Page 38 of Cut Off
She grins, and the tension in my chest loosens.
Eli eats his breakfast in silence. He’s not meeting my eyes, but he’s holding that stress squishy, thumb running over the texture.
I have an idea, so I point at him and say, “Did you remember to wear your lucky Iron Man socks?”
His eyes bulge. “No.”
“I’ll go get them.”
He nods with his whole body. “Okay. Thanks, Jonah.”
Phew. Got something right.
After Eli has on the Iron Man socks, Zoe kneels to check the backpack straps on his shoulders—she’s all gentleas she steadies him. “You good?”
He nods.
She straightens his collar. “You’re phone’s in the outer pouch. Call us if anything happens, okay?”
He nods again.
The drive to Dickens Elementary is pure torture. Eli sits in the back, quiet, shoulders hunched, backpack in his lap. Every once in a while, I see him glance up at the road, like he’s memorizing landmarks in case he needs to make an escape.
Zoe cuts the tension with a story about her own first day, something involving a bus, a goat, and a lunchbox full of pickles. It gets a smile out of him, then it’s gone.
So I share my own first day of fifth grade where I was so nervous, I barfed up all my Lucky Charms. This gets a full-bellied laugh out of Eli, and I want to pump a fist.
The winning laugh of the day goes to Jonah. Score.
We hit the parking lot and my hands go slick on the steering wheel. All around, SUVs and parents in athleisure dropping off kids. It’s a whole alternate universe, and I’m a fucking alien.
I park, cut the engine, go to open my door, and—
“Don’t,” Eli says, voice small.
I freeze half out of my seat. “What?”
His scared eyes meet mine. “Please. Don’t get out of the car. Can Zoe just take me in?”
I stare at him. I don’t understand. Like maybe he’s nervous, or shy, or just wants to make this his own thing? But the tremor in his voice tells me it’s more than that.
He finally spits it out. “Everyone knows who you are. They’ll all be staring at me.”
Hot knife, straight through the chest.
I try to pull it together. “Eli, I’m your dad. Thisis what dads do—”
Zoe’s hand clamps on my arm as she shoots me a glare. “Jonah,” she says, soft but insistent—don’t go there, don’t push, don’t make this about you.
I bite my tongue. Hard.
Eli stares at the floor mat. “Please.”
I want to tell him he can’t escape who he is, or who I am, that we’re going to get through this together. But it’s not time for a philosophical life lesson, as Zoe just told me with her eyes, and the plea in Eli’s voice is desperate.
I clear my throat so I don’t sound as shattered as I feel. “Okay. Have a good first day of school.”
He whispers, “Thanks.”
