Eli was going to get snatched by a serial killer, he just knew it. He struggled to pedal his secondhand bike over a bumpy series of potholes. This back road was in poor shape, but it didn’t have the deluge of traffic that the main road did. No traffic meant that it was eerily dark and silent. Any moment now, a millennial Ted Bundy was going to jump out of the Brazilian pepper bushes that lined the roadside. The way his night was going, though, it would at least be an improvement.
How had he messed up with Nick so badly? Eli had done everything right: fun atmosphere, a little act of contrition, plenty of communication….
He’d gone out of his way to make sure Nick knew that Eli knew that whatever they did would be a short-term thing, a group project but with orgasms. That was clearly what Nick wanted, so why had he stormed off?
The only logical explanation, as far as Eli could see, was that Nick had been replaced with some kind of clone. Like an alien abduction situation.
Because if extraterrestrials weren’t to blame, then the only other option was that Nick wanted—something more. Which was ridiculous. Eli had managed to ensorcell Nick Wu once; no fucking way had he done it again. If Nick wanted a real commitment or whatever, how would that even work? What was Eli supposed to do, move into Nick’s rental and drive down to Miami every weekend to get heckled by an audience populated by, he assumed, mostly street-racing enthusiasts? Work part time at some Orlando dinner theater with a four-hour round-trip commute? Play cruise ships? If they’d even let him onstage, what with all the fucking drag-show bans that basically tried to keep any trans person from being in public at all.
He’d rather be the ninth victim of the Bath Salts Slasher, please and thank you.
Eli threw himself into pedaling for all he was worth. His tote bag full of seduction supplies—including his well-chosen sex shop purchases—rattled loudly in the bike’s basket. At least the cooler strapped above the back wheel was empty of ice, the Boone’s Farm abandoned unopened on the beach for some lucky fisherman to find. If he concentrated on getting back to his parents’ house in one piece, maybe he could outrun his annoying thoughts at the same time.
Because love wasn’t enough, right? Even though he loved Nick, even though Nick was the funniest person he knew (and he wasn’t even trying, the dipshit), even though he would be happy being with Nick until they were wrinkly and old and had no teeth—none of that changed the fact that if Eli stayed here for a guy, even one as amazing as Nick, he’d end up miserable and bitter and everything would be ruined anyway. So maybe it was better that he’d ruined it all now.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Eli almost fell off his bike, he stopped so fast. Straddling the Huffy in the tall grass by the roadside, he fumbled to get his phone out.
His caller ID informed him it was Margo. He deflated, but answered.
“How’s Boca?” he said between panting breaths.
“Shut up,” Margo returned. Her voice held a giddy note Eli had never heard before. “Why do you sound like you just ran a marathon? Fuck it, doesn’t matter. Are you sitting down?”
Eli looked both ways along the stretch of empty road. “Not really possible at the moment.”
Margo wasn’t listening. “Dorothy’s happening!” she yelled into the phone.
Eli had to hold it out, far away from his ear. “Seriously?” he shouted from a distance.
“Yes! They called me a few minutes ago. We’re going to wait to announce after New Year’s, obviously. Shooting starts at the end of summer. It’s happening, Eli. It’s finally happening.” She squealed like a sea lion at an aquarium show.
“Wow. Congrats, Marg. That’s so exciting.” For a moment, Eli forgot all his petty problems. He leaned over the handlebars on one forearm, feeling pride for his friend well up in his chest. “You’re a legend. I mean it. You’re going to crush it.”
“We’re going to crush it,” she said, “if you want to be my Felix, that is.”
Eli stood up a little straighter. “So they’re okay with me? It’s not an issue?”
“Not only is it not an issue, when they heard I wanted to cast a comedian with no acting credits, they were thrilled. Dude, they’re getting you cheap. Big names are expensive.”
“That’s… the most backhanded compliment I’ve ever received.”
“You’re missing the point: You’re not an albatross. I showed them your stand-up. They know how hilarious you are. I told you, you’re good.”
Alone on a dark road in the middle of nowhere, Eli allowed the tears to well in his eyes. Hearing Margo say that—he realized it was something he’d needed to hear. For a long time. He dragged a hand through his hair, biting his lip. “You’re sure?” He hated how his voice shook, but he got the words out. “They—they really want me?”
