Chapter Twenty-Six
“YOU DID WHAT?”
Cody’s voice is just as incredulous as the one in Eli’s head—the one that’s been second-guessing his impulsive invitation to Alex ever since he offered it fifteen hours before.
He pinches his phone between his ear and his shoulder so he can tuck his frozen fingers into his pockets.
“I don’t even know. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Obviously you weren’t thinking, what were you doing?”
“Navigating feelings of impotent rage?”
“Eli.”
“You didn’t hear him, all right? I don’t think Alex has had a good Christmas in years. Maybe ever. And he thinks that’s normal. Which is not okay.”
“Sure, that’s sad, but—”
“He usually gets takeout and watches zombie movies by himself, but he said that at least this year, he could defrost one of my meals from the freezer and eat that instead.”
“Oh, Jesus take the wheel,” Cody says. “That is sad.”
“He doesn’t have anyone else. His mom just up and got family 2.0 and…I don’t know. I just…want him to be happy.”
“So you’re bringing him home with you.”
“Yes. Maybe. He said we should talk about it in person but that he’d like to come. I just need to, uh. Call my parents.”
And isn’t that a horrifying prospect.
“Right,” Cody agrees. “So, just to clarify—in the space of ten minutes last night, you went from ‘no I’m not going to tell my parents about Alex; that’s ridiculous’ to ‘hey, Mom and Dad, I’m bringing my boyfriend Alex home for Christmas; please feed him and love him forever.’”
“Uh. Yeah. That about covers it, yeah.”
Cody laughs. “Only you, Eli. I do hope he comes though.”
“Yeah?”
“Of course. I want to meet him.”
And that. That is something Eli neglected to consider.
Cody giggles a little menacingly.
“I need to go rethink my life choices,” Eli says.
ELI WAITS TO call home until 5:10 p.m. the following day, which means his mom will be home, but his dad won’t be yet. It’s the coward’s way out, and he is unashamed.
He paces the length of Alex’s kitchen while the phone rings.
“Rodríguez residence, how can I help you?”
He exhales. He should have known his sister would answer. “Hey, it’s me.”
“Oh, hey, Eli. ¿Qué lo wa?”
“Nothing. I need to talk to Mamá.”
“Are you in trouble?” she asks suspiciously.
“No.”
“MAMÁ, ELI IS ON THE PHONE, AND HE’S IN TROUBLE!”
“What the fuck—shut up.”
“Elijah?”
“Oh. Hi, Mamá.”
“Mijo,” she says, and she’s got her serious voice on. “What have you done?”
“Nothing, Francesca is lying.”
“Why are you calling, then? You never call.”
The serious voice has now shifted to one of chastisement.
Jesus.
“Are you hurt?” she asks. “Have your seizures been getting worse?”
“No. No, I’m fine. I’m sorry. I’ve just been busy with finals. I’m pretty sure I got an A on my exam this morning though.”
“Okay,” she says.
It’s not okay. He really should call more often.
“I wanted to talk about Christmas,” he says.
“What about Christmas? I got your flight itinerary from the email, and I spoke with Cody’s mother. Four days isn’t very long, but I guess it will do. Abuela arrives next week and is staying until January 16th.”
Her tone heavily implies that Eli should be able to similarly accommodate a month-long visit like his retired seventy-five-year-old grandmother.
“That’s nice. Listen. I—uh.” He takes a fortifying breath. “I wanted to know if it would be okay if I brought someone home with me.”
“Brought someone,” she repeats flatly. “Home with you. ¿Qué quieres decir?”
“Mi novio.”
And for some reason saying it like that makes it even more real.
“Tu novio,” she repeats loudly, and he can hear Francesca yell in the background: “Shut up, Eli has a boyfriend?” with more disbelief than he thinks is really necessary.
“Elijah,” his mother says, and, oh no, that’s the serious voice again. “¿Tienes novio y no me dijiste nada hasta ahora? ¿Por qué nunca me dices nada? ¿Cómo se llama? ¿Cuánto tiempo llevan juntos?”
“Mamá,” he sighs.
“Elijah.”
“His name is Alex. We’ve been friends since the start of the semester. We’ve sort of been dating for months but just made it official last week.”
Her silence is judgmental.
“I wanted to wait until we’d been together longer to tell y’all. But he doesn’t have any family. He usually spends Christmas eating takeout alone, and he was excited because this year he could eat something from the freezer that I’d made instead.”
“Oh,” she says. “Oh, that poor child.”
Eli does a little fist pump. “I can’t leave him alone, Mamá.”
She makes a considering noise. “¿Habla Español?”
“Ah. I don’t think so.”
