Page 96 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“You really don’t.”

“Okay, then . . .” Eli has to think for a moment. “Then this is a dating lesson. In sharing yourself, your vulnerabilities, dreams.”

Peter looks so unsure.

“If you’re going to date,” Eli elaborates, making up his excuse on the spot, “you’re going to have to share parts of yourself. Even the scary parts that you think are ugly. It’s what it means to fall in love—getting to know someone and being brave enough to share the pieces of yourself that you’d want to hide.”

“But that’s . . . this is—”

“Am I not teaching you how to be a better boyfriend?”

“Yeah . . .”

“Then this is a lesson.”

“What if it weirds that person out? Or like . . . they don’t like it?”

“Well, firstly, I think your brain is being mean to you. People want to be writers, Peter. If someone thinks that you’re weird for wanting to follow your dreams, no matter what they are, then they’re the ones not worth your time. Not the other way around. You deserve people who like you for you.”

The smile that Eli is looking for finally appears, and it’s the first time all night that he feels warm again. “Thanks, Eli.”

“You’re welcome, Peter. Now—” Eli sets down the last of the folded clothes, leaping up to sit on the empty dryer he’s been standing in front of. “Tell me this idea, I want to hear all about it.”

“This Korean guy is fresh to the city, he’s never dated anyone, never kissed anyone, wants to paint but works at a job he hates, never been in love before.”

“Sounds very autobiographical,” Eli tells him. “So, what’s the romance? Who does he fall in love with?”

“A friend asks him to go to a family wedding. Both of them have felt the pressure from their families to date and to get married, so they arrange this whole situation just to get their parents off their backs. Of course, while they’re faking, they start to have real-life feelings.”

“A tale as old as time,” Eli sings.

“You think it’s interesting?”

“Yeah, I’d totally read it,” Eli tells him. “Even though I don’t read fiction, or much at all beyond things for research.”

Peter nods. “I have a full manuscript. Ninety thousand words, but I just . . . can’t really get myself to open the document again. To start editing it, send it to agents.”

“There’s a fear of rereading your own writing.” One that Eli’s all too familiar with.

“Yeah, it’s like that.”

“I know what you mean.” Eli kicks his feet back and forth. “Back in college, when I actually got the chance to write, I was terrified to give my editors the articles I’d written. No matter how many times I did it, no matter how many times they told me my work was good, that I only needed to change a few things. It never got any easier.”

“It’s just . . . if I finish this, if I edit it and send it out to people . . . what if it’s still not any good? What if people hate it? I could get an agent, a publisher could buy it, and readers could still hate me and the book.”

“Well . . . just because you spent a lot of time on something doesn’t mean that it’ll be good, or that people have to appreciate it.”

“Thanks . . .” Peter tries to laugh.

“Let me finish my point!” Eli tells him. “But . . . as long as you like what you’ve done, as long as you can stand by what you’ve written, that you can say you’re proud of it, then that’s all that has to matter. The people out there who want your writing will follow.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” Eli tells him, doing his best to ignore his own words.

But now, maybe Peter will take that chance, maybe this conversation will convince him to chase after his dream, to edit his book.

To do the one thing that Eli’s never been able to do.