Chapter 4
FOUR
JACK
Eli doesn’t pace when he’s nervous. His nervous energy coils inside instead.
I only see it because I know him. His face becomes mask-like, the way it was the first few weeks I knew him.
His dark eyes fix on the doorway, and although he looks like he’s leaning against the wall, his shoulders are rigid beneath his soft sweater.
“I want to eat!” Hugh says from where he sits at the table.
“Here, honey, have a roll while we wait,” Mom says.
“They should be here by now,” Eli says in a quiet voice. “It’s been half an hour.”
“Don’t worry,” I tell him.
“They’re already making a negative impression.”
They’ve made a negative impression all this time, with their neglect.
Being a few minutes late is nothing. But I don’t say that to Eli.
Part of him is nervous because he wants them to impress us, but he also wants them to be better.
He hasn’t seen them in two years. He knows now that they’re failing him, but he still wants to believe they can do better.
I hope they can. And if they can’t, I hope Mom rakes them over the coals.
I hear a car door in the next minute, closely followed by two others. “They’re here,” I call to Mom, as Eli goes to open the door.
Mom bustles over, Widget flying past. Eli takes a second before he draws the door open, the wings of his shoulders moving with a deep breath. His uncle leads the way in. My eyes skirt right over him and fix on Eli’s absentee parents.
Eli’s father is definitely the one related to Uncle Remington. They both have dark hair and broad shoulders, like Eli. His father has black eyes, compared to the green of his uncle’s, and his face doesn’t seem as naturally pulled down in a scowl. It’s somewhat blank.
Eli’s mother has curly brown hair and brown eyes a little lighter than Eli’s, and a face full of makeup done perfectly.
I assume. It’s obvious she’s wearing it, but it looks really nice.
Guess if her world is fashion photography, she’s used to wearing it expertly, but it seems weird to be so done up for Thanksgiving with family.
She’s also wearing a short dress and high heels.
I look at Mom, in dark jeans and a purple T-shirt with a turkey on it, and try to hide my smile.
One mother clearly gets this day more than the other.
“Elliot!” Eli’s mother says, spreading her arms.
Beside me, Eli is still rigid. His voice is his first reaction, low and raw. “Mom.”
He kind of lurches forward to meet her embrace. The smile playing at my lips fades, something clogging my throat. He must have grown a lot, since the last time she hugged him. Does it feel different, to him? Does it feel different to her?
She pats his back and ends the hug after a few seconds. Too soon.
Eli doesn’t show anything, though. He just backs away, gives his father a hug that lasts barely a second, and dips his head at Uncle Remington. “I’m glad you came. This is Jack.”
“Nice to meet you,” I manage. I don’t think I mean it. Conflicting emotions churn inside me, sadness welling in my chest even as rage creeps up my throat. Seeing them, putting faces to the silhouettes that have caused Eli so much pain . . .
Mom steps forward. “Lilah Benson, Jack’s mom. I’m so glad you could come!”
She hugs Eli’s mom—she hugs all three of them. Uncle Remington looks flabbergasted.
“Please, come on in. We’ve got the table all set, and I know the boys are hungry. They always are, but in this case, I’m sure we all are!”
Mom ushers them to the dining room. Janet and Hugh are already sitting. Eli’s mother pauses at the sight of them. “My daughter, Janet, and my grandson, Hugh,” Mom says.
“Oh, you have a grandson,” Eli’s father says. “How nice.”
His tone says the opposite. Janet’s eyes narrow slightly. Hugh says hi and waves to everyone.
We crowd around the table. It’s a bit of a tight fit, but my family positions their chairs closer together to give Eli’s more room. Mom seats herself next to Eli’s mother. Eli sits next to me, across from them.
“You made everything yourself?” Eli’s mother asks, as Mom takes the cover off the platter loaded with turkey. Steam rises from the freshly uncovered platter, and my stomach gurgles in anticipation.
“I love cooking,” Mom says. “Eli was telling Jack he hasn’t had a turkey for Thanksgiving, so I made an extra big one this year.”
“Eli?” Eli’s father asks.
“It’s what they call me,” Eli says as we start loading our plates. “Long story.”
“And interesting, I’m sure,” Eli’s mother says. “How long have you known each other?”
“Since the start of the school year,” I tell her, pausing with a big spoon of mashed potatoes in my hand. “We’re both on the soccer team.”