“Well. Does he skate with you or”—she sounds hopeful—”does he play fútbol?
Eli coughs on a laugh. “No. He, um, he plays hockey.”
“Ugh. Hockey. Debí saberlo. You and your ice. Is he a good boy? Is he sweet to you?”
“Yes. Very.”
“Well, okay.”
“So. I can bring him?”
“Of course. The boy is not going to eat a frozen meal alone on Christmas.”
“Thank you. Will you tell Papá?”
“Your father will be fine with it. Though he may not like you sharing a room with your Alex.”
“We’re not—we’re, uh. Not. We’re taking things slow. And if Abuela is in the guest room, there won’t be anywhere else to put him anyway.”
Oh god. He can see the headline now: Lead scorer in the NHL injured from sleeping on a twenty-five-year-old floral couch.
“Slow,” she repeats skeptically. “Claro.”
Francesca yells something in the background, and she sighs.
“Can he pay for his airplane ticket or—”
“Oh, no,” Eli says, resisting the urge to laugh hysterically. “Money isn’t a problem for him.”
“Well, good. Bring your Alex. I’ll talk to Papá. We can put the air mattress in your room.”
And they’ll feel free not to use it.
“Thank you.”
Francesca yells again, and his mamá mutters something under her breath about children shortening her life span.
“I need to go deal with your sister and her drama. We should talk again this weekend so we can make food plans with Abuela. Ask your Alex if he wants anything special.”
“Okay, will do. Thank you. I love you.”
“If you really loved me, you would call more often,” she says.
ALEX’S PLANE GETS delayed twice, and with the dreaded calculus exam looming the following morning at 10:00 a.m., Eli gives up and goes to sleep just past midnight.
He’s awoken a few hours later to Hawk leaping off the bed and running out of the room, toenails skittering across the floor as she loses traction moving from rug to concrete. There’s a jingle of keys, the sound of bags being dropped on the floor, and then Alex talking softly to Hawk. Shortly afterward, Eli hears the hum of the ice dispenser, the refrigerator opening, and then the distinct and, at this point, distressingly familiar noise of Gatorade being poured over ice.
Alex is a weirdo.
Things go quiet again, and Eli considers getting up, but he’s also so tired. Eli is still in the warm blurry space just adjacent to sleep, debating the pros and cons of moving, when the mattress dips next to him, and Alex crawls under the duvet. He’s still fully clothed and kind of smelly, but he gathers Eli to him, inelegantly and a little desperate, and then he just—
Exhales.
Long and slow.
“Hey,” Alex says into the back of Eli’s neck.
His breath smells like Blue Frost Gatorade.
“Hey,” Eli agrees.
“I missed you.”
It’s easier to say out loud since Alex said it first: “I missed you too.”
“I should probably shower,” Alex murmurs.
“You should definitely shower. And brush your teeth.”
“All right, asshole.”
Alex doesn’t move for several more seconds though.
Eli doesn’t mind.
Eventually, he does let go of Eli, straightening, and leans over to run his knuckles down Bells’s back. Bells responds with a sleepy cat noise—half purr half chirp—that makes Eli’s heart do things.
“Sorry I woke you up,” Alex murmurs. “I know you’ve got your big test tomorrow. Go back to sleep, and I’ll try to be quiet, okay?”
“Mmkay.”
Alex presses a kiss to Eli’s temple, then another one to the slope of his cheekbone. Then another next to his mouth. Eli pushes gracelessly at his face, grumbling a little, and he laughs.
“Okay. Okay, sorry. Showering now.”
“Mmkay,” Eli agrees again and goes back to sleep.
When Eli’s alarm goes off at 8:00 a.m., Alex is dead to the world beside him, head half-under one pillow and hugging another one.
Eli stifles a laugh and moves to the living room. His yoga mat is still rolled out on the floor in front of the windows from the day before, and he settles into his routine with only a couple soft groans. He’s going to need to visit the chiropractor when finals are over because his neck is seriously pissed off.
Twenty minutes later, he’s sitting in cobbler pose—the bottoms of his feet pressed together, thumbs against his ankle bones, Breathing With a Purpose—when Alex stumbles out of the bedroom, arms crossed over his bare chest against the chill. Both cat and dog trail after him, similarly discontent.
Alex squints at Eli for a moment, then moves to sit next to him. “Hey,” he says, voice scratchy and unfairly sexy. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing?”
“Uh. Breathing exercises?”
“No, I mean,” Alex blushes a little, and Eli doesn’t think it will ever get old, how visible it is when Alex is flustered. “That just looks kinda like the shit my therapist makes me do sometimes. Did you have a panic attack? If you did, you should have woken me up. Or. I mean. If that would help. Unless it wouldn’t. Uh. Help.”
