Chapter Eighteen Star Wars Episode III—Revenge of the Sith, dir. by George Lucas
Eli just wishes he could wallow in bed for a bit longer.
He gave himself exactly two days in bed. The first of which involved a lot of crying, Patricia and Rose bringing him water
and snacks every few hours or so, like he’s in bed with the flu. The second day was better, though he still didn’t have the
strength to crawl out from under his comforter.
By day three, he’d convinced himself to finally shower and wash his hair, hoping that it would help the emptiness that he
felt in his chest, the pressure that rested there now and didn’t seem to show any sign of going away. He rested against the
atrociously pink tiled wall and sank to the ceramic of the tub, letting the water pour over him like the rain had just a few
days ago.
Day four was the first that he dared to step out of his bedroom, and he only made it to the couch before he began to cry again.
In fact, day five was the first day without any tears. But he made the mistake of watching Happy Together , which only made him feel worse about himself.
It was Patricia who picked up the remote, declaring, “Enough Wong Kar-Wai,” before she found Shrek 2 , which only made Eli cry harder.
He knew that he needed to give himself the space to grieve.
Despite all of this being his fault, he’d still broken his own heart with what he’d chosen to do.
It felt wrong to cry, but it also felt cathartic.
When he cried, Eli didn’t feel that pressure against his chest, the stack of boulders that grew steadily higher, making it impossible to breathe when he shot up straight in the middle of the night, looking around his bedroom at the once-familiar objects and posters that became foreign in the darkness.
By day six, he’d decided on his path.
He spends hours a day submitting applications everywhere he can think of. There’s a blog-writing position with BART, an internship
at Golden Bay Press, freelance gigs that he submits articles to, daring to send a few of his horror movie–related essays to
places like Fangoria and SplatterHouse . He applies for food service, for a waiting job at a bar, to be a barista at several of the cafés he’s been frequenting in
an effort to get out of the house, a few of the bookstores in the city.
And three weeks into the search, he’s only scored one interview.
Occasionally, he’ll get an email, a confirmation that a résumé has been received or that the company has “decided to go in
a different direction.” But Eli starts to grow numb toward those as the weeks stretch on, deleting them the moment he’s sure
there’s nothing important in the message.
Because there’s only one notification he’s looking for.
It’s wrong of him to expect Peter to give him the time of day, he knows that. He knows there’s probably no forgiving what
he’s done and no undoing it. Every few hours, he’ll go to the Vent website, just to see his work there.
Of course, it doesn’t end there. Eli’s still—rightfully so—being taken down a peg or several in screenshots, TikToks, Instagram comments.
At the very least, it’s not as bad as it could’ve been, especially after he locks his Instagram.
He breathes a sigh of relief when some TikTok influencer makes a thirty-part series about an ex-friend of hers, and the internet is quick to leap onto their drama, Eli forgotten just as swiftly as he’d become a target.
He closes his laptop where it sits on the coffee table, then picks up his phone. No emails, no calls, no texts.
Not the one he wants, anyway.
He’s considered calling Peter, asking him how he’s feeling, if he’d dare to see Eli ever again.
But he doesn’t.
He doesn’t want to force Peter into that, to bring him back into a space that maybe he’s finally worked his way out of.
Eli doesn’t want to cause him any more trouble than he has already.
He just wants to know if Peter’s okay, if he survived what Eli did to him, the hurt that he caused.
The doorknob turns, the lock clicking as both Rose and Patricia stroll into the apartment, bags hanging from their arms. Eli
gets up quickly to help them before their bags fall to the floor.
“You two are late,” he says.
“I met Rose at Grocery Outlet and we got some things for Friendsgiving,” Patricia says, dropping the other bags in her hand
on the floor and then dragging them into the kitchen.
“What are you making?”
“I’m going to do an apple pie,” Patricia says, starting to organize things on the counter. “Rose is doing spring rolls and
bún bò hu ? .”
“Really?” Eli whines.
“It’s not too late,” Rose says with a smile, pulling the noodles out. “You can still come with us.”
“Yeah, you try telling my mom that I’m not coming for Thanksgiving.”
“Fair,” Rose says, having only ever met Rue once, but knowing that she’s a woman of tradition. “Can you steal some of her
stuffing for me?”
“Me too?” Patricia implores.
“You guys act like she’s not going to have an entire platter ready for me to take home for just the two of you.”
“And some of her ham too,” Patricia adds, letting out a satisfied sigh. “God, that woman knows how to bake a ham.”
Eli winces in disgust. “Okay... I feel like we’re veering dangerously close to you calling my mom hot.”
“I mean...” Rose starts. “I’d hit it.”
“God.” Eli crams his head into the pantry.
“What? Rue’s a total MILF, that streak of gray in her hair, and the whole boss lady thing? She’s a total fox.” Patricia lets out a purr.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Eli says, his voice muffled. But he can’t help the smile on his face that steadily replaces the
straight line of his mouth that he’s had for weeks now, along with the same hoodie that belonged to Peter.
Because he just can’t let some things go.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?” Patricia asks. “I don’t mind canceling. Harriet is going to be there.”
“Harriet?” Rose groans, letting her head fall to the counter. “If she doesn’t return my bowl she borrowed I’m ripping out
her extensions.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” Patricia tells her before she looks at Eli again, scratching the back of his neck softly.
