Chapter 2
TWO
JACK
Mom looks at me. “Jack, did you not tell Eli his whole family can come?”
“I didn’t realize it.”
Hugh rams his toy truck into my car with a “rah!” and I make a half-hearted growl in return, moving my car without looking. Eli is so tense on the couch, shoulders stiff . . .
“I told you to invite Eli and his family,” Mom says, lips pressing together.
My ears burn. “I may have stopped listening after you said Eli.”
Mom sighs, half amused. Eli’s lips twitch like he wants to smile, but the strain in his expression is too much to let something so light appear. He’s lost in thoughts about his family. Not shutting down, but compartmentalizing, at least. Trying to keep that negativity from taking over.
Hugh gives up on me and lays on his stomach, lining up his cars and trucks on the mat.
“They don’t need to come, but I thought you might want to invite them,” Mom says, looking at Eli again. She puts a hand on Eli’s knee. “Thanksgiving is a time for family.”
“You’re the only real family I have,” Eli mumbles.
Mom’s hand spasms. I see the flicker of fury on her face, as she bites back words she won’t say in front of Eli.
I also see the twitch in her arms, as she represses the urge to hug him.
I know she needs to say something before she gives in and does that.
“I’d like to meet them,” she says in a harder voice than usual. “Would you invite them, Eli?”
He looks at her with something sad and maybe a little longing in his eyes. “I don’t think they’ll come.”
“But they’ll have the offer.”
Some of the rigidity in his shoulders slips out of him with a low breath. “All right.”
Mom’s restraint crumbles and she wraps him in a full hug.
Eli leans into her embrace, letting his head rest on her shoulder.
Mom may not be saying it, but I know she’s doing this for him more than for her.
She wants to force them to see that they should treasure him, like she knew the first day she met him. I get it.
I also worry she has no idea just how much this might hurt Eli.
She holds him for a long moment, as I halfheartedly grab a different car and push it into Hugh’s line of them, and that fluttering worry in my stomach stills. Maybe she knows exactly how much it can hurt Eli—and is determined to help him heal.
“Didn’t you want to shower before work?” Eli asks, pulling my attention back.
“You heading home?”
As unreadable as he can be, I’m pretty sure I see the conflicting instincts in his eyes: one, to retreat and be alone, the other to stay with those he knows love him.
“I’ll stay and play with Hugh, if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll make up some sandwiches for lunch,” Mom says.
She moves to the kitchen, Widget racing ahead when he sees where she’s going. Eli sits on the play mat near us. “Can I play with a car, Hugh?”
Hugh’s eyes dart up and he nods, and holds out an orange one. “Here.”
“Can I be there?” I ask in a low voice.
Eli shifts the car around in his hand. “You really want to?”
“For him, and for the phone call with them.”
His eyes flick to mine. “That’ll be good. Tomorrow.”
I stand and head to my room to get a change of clothes before hopping into the shower, unable to keep the slight smile from my face.
His expression is still hard to read at times.
His voice, though—that beautiful, raw, vinyl voice—crackles with emotion.
I heard the nervousness in it, just now.
I also heard the gratitude. It’s how I know he really does want me there, even if he never would have asked me to be.
I’ll be by his side through all of it.
I can’t stop teasing Eli about our Chemistry project. We need to take a traditional feast food (McG didn’t specify Thanksgiving, but we all know it’s what he was thinking) and do a write-up of its chemical make-up. I let Eli choose our food.
“Rolls are, surprise surprise, mostly starch,” I say, as we work on it Sunday morning.
“Your point?” Eli asks, leaning over the textbook at my kitchen table.
“You chose the most basic option.”
“I like rolls.”
I pick up my orange juice, shaking my head. “They’re so simple!”
“I’m a simple guy. I know what I like. Rolls. Soccer. Music. You.”
He doesn’t look away from the textbook as he says it, so matter-of-fact that I almost choke on my juice. At my spluttering, he does look up.
He leans back. “You can’t be surprised you’re on the list.”
“Surprised I’m last.”
“I went in order of discovery, not preference.”