“You turnip, of course they want you. We all do.”
Eli could feel the iron bands around his chest loosen. It was like he could breathe again after months of getting only sips of oxygen. He wasn’t poison; he still had something to offer. If he had a mirror, he’d be doing his best Stuart Smalley impression. And gosh darn it, people like me. Sometimes it wasn’t easy to believe that without proof, and this was proof.
Maybe it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Nick wanted him too.
Oh. As soon as the thought came, so did reality. With a resounding crash.
“Eli? You still there? God damn it, did the call drop?” Margo sounded a million miles away instead of only a couple hundred.
He shook himself. “Yeah. I’m here.”
“So? What are we thinking? Can I put your name in the press release or…?”
Eli swallowed hard. “Can I think about it for a couple days?”
Margo made a blustery sound of acceptance. “Sure, absolutely. Big decision. Big move. I get it.” There was a pause on the line, then: “Okay, I’m trying to get it, honest. But what the hell else is there to think about, E?”
“You’re going to make fun of me.”
“Well, now you have to tell me.”
“It’s just… LA is so far.”
“Yes, geographically and culturally, it is quite some distance from New York,” Margo conceded.
“No, I mean, it’s far from here. Where Nick is.”
“Ah.” He could hear her eyebrows winging upward, they were that loud. “Okay! So things with Nick are getting serious?”
Eli sighed. “No, I’m pretty sure I destroyed every chance I had with him.”
There was a long stretch of silence over the phone line before Margo said, “I’m going to need you to help connect the dots for me here. If you fumbled your ex-boyfriend, why is this a factor in deciding whether to take this job?”
“I don’t know.” Eli licked his lips. “It just—it is.” He didn’t know where to begin because the idea had only now occurred to him, but he knew he wanted to go for it. If he left New Port Stephen without telling Nick how much he cared for him, then he would always wonder.
Margo hummed. “Look, on the one hand, the showrunner side of me wants to tell you to get your head out of your ass and pack your suitcase, because this is the chance of a lifetime. The unselfish best friend side of me, though? Would probably say that if you like this guy more than you like the idea of becoming an Emmy contender”—Eli snorted at that, but Margo steamrolled over him—“then that might be a big clue about what your next move should be. Does he know you feel this way?”
“Not yet,” Eli said. “But I think he should. Soon.”
“That’s the spirit. Says the half of me that isn’t selfish.” That got a laugh out of them both. “And you’d really consider staying in Florida for this guy?” Margo asked.
“I think I could be… flexible too,” Eli said. “You’ve got to be willing to make sacrifices, right? For the big one?” Jesus, what a difference one conversation could make. He could go for it. He could tell Nick how he really felt. And if Nick felt the same, then maybe staying in the Neeps wouldn’t be so bad. Plenty of queer people managed to live happy, fulfilled lives in towns like this. Eli could learn how to do that if it meant he kept Nick in his life. He needed time to figure out how to approach this; he needed something better than the retro beach idea, something that said all the right things in the right way. He’d only have one shot at this, and that was if he was lucky.
“Keep me posted,” Margo told him. “Either way, I love you, okay?”
“Thanks, Marg. Love you too. And seriously, congrats. You deserve this. If anyone deserves it, it’s you.”
“I know,” she said. He could picture her tossing her hair in a pantomime of confidence. “Thanks for noticing.”
He hung up and started biking down the road with renewed determination.
By the time he got home, it was well past midnight. His parents’ car was back in the driveway, and a light had been left lit on the front porch. Eli stowed his bike and crept inside, willing the front door not to creak. The last thing he wanted was to wake up his folks. After their Christmas Day blowup, they’d been dancing around each other, not quite cold-shouldering but definitely avoidant.
He turned to the left to put his shoes on the rack and nearly had a heart attack. His mom and dad were sitting primly on the sofa with their hands folded in their laps, wide awake and clearly waiting for him to make an appearance.
“Well, well, well,” his dad drawled, “if it isn’t our only child, home at last.”
“It’s late,” his mom said pointedly.
“Didn’t know I still had a curfew.” Eli scrunched his eyes closed. He hadn’t meant to snap at them. “Sorry. It’s been a day.”
