Page 101 of Rules to Love By

His father leaned forwards. “How is that any different than telling a black boy he can’t be on the baseball team because it would take a spot away from a richer white child? You tell me that.”

Ezra groaned. “This? Again? Man, that was forty years ago.”

“It’s different because you could play baseball, Papa. That was discrimination based on something that had no bearing on if you could do the thing they wouldn’t let you do. This is about me being literally incapable of doing the thing. They’re not telling me I can’t do it because they don’t like the look of me. I’m saying I can’t do it, because I, in fact, can’t do it. Any more than I can hang a straight, sturdy shelf or than you could ever fall in love with another man. It’s not how you’re built. And school—it’s not how I’m built.”

His father sat back in his chair with a grumble.

“I know you wanted this for our family, to have me be this new era of Bensons with educations and careers and all that—”

“I wanted you to have a better chance at getting the place on the team than I ever had.”

Eli smiled at him. “I’m on all the teams I need to be on, Papa. I love my job—well. Maybe not the place I work, exactly, but I’m good at what I do, and I can find a better place to do it, eventually. I love where I live. My roommates are great. I have friends.” His smile grew a little. “I have a guy I think I really, really like. True, it’s not all perfect. It never will be, because life. But it’s good. I’m happy.”

His father heaved a sigh and fell against the back of his chair.

“Can’t argue with that, little brother,” Ezra said.

“Not without looking like a damn fool.”

Ezra refilled everyone’s glass and held his up. “To kids doing what they’re gonna do no matter what their papas say about it.”

Tyrone gave him a blunt stare.

“Raise your glass, Ty. Your boy’s gonna be just fine.”

To Eli’s relief, his father lifted his glass. “To the spawn of my loins,” he muttered.

“Dad. Gross.” Eli raised his glass, though. “To still not being as big a pain in the ass as my cousins.”

“Amen to that,” both men said in unison.

They clinked, drank, and all banged their glasses down on the counter in front of Ezra’s mirror with one loudclank.

Sighing, his father stood, catching his eye as he did. “I’m proud of you, son.”

“For which part? The dropping out? Or the lying to you about it?”

“Funny. I’m proud of you for forging your own path. Not the path I would have chosen for you, obviously, but it’s not my path to choose, is it? And you had the guts to go your own way, so that’s something.”

Eli nodded, causing the room to wobble around him a bit. “Thanks.” He stood, causing the wobble to blow up to full-fledged spinning. “Woah.” He held out a hand to steady himself, which Ezra caught.

“Tyrone, your boy cannot hold his liquor.” He peered into Eli’s face. “You work at a bar and can’t handle a few drinks?”

“Four shots of whiskey in less than an hour?” Eli asked. “Maybe not so much.” He glared at Ezra, willing him to stop talking. He’d saved the bit about working at the bar for another day. He didn’t want to push his luck.

“Eli, have you even eaten anything this morning?” his father asked. “Come to the kitchen. I’ll make you something.”

Eli held up a hand. “I’m fine. Kreed fed me. Wasn’t letting me out of there without something in my stomach.”

“Good man,” Ezra said, letting him go. “And I’m off.”

“I haven’t finished your cut.”

Ezra glanced in the mirror. “I look fine, you’ve been drinking. Keep your clippers off my afro, little bro.”

“You’re lopsided, and I can fix it drunker than this.”

“Not today.” He turned to Eli. “You look like shit, nephew.”

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