Chapter 7
SEVEN
ELI
Time melts away as completely as the stress inside me, kissing Jack.
Our mouths slide over each other slowly, languorously—each moment wordlessly conveying how much he loves me.
It’s a physical lullaby. Kisses deepen and slow, lips stilling, breaths deepening.
My eyes, already closed, can’t seem to open, and I fall asleep tangled in Jack’s sleepy embrace.
I haven’t fallen asleep beside him since that night we looked at the stars. Waking up with him slotted beside me, head leaning on my shoulder, soft hair against my cheek, I wish we could do this more. But I hadn’t meant to stay the night.
I press my lips to Jack’s hair. He stirs, a smile blooming across face even before he opens his eyes.
“Okay, this is the best way to wake up,” he murmurs.
I hum in agreement.
He sits up and stretches, revealing Widget curled up on his other side. “What time is it?”
It’s a good question. I look over at the wall clock and suck in a breath. “Seven.”
“Mom’s already at the diner.”
“My parents are leaving in an hour.”
He turns. “Thought your parents would be like your uncle, and sleep late.”
“Not on travel days. They have a party in New York City tonight.” I stand, abruptly fully awake. “I told them I’d say goodbye.”
“Will you be in trouble for not going home? I can explain it was my fault.”
I brush back some of his messy hair. “It’s no one’s fault, Jack. And I think I have at least a few days of skirting Uncle Remington’s expectations before he wants to blow up again. Your mom embarrassed him.”
Jack chuckles. “She enjoyed that as much as I did.” He retrieves his phone. “Better tell her good morning. And tell Janet we’re going out. Hugh should wake her up anytime now.”
My eyebrows lift. “We’re going out?”
“I think we could both do with a breakfast at the diner, after you say bye to your parents. You can catch Mom up on everything.” His eyes widen. “Not that you need me to go with you, or even want me to, but I thought we could—”
I stop him with a quick kiss. “I do want you to come. They need to apologize to you.”
“They won’t like that.”
The tilt of his mouth says Jack does, though. “They’ll get over it. They were rude.”
I know Uncle Remington doesn’t approve of me dating a boy.
He doesn’t approve of me in general, so I really don’t care what he thinks.
I have a feeling my parents don’t know what to make of it, but they didn’t say anything about it.
Their uncertainty probably isn’t because I like boys (one boy, Jack), but because they don’t know me at all.
The fact remains they were rude to Jack and his family, and need to own up to it to at least one of the Bensons.
And it should be Mrs. Benson.
I look up from tying my sneakers. “How bad of an idea is it to tell my parents to come to the diner with us?”
Jack frowns as he reaches for Widget’s leash. “You really want to?”
“They were rude to you, but they were worse to your mom. I doubt they’ll stay and eat, but they should come and apologize to her.”
Widget’s tail whirs as Jack puts on his collar and leash and leads him outside. “It’s worth a shot,” Jack says.
I’m surprised by how readily my parents agree, after we let Widget do his business, put him back inside, and walk to my house. My father actually greets Jack with an outstretched hand, as Mom hugs me.
“We were a little worried when you didn’t come home,” Mom says, “but you did say you’d be with Jack, and I know yesterday was . . . well, yesterday was a day for all of us. Some lines blurred.”
“I didn’t mean to spend the night,” I tell her.
She seems relieved, and gives Jack a look. “I’m glad you’ve been there for Elliot.”
For a second, I see a retort on Jack’s lips, a spark in his eyes, that says he wants to ask why they haven’t been. He glances at me and it fades. “Me too,” he says instead.
“We have to go soon,” my father says, “so we should head to the diner.”
“Remington, would you like to come with us?” Mom calls.
“I’ll pass.”
“We’ll leave from there, so until next time, Remington,” my father says.
“Travel safely,” Uncle Remington calls. And that’s that. No acknowledgement I’m here. My shoulders ease slightly, knowing he isn’t coming. If the outcome of Mrs. Benson yelling at Uncle Remington is that he tries to avoid me even more, I’ll take it.
The car ride is awkwardly silent, and it’s with a forced smile that Mom heads to the diner entrance.
It’s bustling inside, several people eating at the counter, multiple booths filled.
The familiar oldies music plays low, mixing with the chatter of everyone eating to create a warm background of noise.
“Oh, isn’t this . . . charming,” my father says.