“We want to talk to you,” Cora said.
“About that discussion we started over presents,” Wendall added, like it could have been anything else.
“I want to talk to you, too, actually.” Eli finished slotting his shoes in the rack and padded over to an armchair, then thought twice about sitting on the upholstery. “Uh, I’m very sweaty. I biked, like, ten miles today. Okay if I stand?”
His dad got to his feet. “We’ll all stand.”
“Dad, that’s silly, you don’t have to—”
“Hold on, I’m getting there.” His mom struggled to leave the couch’s cushy embrace. “Christ alive, I’ve been sitting so long my legs are asleep.”
“Here, honey, let me.” Wendall took her by the hands.
“No, I’ve got it!”
Eli tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. “We really don’t all need to stand.”
Cora got upright with a huff of triumph. She smoothed her gray-streaked hair from her face. “Nonsense. We’re a family, and families stick together.”
“What your mother is trying to say,” his dad said, “is that we understand if you don’t want to move back in with us. We support you, no matter what your decision is.”
“Even if your decision is not financially sound,” Cora put in.
“Even then,” Wendall confirmed.
Eli could feel a headache forming, a real doozy too.
“We wouldn’t ask you to pay any rent, at least for the first year.”
“And if, after a year, you’re still not back on your feet, we’d work something out.”
“But again, if you’d rather not—”
“We totally support you.”
“Thanks. I know I said some pretty shitty things about this place,” Eli said, “and it hurt your feelings. I’m sorry. I love you guys, I do. I just hate this town sometimes.”
His dad nodded absently. “Well, the whole state is kind of a write-off.”
“Lord, I hope our governor doesn’t run for president,” Cora muttered. “What a disaster that would be.”
“Don’t worry,” Eli said. “No one’s going to vote for a short guy. People don’t take us seriously.” It was a joke, though he prayed it was true.
“If we could be closer to you in New York or wherever you end up, we would,” Cora said. “How could we afford to move, though? Have you seen housing prices lately?”
“You get on that Zillow—on the web—and you’ll see how right your mother is.”
“It’s madness.”
“Completely untenable. When we moved into this house, do you know how much we paid?”
“Dad.” Eli held up both hands. “As much as I’m loving the acknowledgment of your Boomer privilege, can I finish? Please?”
Wendall made a grand “after you” gesture.
“Thank you.” Eli took a deep breath. “I have a tendency of going too far when I’m trying to get you to understand how I’m feeling. I want to be honest with you without making you cry. I’m not sure I’ll always succeed, but I’ll try my best.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Cora smiled, her eyes welling up with tears—happy ones. “That’s all we could ever ask.”
“We’re trying our best, too, by the way,” Wendall said. “I know it doesn’t always seem like it, but we are.”
“There’s absolutely no rush,” his mom said. “You can take your time figuring out what comes next.”
“Yeah, about that.” Eli looked down at his bare feet. “I kind of need to make a decision sooner rather than later.” The whole story spilled out: Margo getting the show greenlit, the offer to take a lead role—
“But you’re not an actor,” his mom said. “You’re a terrible liar too.”
His dad put a hand on her arm. “Let him finish, Cora.”
—how cool he thought Zoe was, the amount of time he’d been spending with Nick, everything. Well, except the part where they hooked up. His parents didn’t need to know about that part.
“I think I love him,” he said. “Or I still do. And maybe he feels similarly, I don’t know. But I want to find out before I make any big moves.”
Cora raised her hand in the air. “Sorry, I’m confused. I thought Nick Wu used to be married to a woman, no?”
“That doesn’t mean anything. Some people fancy all sorts,” his dad said.
“Oh! So he’s a bi-SEX-ual.”
“Why are you pronouncing it like that?” Eli asked. “And maybe. I don’t know.”
Wendall pulled his face into an elongated shape. “You should probably ask him before making any declarations.”
Eli put his fingertips to his temples to try to rub some of the headache away. “What I mean is, he’s not really hung up on labels right now? Or decided on one? But I do know he’s interested. In me. At least, he was.”
“Oh.” His mom looked at his dad with wide eyes, and Eli watched them silently communicate for a good minute before Wendall spoke for them both.
“Well, we’ve always liked that Nick Wu.”