AN: The chapter title references a line from the video at the top, which is a clip from "Call Me By Your Name." If you haven't seen it, stop reading and go and watch it now, it is the most beautiful movie, right up there with "The Way He Looks," and "A Room With A View." I happen to think that the monologue in the above clip, spoken by the dad, is one of the most beautiful passages ever written for film. And it doesn't hurt that he's talking to Timotheé Chalamet, whom I envision as Elliott--hey, his name is "Elio" in this movie!! No way! How cool! Unless I knew that on some level when I chose his name? I don't remember, TBH. Anyway, this is how parents should be with their children, always. And I'm putting the text of what he says at the end of this chapter, so you can see it in writing also, and be amazed all over again.

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Over the next few days, it became obvious to Ruthie's parents that they were witnessing a full-fledged love affair.

"I've never seen her like this," Todd said to Phil as they sipped their after dinner drinks in front of the fire.

Ruthie and Elliott were washing the dinner dishes as they laughed and talked at the sink. Clarence was supervising from a place on the counter, and Amal was hovering about their feet, hoping something nice had been left on a plate that they might give her. There was a lot of body contact as they rinsed and stacked the dishes, as Ruthie bumped Elliott with her hip and he flicked water on her.

"Do you think we need to talk to her?" he added. Todd had always been the more openly emotional parent, possibly because he wasn't around as much.

"About what?" Phil countered. "She's had the STI talk, the birth control talk, the 'sex changes everything, so wait until you know you're ready talk;' what else is there to say?"

Todd shrugged. "I don't know. It's just strange to see her like this, so into someone else besides us, you know?"

"Are you jealous?" Phil asked, pouring himself another glass of wine. He hid a smile by lifting his glass.

"No, I'm not jealous, and what an idiotic thing to say," Todd retorted, refilling his own glass.

"Methinks he doth protest too much," Phil quipped.

"It's 'The lady doth protest too much, methinks,'" Todd corrected absently. "Don't quote something if you don't know the words."

"Who said it was a quote?" Phil replied. "Maybe I meant to paraphrase."

Todd inclined his head toward the kitchen, where the young couple had finished loading the dishwasher, and were now wiping the counters, as Elliott put an arm around Ruthie and let his hand linger on the back pocket of her jeans.

"Look, she's only fifteen, that's all I'm saying. And it really looks like, if they're not sleeping together, they will be, very soon," Todd said. "I think that's too young for a physical relationship, don't you?"

Phil put a strong hand on Todd's shoulder, giving a squeeze of sympathy. "I thought we agreed on this. We don't make decisions for her unless she asks us to? We've been doing it since she was five, and it hasn't steered us wrong yet, has it?"

Todd nodded. "But she made the decision to date that horrible gonad in a cowboy hat, didn't she?" He turned toward his husband. "That was awful."

"But she tore herself loose from him, too, right?" Phil countered. "And before anything happened, it sounds like. She knows what she's doing," he assured Todd.

Todd was quiet, but as Ruthie and Elliott finished up in the kitchen, he called them into the living room.

"I want to talk to you guys," he told them, ignoring the look his husband was giving him.

Both of them? Together?

It would seem so.

"So, Todd began. "You two seem very happy together."

Elliott reached for Ruthie's hand as they sat squished next to each other in the oversized chair next to the fireplace. Amal Clooney came and put her head on Elliott's knee.

"We are, sir, very happy together," he answered for both of them.

Ruthie just sat there, radiating joy.

"Okay, so, you know that, at the very least, this glow you guys are giving off will put targets on your backs to the losers you go to school with."

They looked at each other and nodded. "But we're not all lovey-dovey at school, Dad," Ruthie assured him. "It's frowned upon, and definitely not encouraged."

Todd sighed, at least partially with relief.

"Well, at the risk of getting too personal, I want to ask if you two are sleeping together," he continued. "If you're having sexual intercourse. This isn't something I'd ask just anyone, obviously, but Ruthie, you're a child, and you're my child, period, both of which are legit reasons for me to know this, I think."

He looked from one young face to the other, and saw no embarrassment or attempt at subterfuge.

"No, Dad, we aren't having sexual intercourse," Ruthie said, looking him in the eye. "We are doing other things, but no intercourse, and no plans to for the foreseeable future."

Phil could feel the tension go out of his husband's body.

"Just remember," he took over for Todd, who seemed to have run out of things to ask, "that whether or not you use protection, sex, at its most fundamental, is a biological function meant to proliferate our species.

"Of course," he continued, "it's other things, too, wonderful things, because we're human beings with emotions, and it can be such a joyful thing. But if you're willing to have sex with someone, this means that, in theory at least, you'd be willing for your partner to be your child's other parent, and that you'd be willing to raise a child with that person, you know?"

He looked back and forth from his daughter's face to that of her boyfriend. She'd heard all this before, but Elliott's face was a a study in fascination.

"If you don't think this person is worth raising a child with, and if you're not ready to raise a child, you shouldn't be having sex with that person, right?"