“Jack, your mother cooks here?”
“Since she was a teenager,” Jack says. “Her uncle owned it. The new owner gave her a raise when he took over after her uncle died, to make sure she stayed. She’s that good.
” He leads us over to the manager, Steve, who gives Jack a warm, curious look.
“I know, it’s not Saturday,” Jack says with a half-smile.
“I’ll be back tomorrow, too. Think you can spare Mom for a minute? ”
Steve looks at me and then at my parents. “Sure thing, Jack. I’ll get her. You want a booth?”
“Thanks, Steve.”
Jack and I slide into one side of the booth, leaving my parents to go to the other. Mrs. Benson appears a minute later, beaming at the sight of me and Jack. That expression changes when she sees my parents, a steel cast coming over her eyes.
“Morning, Mom,” Jack says, at the same time I say, “Morning, Mrs. Benson.”
“Hi, boys. Everything all right?”
Mom clears her throat. “Lilah, Randolph and I wanted to apologize for our behavior yesterday.”
Mrs. Benson’s eyebrow ticks up.
“We were caught off guard,” my father says. “We have a better sense of things now.”
I look at Jack, who isn’t even hiding his skepticism.
This is the best they can do as an apology?
Mrs. Benson seems to be in agreement with us, unmoved by their pathetic attempt at making amends.
“Holidays can be stressful,” she finally says.
“I hope you do have a better sense of things. The things that really matter.”
Her gaze lands on me. Warmth blazes in my core.
I feel my parents’ eyes on me as well, and after several quiet seconds, Mom speaks. “I’m fairly certain we do.”
Mrs. Benson looks at her, and the severity in her expression lessens. “Then apology accepted. Now, can I interest you in some breakfast?”
Mom looks at her watch. “I’m not sure we have time for a full meal. Elliot, would you mind if your father and I left in the next few minutes? Traffic will be insane today.”
In my periphery, I see Mrs. Benson open her mouth as if to say something.
“No, I don’t mind,” I tell Mom. It’s the truth, this time.
My parents say they want to change. Part of me believes them.
I know if they do manage it, it’ll take time.
It’ll start as we discussed last night, with more frequent phone calls.
Dad suggested once a week. They said they’ll try to be home for Christmas.
Will it happen? I have no idea. Despite the pinch of grief that admission sets in my chest . . . I like to think they’ll keep this promise.
“Jack, Eli, do you want your Saturday usual, or will that wait until tomorrow?” Mrs. Benson asks, an odd mixture of enthusiasm and edge to her voice.
“Pumpkin pancakes?” Jack suggests.
“And chocolate chip. We’ll split them,” I tell her.
Jack nods. “Heck yeah.”
Mrs. Benson smiles and hurries back to the kitchen. I stand as my parents do, leading them out to the car.
My father touches a hand to my upper arm. “We’ll be in touch soon, Elliot.”
Mom gives me a hug, and that fragile part of my heart that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to change—the part that yearns for the two of them in a foolish, childish way—shudders. This hug is better. Still not like Mrs. Benson’s hugs . . . but better than Mom’s have been before.
Mom kisses the top of my head. “Love you, my darling boy.”
“Love you too.”
They wave before pulling out from the parking lot, and once they’re gone I slip back inside the diner, into the booth opposite Jack.
“You okay?” Jack asks.
I take a deep breath, assessing. I don’t feel sad, like I did last time they left. I’m just . . . me.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m good.”
He studies me with those bright blue eyes, and a smile splits across his face as he decides I’m telling the truth.
Mrs. Benson returns with two plates stacked full of pancakes, and a third plate to divide them up. She reaches over to lay a hand against my cheek after setting down the food. “I’m so proud of you, Eli.”
Heat pricks behind my eyes.
She returns to the kitchen. Jack watches her go. “Sometimes I feel like you’re more her favorite than I am.”
“Sometimes he is!” Mrs. Benson calls over her shoulder, before disappearing behind the door.
Jack’s mouth drops open. “Parents aren’t supposed to admit they have favorites.”
“I don’t see a problem in this case.”
“Because she chose you!”
“Sometimes,” I say.
Jack shakes his head, a soft smile blooming. “No, Eli,” he says in a different voice. “She always chooses you.”
Our gazes remain locked for several heartbeats, and then Jack’s moves to the pancakes. “Food time!”