I look back at the computer, where all I’ve typed so far is the heading. “Mm-hmm.”
Eli reaches over and frames my cheek. “I like you more than rolls, idiot.”
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “What about my mom’s lava cakes?”
He draws his hand back with a feigned wince. “I have to think about that . . .”
I shove his arm, smiling despite myself. “Keep looking for the structural formula of starch so we can do the sketch. I’ll start the written section.”
We work on it for the next hour or so, switching halfway through so I finish the sketch and Eli finishes the writing.
I push Eli’s laptop back on the table and go to the fridge.
“All this has gotten me hungry, and I’m pretty sure we have one more .
. . ha, score!” I pull out the last fluffy biscuit leftover from dinner last night, and the raspberry jam.
“So now that we’re done with the Chem project,” I start, pulling out a knife to smear jam on the biscuit, “how do you want to do this? Uncle Remington first, or your parents?”
I don’t need to look over my shoulder to know he tenses, but we agreed we’d do it today. Mom will ask him about it later. “Uncle Remington first.”
I give Eli half of the biscuit. “Then fuel up, and let’s go. I’m with you.”
His voice is a murmur right before he takes a bite. “I know.”
He’s quiet as we walk to his house, but just before we go in, his hand brushes purposefully against mine. “Uncle Remington?” Eli calls after walking in. He leads the way toward the study and knocks on the open door.
“What is it?” His uncle asks. I peek around Eli and see his uncle in a wingback chair, reading.
“I’m going to Jack’s house for Thanksgiving. They invited you as well, if you’d like to come. Mrs. Benson is making dinner.”
Uncle Remington’s eyes flit to me, and then he looks at Eli with a blank expression. “If your parents come home? What will you do then?”
Eli doesn’t visibly react. “I’m calling them in a minute, to tell them Mrs. Benson invited them, too.”
Uncle Remington raises one brow.
“The invitation stands, if you need time to think about it. I’m going.”
Eli turns to walk away. “My mom wants to meet you,” I blurt out.
Both of their gazes lock onto me. I focus on the cold green gaze of Eli’s uncle. “She’s an amazing cook and she’s really nice, and she wants to meet my boyfriend’s family. So please consider coming.”
The man studies me. “Very well.”
Eli turns. “You’re coming?”
Uncle Remington picks up his book. “Very well, I’ll consider it.”
My hands fist at my sides, but I follow Eli as he walks away. “We’re better off if he doesn’t come, arrogant jerk,” I say as soon as we reach his room.
Eli pulls his phone out. “That’s his way of saying he’s not coming.
” He sighs and puts the ringing phone to his ear.
“I’m pretty sure I’ll get the same response from my par—Mom?
Hi,” he says, shooting me a surprised look.
I hate that he expects them to not even answer his calls.
“Are you guys still in New York City? I wanted to ask you something about Thanksgiving . . .”
He holds the phone away from his ear enough so I can faintly hear his Mom’s voice on the other end as she cuts across him. “Thanksgiving? I’m not sure if we can make it, Elliot.”
“Jack’s mom invited all of us to her house.”
“Oh, that’s sweet. I’m at a wedding shoot, honey, and they’re ready to go, so we’ll talk about it more later, okay? Love you!”
“Yeah, love you too,” Eli says, dropping the phone to his lap.
I stare at it in his hands as the call ends, and as the screen goes black and his eyes flit to mine, I know he can see the fury coursing through me. I don’t say the words, but I know he sees them in my face.
Your family is despicable.
“It’s okay,” he says. His voice is calm. It’s also a little tight. “I knew they wouldn’t come.”
I take a slow breath to keep from bashing them out loud, and then tug on Eli’s sleeve to make him stand. “Let’s go the park until you need to go to work.”
“I have a better idea,” he says, pocketing his phone. There’s something mischievous in the tilt of his smile. “Let’s go give Seth and Fred the distraction they want from their project. They’re at Seth’s house.”
With those two, whatever pain Eli’s feeling will be overshadowed in minutes. I grin. “We can be excellent distractions.”