Widening the door to its full capacity, Eli puts in the extra effort he had with the radio. Leave it open, his actions said.
Got it, mine reciprocated.
He doesn’t seem much up for a chat after that, and I don’t push, watching him through my mirrors as he gets to work.
Placing both mats down, he puts them beneath each tire.
“This time, tap the brakes, and I’ll push, okay?” He yells from outside.
I continue to watch instead of answering.
The red glow of the brake lights perfectly illuminates the definition lines of his face. His arms flex above his head as he puts his weight on the hood, speaking over his shoulder. “Got it?”
I jump into action, giving him a thumbs-up. Flustered with how easily distracted I got watching him and how the damp fabric of his shirt clings to his arms and chest like a second skin.
He gives me the go-ahead as he bends his weight while I tap the gas like he suggested. The jeep revs as the tires spin in place.
It’s not working.
I look back, worried, but Eli is still pushing, so I give it another tap.
This time I hear a small pop followed by another strangled noise from Eli and then the car is moving. It’s free, we did it!
Only after I drive the car to a safe stop along the curb do I park it and turn off the ignition. Jumping out, I charge a muddied Eli into a hug.
“You did it,” I croon, elated.
“Did you ever start using your phone again? If not, then I can use mine to call someone.”
I stop jumping.
“Really, it’s no big deal. I can drive you home and have someone spray it down and clean it off. You shouldn’t have to drive it looking like this.”
Rambling on, misinterpreting why I stopped.
The current state of my car irrelevant. My movements cut short because of how he said it, not because of what he said.
This is why Eli had been such a good friend to me years ago. He doesn’t judge me for choosing to not use my phone, instead treating it like it’s no big deal.
Never making me feel weird.
Not once has he ever made me think I should be ashamed or feel embarrassed. Simply accepting my choices for what they are and navigating around them. So different than how Cole usually handles things.
“I’ll call my dad,” he decides. Somehow knowing I need the space as he puts the phone to his ear and walks off.
I withdraw further into myself.
His smirk as confusing as it is thoughtful when he paces, jogging back over to me when he’s done.
“He’ll be here in fifteen, but we can head out whenever you’re ready.” A tenderness there in his eyes I’d never taken the time to notice before.
Eli’s still talking, but I’m not registering what he’s saying anymore. More focused on the way his lips move, curving around each syllable.
My throat dries.
Why haven’t I noticed this before?
He coughs, shifting from one foot to the other and I blink. How long ago did he stop talking?