Eli’s Plan
Several days later, someone knocked at the front door.
I opened it wearing yesterday’s clothes.
Eli stood on the porch holding a small notebook against his chest. He looked nervous. But he also looked determined.
That was new.
“Mrs. Mave. Can I talk to you out here?”
I stepped outside and closed the door behind me.
“Is Hazel okay? Did she text you?”
“No, ma’am.” He took a breath. “I need her measurements.”
“Eli, what—”
“Prom is in two weeks. I can do this. I know how that sounds. But I need you to trust me. And I need you not to tell her anything. Not one word.”
I stared at him.
Seventeen years old. Bitten fingernails. Holding a notebook as though it were a legal contract.
“Eli, you have never made a dress like this in your life.”
“No, ma’am. I haven’t.”
“Then how—”
“I just need you to say yes.”
I almost refused. I had every reason to.
But there was something in his eyes that felt steadier than anything I had seen in a year.
“Yes,” I whispered.
That night I stood at my kitchen window and watched the light in Eli’s bedroom burn long after three in the morning.
I wondered what I had just agreed to.