“I’m okay, it’ll be nice to get out for a bit.”
“M’kay, let me know if you change your mind.”
“I will.”
Eli helps them put away the groceries before he places an order at the pizzeria down the block. Rose and Patricia join him
on the couch as they watch old episodes of Top Model , Rose and Patricia sending Eli whatever job applications they find online.
Patricia even sends a form for an internship at InVogue , though Eli isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do with an unpaid internship that doesn’t even begin until the following spring.
And Rose sends an application for the maintenance crew at her school that Eli happily fills out even though his experience with fixing things around the apartment begins and ends with putting duct tape on the slow leak in the kitchen sink.
At some point, the applications stop, and Rose breaks out her edibles. She takes a generous portion, leaving Eli and Patricia
to nibble on the corners. Enough to relax the both of them as Janice Dickinson of all people shouts at some poor girl, and
Rose snoozes from her impromptu pillow fort on the floor.
“How are you feeling?” Patricia asks, putting a hand on Eli’s knee.
“I wish I knew how to answer that question,” Eli says over the reality show, volume turned low. “It hurts. That’s all I know
for sure.”
Worse than when things ended with Keith. Which is saying a lot considering Eli didn’t feel human once everything was said
and done with Keith.
“He hasn’t contacted you at all?”
Eli shakes his head, though Peter hasn’t blocked him on Instagram, so that has to count for something. Even thinking that
makes him feel even more depressed, though.
“God...” Eli wipes at the corners of his eyes, his body feeling weighted down in a comfortable way. “I fucked up so hard,
Patricia. And I wish I knew how to fix it.”
“I know...” Her nails trace his skin as she lets him rest his curly head on her shoulder. “That’s the awful part, though.
Sometimes we can’t fix it. Life isn’t a movie.”
“You mean I can’t just wait for him to hop on a plane to go somewhere just so I can stop him at the gate and make some grand
statement?”
“Don’t I wish.” Patricia takes a Nerds gummy candy from the one-pound bag they broke out after dinner and passed around. “It’d make life a hell of a lot easier.”
“I told him.” Eli peers over at his best friend. “That I love him.”
“What did he say?”
How could he forget the words, the way they’d taken ahold of his brain, absolutely refusing to let go of him?
“That he was in love with me too.”
Past tense. Was.
How could he still be once he knew the truth?
“Eli?”
He buries himself deeper into her shoulder, desperate to hide his face in the sweatshirt that she’s wearing. He hadn’t expected
the words. Hoped for them, yes. But to hear Peter say them out loud, to hear him admit that they could’ve had something together.
It stings.
Stings worse than anything else Peter could’ve possibly said to him.
Because that meant that Eli’d had Peter.
Eli had had Peter’s heart in his hand in much the same way he’d offered his own to Peter. In another world, he and Peter could’ve
been happy together, they could’ve worked things out. But then again, maybe they were never meant to. And maybe it’s wrong
of Eli to think that it could still work out.
“What do you want to do?” Patricia asks.
“I don’t know, I can’t talk to him, I—”
“Not what I asked.” She straightens, reaching for the candy again, this time grabbing the entire bag. “Treat this as a hypothetical.
If you could do what you wanted to do with Peter, what would it be?”
“I guess I’d... I’d sit him down, try to explain myself better, try to tell him that my feelings were real, that maybe this began as an act, but somewhere along the way, it turned into something real for me.
” Eli feels that familiar ache in his jawline, the pressure that builds slowly behind his eyes that’s become like second nature to him over the last few weeks.
He remembers these same feelings after Keith.
“And I’d apologize for the article. I’d... I’d make sure he knew that there was nothing to fix about him. That he’s perfect
the way he is.”
“Do you really believe that’s true?” Patricia asks.
Eli wipes at his eyes with his sleeve. “Sure, maybe he needed help with social cues, understanding jokes, maybe he dresses
like a frat bro and he’s addicted to his work. But no, there’s nothing wrong with Peter Park.”
“You should tell him that.”
She’s right, and he knows it. There’s no world where Peter takes him back, not after what he did. So maybe it’s time that
he stopped worrying about what he could do to win Peter back. Why bother trying to accomplish the impossible?
“Sometimes it helps to be selfish,” she continues. “To do something for yourself. And maybe telling him that is what you need.”
“So, what do I do?” Eli asks.
“Well, you could always write down your feelings,” Patricia says. “But making a public spectacle of your apology might not
be the way to go.”
Eli thinks for a moment, recalling all the rom-coms that he’s watched. Mark Ruffalo making Jennifer Garner a version of her
dream home seems a little out of Eli’s budget. Running onto a plane à la Crazy Rich Asians might end with Eli being on the No Fly List. Considering they’re near the end of November, he seriously doubts there’s some
New Year’s Eve party he could show up at like Harry did for Sally.
Then he has to wonder why his mind went instantly to using a movie to fix his problems, instead of just reaching out, asking Peter to talk.
Of course, he knows already how that’ll go.
Peter doesn’t owe him any of his time or energy.
He doesn’t owe Eli a chance to stand there and beg for forgiveness.
Peter doesn’t owe him anything.
So maybe... maybe he should just leave Peter be. Maybe that’s the best thing Eli can do for him, maybe that’s the best
way to prove how apologetic he is.
Just let Peter go.
Maybe that’s the best gift Eli can give him.