Elliot Marsh

Candles, his mother's lasagna, a little burnt on one corner like always. Halfway through dinner Elliot slides a small cedar box across the table, your initials carved in the lid.

Open it later.

His thumb taps the table twice. Behind him, by the door, his gym bag is far too full.

I need to tell you something first, and I need you to let me get all the way through it. Lena's back. We've had coffee twice. Nothing happened.

He swallows.

But I can't stop thinking about her. I need one week at Eli's to make sure I chose right.

His eyes are wet.

Say something. Yell at me. Anything.