Page 151 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“We don’t get to control who we fall in love with, Eli. It’s a complicated, stupid, ugly thing sometimes. And yet, at the end of the day, it’s really all we have. I wasn’t lying when I said you seemed so happy when you were with him.”

“It was never even supposed to happen. That first date was a disaster.” It feels like so long ago. “I only helped him so he’d help me with my article.”

“Maybe it started that way, but what I saw, between the two of you, that was real. I could feel it.” Rue brushes her son’s hair away from his face again. “Now, I’m begging you. Get a haircut.”

He tries to laugh, and a strange sound escapes his lips, a mix between a giggle and a sob as he wraps his arms around her. “I will.”

* * *

“Text me when you get back home so I know you’re okay,” Rue says from the driver’s seat, watching as Eli hoists a tote bag with Patricia’s and Rose’s Tupperwares full of stuffing tucked inside.

“I will. Thanks, Mom.”

“Love you, sweetie.” She gives him a kiss on the cheek. “It was great to see you. Let me know when you and Peter are back together.”

“Mom, please.”

“I just want a son-in-law, is that so wrong?”

“Yes!”

“Fine.” She blows Eli another kiss. “Bye, sweetie.”

“Bye, love you.” Eli steps out of the car, Rue not driving away until Eli is headed down the stairs of the BART station. He taps his phone at the ticket reader and then goes down another flight of stairs to reach the platform where he waits for the train.

With his phone in hand, he can’t help himself from going to his last text messages with Peter, the reminder that it has been weeks staring at him in the face.

Echoes from the approaching train radiate through the tunnel, the gust of wind blowing past Eli as it comes to a stop, the door opening. Because of the late hour, the car that Eli picks is totally empty, leaving him to his choice of one of the lime-green seats toward the back of the car.

He knows that his mother is right.

He owes Peter an apology. Something more than just words whispered in panicked desperation. He taps Peter’s name, then taps on the call button and presses the phone against his ear, knowing that if he doesn’t do this now, he never will. He doubts that Peter will answer, and the longer the phone rings, the more reality starts to set in.

If Eli were Peter, he wouldn’t want to hear from him either.

“Hello?” Peter’s voice comes softly.

At first, Eli can’t be sure that he isn’t dreaming, that he hasn’t stumbled into some alternate reality the moment he stepped into the empty train car.

“Eli?” Peter pauses, like he isn’t sure how to say his name anymore. “Are you there?”

“Yes! Yeah.” Eli straightens in his seat, grateful for the silence of the new BART trains. “Hey, Peter. How are you?”

“I’m fine.” Peter’s voice is solemn, and yet, oddly comforting. “How are you?”

“Been better, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

“Listen . . . I know that I’m probably the last person you want to hear from right now—”

The train moves again, cutting through the tunnel loud enough that even Eli knows Peter can’t hear him. But he still gets the “Huh? Eli? Are you still there?”

“Can you hear me?” Eli shouts into the phone, hoping to cut through the noise. Even with his headphones in, the microphone pressed right up to his mouth, he feels like an idiot shouting in an empty train car.

“Hold on,” Eli pleads. “We’re stopping.”

“Eli, are you there?” Peter asks.