Page 17 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“But there were other girls, nicer girls, worse girls.”

“And you were never scared?”

“At first. It’s weird, you know? Hard to explain. Like if aliens landed tomorrow and we had to explain how we as a society go through a whole courting process that involves apps and how shallow we are, and how we have sex without the desire to procreate, you’d realize how weird all of this is.”

“You’re imagining very rigid aliens,” Eli tells her. “You don’t think they’d be more relaxed?”

“Depends on what aliens we encounter first.”

“True.”

“I think being nervous is a good thing, though.”

“Really?” Eli can’t think of a time he’s ever been nervous in a helpful way. Even the days leading up to the best ones of his life, his first appointment with his gynecologist about going on HRT, his first day of college, his first consultation for his top surgery, his final exams, his graduation. All of those core memories had been preceded by weeks of anxiety and fear.

“Mm-hmm.” Rose tugs on a strand of hair, twirling it with her finger before she releases it. “I think it shows that you care. That you’re afraid to mess things up. If you were some uber-confident guy who went into every interaction expecting everyone to love you just for breathing, then you’d be pretty insufferable.”

“But those guys never have to worry about what people think of them.”

“Trust me, Eli. Those guys worry too much about what people think of them. More than either of us ever have.” Rose stands back, and Eli peers up at her through the short curtain of hair that shrouds his forehead now.

“How’s it look?” Eli asks, feeling relief for the first time all day.

“You tell me.” She takes Eli by the shoulders, leading him to stand in front of the mirror where his hair is curled to perfection. Fluffy with plenty of body, the acceptable frizz that Eli walks around with totally gone.

“You’re a miracle worker, Rose,” he tells her, leaning further toward the mirror to see every single curl perfectly in place.

“I know. Just buy me dinner this weekend.”

“Done.”

“Eli!” Patricia calls for him from his attached bedroom.

A Mario Kart tournament had decided who got the master bedroom with the en suite, and Eli had pulled through with his usual Yoshi build. Patricia had contested the win, citing that Eli had spent more time than the rest of them practicing the shortcuts of the track, but the argument died when Eli reminded her that she’d picked the game.

Besides, having the extra square footage meant paying $300 more in rent than the other two, so she wasn’t that upset.

“Get in here!”

Patricia has three sweaters on Eli’s bed, all from what she’s labeled his Grandpa Collection. Jacquard and wool sweaters with all kinds of wild patterns that he’d procured from thrift stores all over the city. Eli would have argued against the grandpa allegations, but the sweaters had most likely come from someone’s grandfather’s wardrobe.

Though Eli preferred not to think about who his thrifted clothing came from, especially when he stumbled upon a large collection, all the same size, donated all at once.

Those poor—probably dead—grandpas.

“No pants?” he asks, picking the cerulean with accents of gold and white with diamonds and stripes. The perfect amount of hideously tacky, and just to Eli’s taste.

“You’re wearing these.” Patricia reaches into Eli’s dresser, pulling out what Eli calls his sweatjeans. Which just means they’re Uniqlo jeans with drawstrings, but God they’re comfortable. “Cuff them. And wear your white Filas.”

“Filas?” Eli stares at her. “You don’t think I’m going too casual?”

Patricia scoffs, falling back onto the bed. “You’re getting tofu soup and going to the movies. Besides, casual fashion will set the mood just fine.”

“You think he’ll like me?” Eli asks, pulling his white undershirt on, tucking it into his pants before he ties the drawstring. He asks the question quietly, not wanting Rose to hear him. Hell, he doesn’t want to ask Patricia the question, but she’s the only one he wants to talk to right now.

“I thought you didn’t care?” Patricia eyes him with a satisfied smirk.

“And I don’t. I don’t care about dating, it’s stupid.”