’d managed to find it anyway, her coworkers “so proud” of Eli for making his debut at Vent before a phone call later that night when he explained he’d also quit. Even just her voice through the phone carried enough disappointment to still weigh on Eli.

“He’s not coming,” he tells her.

Her expression sinks. “I was hoping you would’ve made up by now.”

“Yeah.” Eli tries to hide his face. “I don’t think that’s happening, Mom.”

“Well, I should say so.” She sighs. “You really fucked the dog on this one, Eli.”

“Fucked the dog?” He stares at her. “Do you mean ‘screwed the pooch’?”

“Same thing.” She waves her son off. “I’m sorry, Eli. But it’s true. What you did was fucked up.”

As if on cue, Les seemingly appears out of nowhere. “You have to put a dollar in the swear jar.”

“Mommy’s allowed one per month, and I haven’t used it yet.”