Second Chances in New Port Stephen - Chapter 13

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Second Chances in New Port Stephen - Chapter 13

Eli stood there, stunned. He could barely understand what his parents and Max were saying.
“You… really want all-new pictures? Of me?”
“I still don’t want to throw the old ones in the trash,” Cora said, “but I could put them away in
some scrapbooks and display the new ones instead. What do you think?”
“Uh, I think—” Eli’s throat went tight. “I think that’s cool.” It came out all squeaky, on the verge
of tears. Fuck, when was the last time he’d had a good, long cry? Probably years ago, when he’d
first gone on T. There was a lot of talk about testosterone making trans guys angry and
aggressive, but in Eli’s experience, it just made everything feel more. Like the intensity of
everything was dialed up to eleven. This was like that, except without the huge hormonal shift.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I just didn’t expect all this,” he said, wiping at his wet eyes with his T-shirt
sleeve.
“Oh, my baby.” Cora flew to him, not even noticing when the Beall’s bag tipped over to spill old
jackets and shirts on the driveway. She folded him into a hug. “I want you to expect it from now
on, okay? Expect the effort.”
“Did you get that from a bumper sticker?” Eli sobbed onto her thin shoulder.
“All right, Mr. Jokes.” Wendall joined them, wrapping his arms around them both. “We’re trying
our best here. Sorry we don’t get it sometimes.”
“No, you guys, I don’t—” He knew if he used the word expect his mom would have another fit.
Eli pulled back out of their little hug knot to hold them both at arm’s length so he could look
them in the eye. “I know you’ve gone above and beyond. There are lots of moms and dads out
there who wouldn’t give a kid like me the time of day; I’m really, really lucky. What more can I
ask for?”
“The world, Eli,” Cora said. “We want to give you the world. I don’t want to win Mom of the Year
just because the bar is really low. I want to win outright, in all categories.”
Eli sniffed and ran the blade of one hand under his damp nose. “You know there is no actual
award, right? No one is grading us.”
“Well, they should.” Cora tossed her head. “Because I am doing very good work.”
Jesus, his parents were nerds. Eli loved them very much.
The soft click of a camera went off, and they all looked up to find Max standing on one of the
wicker chairs on the porch, taking a photo of them at a high angle.
“That’s going to be a nice one,” Max said.

-- 87 of 228 --

“I think you’re right, kiddo.” Wendall squeezed Eli by the shoulder. “What do you say? Want to
redo some baby pictures?”
Eli rubbed at his face, making sure to get the last of the tears. “Hold on, I need to get some ice.”
No way was he going to pose with puffy eyes. He darted back inside to make a quick cold
compress.
A lot of the photos could be retaken in or around the house since it was the house Eli had grown
up in. Many of the earliest photos showed infant Eli being held in laps or playing in the front
yard. While Eli clearly couldn’t rock a onesie any longer—although he guessed that somewhere
in Bushwick there were adultsized footie pajamas being made to order—Cora had a few creative
workarounds.
The first picture they re-created showed an early 1980s Wendall sitting on the porch with baby
Eli in his arms, Cora beside them, looking rad with her Farrah Fawcett hairdo. Instead of trying
to fit in his dad’s lap, which was physically impossible, not to mention weird, Eli instead draped
himself over the armrests of the wicker porch chairs. A bolt of cloth printed with small birds
stood in for the cutesy zoo animal onesie baby Eli had been wearing. Max draped it over his
torso with an artistic eye.
“I’m feeling very Grecian, very Bacchanal,” Eli said as he waited for the picture to be taken. He
propped his head on his hand and affected his best serene look.
“Max, do you think we could hurry this one up a little?” Wendall asked. “Eli’s surprisingly
heavy.”
After that, they moved on to other poses: Eli sitting inside a laundry basket on the driveway. Eli
mid-cartwheel on the grass in the front yard. Eli holding out a lizard on his finger for the camera
to see—that one had taken some effort to set
up, as adult Eli was really out of practice as far as lizard-catching went. It took him a good forty
minutes to finally grab one of the brownish striped anoles that were sunning themselves on the
driveway.
“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” he said as he struggled to keep the lizard from
leaping out of his cupped hands.
Max calmly switched out lenses. “Because it’s Christmas. Now smile like you’re ten.”
The ornament photos were redone, too, with Wendall donning a Santa hat and beard that Cora
had dug out of the holiday decor boxes. Eli mimed perching on his dad’s knee for the obligatory
mall Santa photo.
“You don’t need to hover,” his dad groused.

-- 88 of 228 --

“I’m not going to be responsible for snapping your joints. You were just saying how heavy I am.”
“It’s going to look awkward.”
“Dad, I am screaming my head off in the original photo. It’s supposed to look awkward.”
From somewhere behind Max, Cora gave a loud sniffle.
Eli squinted at her, trying to maintain his chair pose. “Mom, are you crying?”
“I’m just so happy we’re all here together like this.”
It was such a mom thing to say that Eli ended up smiling more than he should have.