Page 48 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“Who taught you the word ‘cis-heteronormative’?”

Eli’s mother turns toward him, her eyebrows raised and a smile on her face. “I’m hip with the children! I watch Drag Race!”

That’s when the back door opens and Eli’s stepfather, John, walks in, leaving his keys on the counter, Eli’s half sibling, Les, right behind him.

“Are we talking about RuPaul?” he asks loudly. “I love that Jaida Essence Hall, what a lady!” The name Jaida Essence Hall coming out of John’s deep, straight, fifty-year-old New England mouth makes Eli laugh in a way that he’s quick to hide.

Les, ever the embarrassed preteen, breezes right past their father, setting their cello case and backpack next to the counter before they speed off down the hall toward their bedroom.

“Les!” Eli’s mother calls out as John comes up behind her and kisses her cheek. “Come and get your things and put them in your room, please!”

There’s no answer, leaving Rue to look at her husband.

John gives her a sympathetic look. “Their teacher told me some of the girls in their class have been picking on them.”

“Oh, God . . .”

“Do you want me to talk to them?” Eli asks.

“No, no. I’ll do it.” Rue sets the tomato she was about to slice down on the cutting board. “We can’t go to you for everything.”

“Just the trans stuff, right?” Eli prompts.

And Rue agrees. “John, honey, can you slice these? And, Eli, watch the bread in the oven.”

“Can do!” John leaps right at it, taking the deep chestnut handle of the serrated knife and cutting into the tomatoes. “So, Eli!”

Despite growing more accustomed to John over the years and appreciating his company, Eli still finds it difficult to make small talk with the guy.

“So, John!” Eli mimics John’s enthusiasm, opening the oven and peering in, earning a blast of hot air to the face before he shuts it.

“Rue told me she’s gonna give you the number of that intern at the press.”

“No,” Eli assures him. “She is not.”

“Yeah, I said it wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Really?” Eli hops back up to his old spot on the counter, watching John carefully cut the tomatoes.

“Of course! I told her, ‘Rue, you’ve gotta let the man go at his own pace.’ You don’t just get over heartbreak. Trust me, I know.”

“Oh, well . . . thank you,” Eli says slowly.

“How’s the job going? Did you get that writer spot that you wanted?”

“Oh, uh . . .” He hadn’t yet broken the news to either of them about how poorly the interview had gone. “They went with someone else.”

“Ah, they’re idiots. I’ve read some of your stuff, they’re stupid for not promoting you.”

“You read my stuff?”

“Yeah! I mean . . .” John struggles for a bit. “It was just your high school and college writing that your mom found. I looked online and couldn’t find your portfolio or anything. But it was still impressive.”

“Well, when you only have a few articles to your name and they’re for some San José State student newspaper, it’s not exactly a point of pride.”

“The stuff I read might’ve been old, but it was good. And it’s clear you have a passion for it.”

“Well, Vent doesn’t want those kinds of articles; it goes ‘against the brand.’”