“There’s nothing you need to tell your father about me and Christian.” I’m running hot and cold, my cheeks blazing but my fingers numb.

Eli spins his chair to face me. His expression is hard. His lip curls. “I mean, look, I don’t blame you for cheating on Dad. He’s gone all the time, and he doesn’t seem to make you happy. But you don’t have to jump on the first dick that’ll have you—”

‘That’s enough!”

“Christian’s supposed to be my friend!” Eli leaps to his feet. “Mine!”

“He’s not,” I begin, but Eli shouts again.

“It’s your fault I don’t have any friends. That I’m a fucking mess. I’m the weird kid. It’s all your fault! And you know it!”

He fights off my attempt at an embrace, and panting, falls back. Both of his hands go up. I retreat.

“I thought you were making new friends at school,” I whisper.

Eli shrugs, cutting his gaze away. “Christian’s the only one who gives me anything. Everyone else only wants something from me.”

“I’m sorry that’s how it feels, Eli, but please, listen to me. Christian is not reliable. He makes promises he doesn’t keep, has no intention of keeping. You can’t count on him.” My voice shakes but gets stronger as I speak. “I have known him for a long time. No matter what he says, we were never, ever close. He only cares about himself.”

Eli shakes his head. “You’re wrong. Christian’s the only person in my life who’s never lied to me.”

“That you know of. And if he hasn’t yet, he will. I promise you, he will. And I don’t break my promises to you, do I? Have I, ever?”

For a moment I think he’s going to protest some more. Defy me. His expression shifts.

“No. I guess not.”

I don’t try to hug him again. “He’s charming, but he’s only out for himself. I just don’t want you to get caught up in something over your head. That’s all. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m not in over my head,” Eli says, hesitates, then adds, “Why, what did he say to you about me?”

“Nothing. Is there something he should have told me?”

“No,” Eli says. We look at each other. “Are you going to forbid me from hanging out with him?”

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose again. “Would it stop you?”

He doesn’t reply.

Eli has never been a defiant child, so that non-answer tells me everything I need to know. I sigh again, trying to fill my lungs with enough air to stop me feeling as though I’m drowning. I can’t.

“You’re not weird,” I say finally.

His laugh is broken. “If you’re the weird kid in elementary school, you’re the weird kid forever. People remember the bad stuff.”

You were a real stoner, back in the day. Lisa’s words to me echo in my head. I’d poked Beth about her disordered eating. My son is right. People remember the bad stuff.