Page 101 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
And then he turns and walks out.
The door shuts softly behind him, and I sink to the floor, palms pressed to my eyes, breathing in the ghost of him that still lingers in the air.
I don’t know how long I stay there, on my knees on the floor, my heart shattered around me. The room still smells like him—coffee and soap and the faintest trace of ocean salt from our walk earlier. His duffel’s gone, but the air feels heavy with everything he left behind.
I can’t seem to move. The carpet’s rough under my palms, my chest tight and hollow at the same time. Every breath feels too loud in the quiet.
At some point, there’s a soft knock. Then my mom’s voice, low through the door. “Eli? Honey?”
The door creaks open before I can answer. She steps inside slowly, eyes searching the room until they find me on the floor.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Then she’s there, kneeling beside me. Her hands hover for a second, like she isn’t sure where to touch, and then she pulls me in, wraps me up. I fold into her like I’m five again, like maybe if she holds me tight enough, the pieces will stop falling apart.
She rubs my back, quiet, steady. “It’s alright. Just breathe.”
The sound of footsteps behind her—Dad. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, worry written all over his face. “What happened?”
Mom glances up at him, then back to me. “You don’t have to talk yet if you can’t.”
I swallow hard, forcing the words out. “He left.”
I hate those two words, and I swipe at the stupid tears that won’t stop falling.
Mom frowns softly. “Max?”
I nod, blinking against the burn in my eyes. “Coach saw us. On the beach.” The words stumble out between shaky breaths. “He saw us kiss. And then he said we’d ‘talk when we got back.’ Max—he just…shut down. Packed his bag. Said he couldn’t stay.”
Mom’s hand stills for a second on my shoulder before she exhales, smoothing my hair back. “Oh, Eli.”
Dad pushes off the doorframe, coming closer. He crouches beside us, voice even and calm. “That’s rough, kiddo. I’m sorry.”
Mom gives me a soft squeeze. “You listen to me,” she says quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Fear makes people run. Especially when they’ve got something to lose. But that boy loves you. It will all work out.”
“He looked at me like he’d already decided,” I whisper. “Like it was over.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not over. It’s just—hard right now. Give him time to breathe. Giveyourselftime to breathe.”
Dad rests a hand on my back. “You’ve got us, okay? We’ll be here for you.”
I nod, but it barely feels real. Mom helps me up, guides me to sit on the edge of the bed. She doesn’t say anything else, just sits beside me and keeps one arm around my shoulders. Dad stays for a moment longer, then quietly closes the door behind him.
Outside, I can hear the distant sound of Jules in the kitchen, laughing at something on TV. The normalcy of it hurts.
Mom presses a kiss to the side of my head. “You love him,” she says softly. “That’s never something to be ashamed of.”
My throat tightens again, but I manage a nod. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I do.”
She stays there with me until the room grows dark, her hand tracing slow circles on my back, grounding me in the only thing that hasn’t changed—home.
THIRTY-EIGHT
ELI
The new yearcomes and goes without feeling new at all. The tree’s packed away, the lights are down, and the house feels too quiet.
I’ve called. I’ve texted. Nothing.
