Page 83 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“Laying it on a little thick, aren’t we, Michael?” Eli mutters to himself.

He rereads what he has, cringing. Peter has gone from a socially awkward sweetheart to a douchebag with no common sense. Eli tried to slip in a few lines about Peter’s experience growing up Korean in the South, the intersectionality of being a gay Korean man, having no one to learn the formative basics from, how he was never permitted to earn experience, never given the chance to mess up and learn until it was too late and everyone around him expected Peter to just know everything.

It’s all struck through by Michael, the words a bright red as he tracks the changes to the document.

The article isn’t even his anymore. There’s nothing from him; even the voice is wrong. Michael’s comments populate the margins, highlighting passages with notes like “I can feel the awkward” or “Clean this up, too clunky.”

He looks at the Lavender Country article, trying to envision his own writing from Michael’s perspective, wondering what might be too much, what might need refining. He spends an hour second-guessing his word choices, wondering if the introduction is too dated, if he needs to come up with something else.

At the very least, he can recognize that his writing is good. There’s a connection there, a soul to the story. When he closes that window, going back to the Build-a-Boyfriend article, his stomach churns. He stares at the blinking cursor, almost as if the Google Doc is making fun of him. He holds the backspace key down, then switches to Ctrl+Z’ing when he goes a little too far and deletes some of the things that Michael actually likes.

His coworkers start filing out as the day reaches its end, gathering their things and muttering their goodbyes. Eli takes out his phone, staring at the last messages between him and Peter. Basic conversations about potential plans, more pictures of himself that Peter’s taken.

Eli rereads their old conversations, and he begins to type.

Eli: want to grab dinner tonight?

Eli stares at the message, hesitating. Then he deletes the text.

Eli: hey, want to do something?

Eli: the alamo in the mission is doing a horror marathon, want to see something?

Eli: i don’t think we should hang out anymore

Eli: i’m an asshole, i’m sorry.

Eli: it’d be better for both of us if we just stopped this whole thing.

He almost sends that last message.

Almost.

But then, a message from Peter comes in.

Peter: I’m sorry, that big project is still going on, my boss has me working all weekend to make sure things go smoothly.

Peter: Sorry

So there; it’s decided for him.

Eli: it’s okay.

Eli: i’ve been drowning in work too

Eli: we can hang out next week!

Peter: Yeah. I’ll let you know how it looks.

He almost tells Peter what’s going on, just to give Peter an out. But he can’t bring himself to do it. Because he can’t stand the thought of a world where Peter Park hates him, where he no longer has that smile to comfort him, where he no longer gets to hold Peter’s hand, where he—

Oh.

Oh.

“Fuck me . . .” Eli almost throws his phone onto the desk before remembering just how little protection the rubber case grants him.

“Only if you buy me dinner first.” Patricia sets down her purse, pulling up an empty chair like she always does.