And, oh, that’s why Alex’s face has been all concerned.
“No, this is just preventative. I’ve been extra stressed because of finals, so I’m supposed to start my day with breathing and being mindful and relaxing and stuff.”
“Oh, okay. Should I leave you alone, or?”
“Nah. I’m pretty much done anyway. Hungry though. Omelets?”
“Yes, please.”
They make breakfast in companionable, sleepy silence, with lots of lingering touches and stupid smiles, and then Eli does one last set of practice problems, trying to keep his Mindful Breathing thing going.
“So,” he says once his problems are done and his plate is empty. “I talked to my mom last night.”
Alex pauses, fork halfway to his mouth.
“Okay?”
“You are officially invited to Rodriguez Christmas.”
“Oh.” He puts his fork down. “Really?”
“Yes? Were you thinking they’d say no?”
“I don’t know. Did you tell them about me or just that you were bringing someone?”
“I told her I wanted to bring my boyfriend. Nothing about…” He gestures to encompass Alex as a whole.
“The NHL thing?”
“The NHL thing,” Eli agrees. “By the way, your face was on the bus I took yesterday. It’s the one with the red filter where you look all sweaty and intense. I have a picture, remind me to show it to you later.”
“Why were you on the bus?”
“I’m not allowed to drive right now, and Ubers were getting expensive, which, judging by the look on your face, I should not have said since now you’re going to try to give me money.”
Alex closes his partially opened mouth, scowling. “I was not.”
Eli rolls his eyes, moving to deposit his plate in the sink. “Sure. Anyway, I don’t think anyone in my family will recognize you, but my aunt is the definition of a Facebook Mom, and the last thing we need is her posting a picture of the kids on Christmas morning with you and me cuddling on the couch in the background or something. So. We should probably tell them? Or at least make sure there aren’t any social media posts happening with your face in them.”
Alex doesn’t say anything, and Eli returns to the bar with pursed lips.
“So?” Alex is grinning at him.
“So what?”
“So what do you think we should tell them?”
“Oh, I have no idea. Sorry. Can I think about it?”
“Yes?”
“Okay.“ Alex is still smiling.
Eli is…a little unnerved. “Why are you smiling like that? It’s weird.”
“Are we going to cuddle on the couch on Christmas morning?” Alex asks.
And anyone else might be joking, but Eli is 99 percent sure Alex is not. “Uh. Probably? I mean. I’d like to.”
“Cool,” Alex says and takes another bite of his omelet.
Eli can’t decide if he should roll his eyes or be touched.
He doesn’t get a chance to decide, however, because Hawk gets up from where she’s been awkwardly lounging over Alex’s feet and moves purposefully over to Eli. She just as purposefully sits down beside him and then headbutts his knee.
So much for the stress-relieving powers of yoga.
Alex’s fork scrapes loudly across his plate.
Hawk paws at Eli’s shin, whining, and then headbutts him again.
Eli sighs. “Can you pack up all my stuff so we can leave as soon as it’s over? And drive me to my exam? I was kind of assuming you were going to anyway, but—”
“No. I mean, yes, of course. Are you—bedroom?” Alex is half standing, his butt hovering uncertainly above the stool.
“Hey,” Eli catches Alex’s face between his hands. “I’m fine, remember? Hawk and I are just going to go lie down, and if anything bad happens, she’ll let you know. Okay?”
“Okay. Is it—can I come with you?”
And that. Is unexpected.
Eli slides his hands down to rest on Alex’s shoulders. “You want to watch me have a seizure?”
The thought of Alex seeing him like that is…not good. Which is stupid; it’s not like there’s anything to be embarrassed about, but—
“It’s not that I want to watch,” Alex says, wincing a little. “But I want to be with you?” He shrugs a little helplessly. “Sorry. It that weird? That’s probably weird.”
“No. It’s sweet, actually. But I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that yet. Can we talk about it later?”
“Yeah. Of course. I’ll”—Alex jabs a finger in the direction of Eli’s books—“get everything ready so you won’t be late.”
“Yeah. Cool.”
“Cool,” Alex agrees.
“Hey,” Eli says.
“Yeah?”
“Breathe,” Eli reminds him.
“Right.”
He kisses him, though Alex doesn’t really reciprocate, and retreats to the bedroom to find his bag, Hawk at his heels.
“I’m packing you a lunch,” Alex yells a few seconds later from the kitchen. “Do you want blue, red, or yellow Gatorade?”
“Orange,” he yells back, just because he knows Alex hates it.
“Heathen,” Alex says. “You’re getting red.”