“Oh, you made it pretty far this year, didn’t you?”
“I asked you to come to the regional championship,” Eli says, playing with his fork.
“It’s probably best we didn’t come, since that was your last game,” his father says.
I’m glad my mouth is full of carrots, keeping me from responding. Eli’s fingers press on the metal fork hard enough to see white at the edges of his nails.
“Eli told us you’re photographers?” Mom asks, cheerfully trying to break the tension.
The awkward silence abates as Eli’s parents start talking about their travels.
Eli takes a bite of turkey and his eyes widen. “Mrs. Benson, this is amazing.”
“Even better with ketchup,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow.
“You know you liked ketchup on the burger. Try it on turkey.”
“What about gravy?”
“You need that for your precious rolls.”
Eli pours some gravy onto his plate, pointedly spears turkey with his fork, dips it in the gravy, and brings it to his mouth.
I put a piece on my fork, dip it in ketchup, and set it on the edge of his plate. “Just try it.”
“Only if you try this.” He rips a roll apart and puts a piece dipped in gravy on my plate.
“No wager this time?”
That’s when I realize the table has fallen silent, almost all eyes on the two of us.
Hugh continues stuffing his face, oblivious.
Janet is shaking her head at my reliance on ketchup.
Mom has a fond look in both of our directions.
Eli’s family is hard to read, but seem like they don’t know what to make of everything.
I eat the gravy-dipped bit of roll and smile. It’s buttery and fluffy and savory. How have I never eaten it like this before? “Okay, I get your appreciation for rolls now.”
Eli tries the turkey with ketchup and nods. “You’re right, too. Turkey is good with ketchup. Still better with gravy, but good.”
“Jack always needs ketchup at the table,” Mom says with a laugh.
Uncle Remington makes a small sound through closed lips.
“So you’ve been helping raise Eli since he was little?” Mom asks him.
He nods. “His parents asked me to house him. They thought they might whisk him away for some of their travels, and didn’t want to have to pull him from a boarding school on a whim and risk being kicked out.
Less fear of that with public school.” He smirks at Eli’s father.
“Looks like I was right in saying he could have been in a boarding school.”
“They’re so expensive!” Eli’s father says.
“But they do produce disciplined individuals.”
“I think it worked out well that we didn’t enroll him anywhere else,” Eli’s mother says, giving her husband and brother-in-law pointed looks. “Seems like he’s fit himself in well at Fredricks High.”
The next twenty minutes are among the most awkward I’ve ever sat through.
Eli and I don’t have a little bubble of privacy again, as his parents keep asking both of us questions.
How exactly did we meet? How did Elliot get the nickname Eli?
When did we start dating? How’s school going? Do we have any classes together?
It seems like a good thing. It feels . .
. forced. Like they know they should ask these things, but don’t really care about the answers, from the way his father keeps tapping on his smart watch and his mother doesn’t engage with any of the responses.
Eli becomes more robotic with each one, less readable.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a meal like this,” Eli’s mother says as we finish. “Thank you, Lilah. It was delicious.”
Mom smiles. She starts bringing plates back to the kitchen. A flicker of surprise goes through me when Eli’s parents both stand to copy her. They have some manners, anyway.
Eli doesn’t notice, statuesque beside me.
“We certainly weren’t expecting anything like this today,” Eli’s father says, picking up his plate. “We got to Remington’s house and couldn’t believe you weren’t home!”
Something inside Eli snaps, whatever thoughts he’d had churning in his mind lashing out.
He stands, his chair scraping against the floor.
“You never listen! I told you Mrs. Benson invited us here! I told you I’d be here, and I told him”—he points a finger at Uncle Remington—"when I invited all of you to come with me! But you never listen to me!”
His chest rises and falls with the weight of his breath.
“You called when I was at work,” Eli’s mother says, setting her plate back down. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember, but we did come all this way to be with family, so you have to understand why we’d be confused you weren’t home.”
Everything is silent for several constrictions of my heart, as Eli stares at his mother with an open mouth, looking for all the world like he’s just been slapped.
“I am home, Mom. I am with family.”
His mother looks at Mom, Janet, Hugh, and me, as if waiting for us to say Eli is wrong. Her lips press together when none of us do, and she returns her attention to Eli. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, but this isn’t your family, Elliot. Not really. I know they’ve just given us a nice meal, but—”