Second Chances in New Port Stephen - Chapter 77

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Second Chances in New Port Stephen - Chapter 77

His words seemed to hang in the air once they’d left his mouth. Everything else was silent. Or
would have been if his mom hadn’t started crying. She put her face in her hands and sobbed
quietly. Eli’s dad put his arm around her and
looked at Eli with all the disappointment that Eli had been trying to avoid by not having this
conversation.
“You don’t have to be so unkind,” he said. “It’s Christmas.”
Cora sniffled into Wendall’s too-tight pajamas as he folded her against his shoulder. “He hates it
here.”
Eli tried to tamp down his frustration. “It’s not about you.”

-- 180 of 228 --

“We’re your parents,” she shot back. “How is it not about us?”
This was worse than the Christmas Eli had gotten food poisoning and threw up all over the
dining room table. He’d been nine, so no one could really blame him for ruining the holidays.
Now he had no excuse.
He left his parents consoling each other on the sofa and retreated to the back porch. His phone
buzzed in his pocket, and he checked the ID with a frazzled glance. Nick. Probably calling to say
Merry Christmas like a person with manners. Eli couldn’t deal with that right now. He declined
the call and instead texted Margo. He needed her levelheaded advice. He needed to talk to
someone who would understand.
Just ruined Xmas. Broke the news to my parents. Help?
Eli stared at the screen as long minutes ticked by. No response. Not even a “read” checkmark.
Even Margo was too busy for him. And why wouldn’t she be? Amazing career, a hope, however
slim, of breaking into primetime. She was probably eating Chinese food with the cool West
Coast crowd.
Eli threw himself into one of the metal patio chairs and stared at the porch ceiling. A lone bug
was making its way across the great, empty expanse. He wished he could tell it there was
nothing on the other side. It was all wasted energy.
Eventually he heard cars arriving in the driveway, the creak of the front door and the voices of
his aunts and uncles. Right. It was supposed to be an afternoon of cocktails and puff pastry
appetizers before dinner. He could hear his mom, voice tight and strained, greeting everyone as
they entered. The dutiful hostess. Eli was the biggest piece of shit on earth. Maybe in the whole
universe. He gnawed on his thumbnail and tried to think of a way out of the mess he’d made.
Was escaping to Key West to become a go-go dancer an option? Probably not; his dancing
wasn’t the best.
The slider opened and shut. Eli turned to see Max standing on the patio, dressed like a black
smudge. “So this is where you’re hiding. Everything okay? Aunt Cora’s eyes looked a little red
when we came in.”
“Oh, that? Yeah, that’s probably the heartbreak.” Eli sighed and kicked his feet up on one of the
empty patio chairs. “I kind of dropped a bomb. Don’t worry about it.” Max was still a kid; Eli
didn’t want to explain the whole tawdry situation to a kid, especially not on Christmas.
“Is this about how that Beck’s Call guy got your show canceled?” Max asked. “And you’ve been
letting your folks think you have a new job when you don’t?”

-- 181 of 228 --

Eli stared. “How do you know about that?”