Ruthie turned to Elliott. "I don't want you to worry, El, he's not saying that if we got pregnant, he'd expect us to raise a child. They're both believers in a woman's right to choose. He just means that if you don't think you want to raise a baby with the person, you shouldn't want to have sex with them."

"I wasn't worried," Elliott assured her. "I've just never heard it explained quite that way before, that's all."

"So we're not saying do this or don't do that," Phil took back the reins of the conversation. "We just wanted to make sure you'd thought about everything, okay?"

Elliott nodded. "I understand, sir. And thank you. You're the first adult to talk to me about any of this, so thank you very much indeed." Elliott and Ruthie rose and went upstairs, hand in hand, after Ruthie leaned in and kissed her parents good night.

Phil and Todd just looked at each others, digesting Elliott's astonishing parting words.

Upstairs, Ruthie and Elliott got in their PJs and got into Ruthie's bed, armed with a laptop and some yearbooks.

"So you sure about this?" Ruthie asked. "You don't mind?"

Elliott shook his head. "I don't, honest. But don't be disappointed, there's not much to see."

Ruthie quickly found what she was looking for.

"Wow, you look like your dad!" she said, looking at the pictures on his social media. It was under "ET Banks," and had gone inactive as of a day back in July.

There were many pictures of his father with his stepmother as well. She looked very young, and was absolutely stunning.

"Your stepmom, Sam? She looks like a mixture of Priyanka Chopra and Freida Pinto, wow," Ruthie said.

And, though she didn't say it, the pictures of Elliott's dad and Samairah together were really nice. They looked very happy.

She entered "Samairah Banks" in the search bar, but came up with nothing.

"Blocked her," Elliott explained briefly. "Not much to see, anyway, she just got terribly fat this year."

"Fat?" Ruthie repeated.

She scrolled through Elliot's timeline, and found a flashback photograph of his 14th birthday.

"Happy birthday to a beautiful stepson. So thankful to have you in my life."

This caption was below a picture of fourteen-year-old Elliott, flanked by Samairah and his father, with a beautiful birthday cake in front of him.

"Wow, that cake must have cost a fortune," Ruthie remarked, snuggling into Elliott's side, loving the soft feel of his pajamas. It was two-tiered, like a wedding cake, decorated in red and yellow, with a detailed insignia for Manchester United, Elliott's favorite soccer team. His name was written across the top, along with his name and some soccer balls.

"Her family owns a bakery," he responded in an offhand voice. "She worked there as a teenager, so she's good at that shit. They'd never spend that kind of money on me."

Ruthie was silent, but thought to herself that, bakery or no, whoever made that cake had put in all kinds of time and effort to make it for him.

How could this person, who was really more girl than woman, have become the heartless and neglectful person Elliott described to her day after day? How could she withhold the money needed for him to achieve his college dreams?

It was just hard to believe.

"What?" Elliott could tell her silence had meaning.

"It's just, well, your dad seemed to love you so much, you know?" She was on Liam Banks' Instagram now. Picture after picture showed a proud father lifting a young Elliott over his head after some sports victory as a different woman, presumably his mother, looked on, or Elliott in his father's arms as he took selfies of them at the beach, or on a Ferris wheel.

"It's hard to believe he'd date and marry someone who didn't cherish you as much as he did, that's all," was what she finally came up with.

"Well, I guess there's no accounting for what a man will do when his cock is running the show," Elliott said. "The most sensible of men have been said to lose their minds when chasing pussy."

Ruthie, who had zero problem with swearing, or really any kind of word that was used accurately and sincerely, nearly flinched at Elliott's casual use of the vulgar words.

She swallowed and closed the laptop.

"I'm really tired," she said, doing a good job of faking a yawn. "And I need to rest up for the great skiing experiment tomorrow, right?"

"Ruthie, I'm sorry I spoke that way, please don't be angry with me," Elliott said, turning to her. Her yawn didn't fool him for a minute.

"I'm not angry, honest, I'm just really tired."

"Really?"

Ruthie nodded.

"I liked what your dads had to say," Elliott said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "That our bodies are so wonderful and we are given them to express these marvelous feelings, but that ultimately they're to bring new life into the world. It's quite a lovely sentiment.

"Good night, my darling," he whispered, leaning in to kiss her after he got out of her bed.

"Good night," she replied, rolling over.

But in the middle of the night, she woke up, and though the floor was so cold it made her hiss air between her teeth, she quietly crossed the hallway and entered his room to lie down with him, to revel in his warmth as he rolled over with a murmur of surprised happiness to take her in his arms.

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When you least expect it, Nature has cunning ways of finding our weakest spot. Just remember: I am here. Right now you may not want to feel anything. Perhaps you never wished to feel anything. And perhaps it's not to me that you'll want to speak about these things. But feel something you obviously did.

You had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you. In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away, to pray that their sons land on their feet. But I am not such a parent. In your place, if there is pain, nurse it. And if there is a flame, don't snuff it out. Don't be brutal with it. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster, that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to make yourself feel nothing so as not to feel anything ― what a waste!