Page 113 of Boyfriend Material
And I could? Because he was downstairs?
This semblance of a healthy lifestyle was going to take some getting used to.
I found him sitting at the kitchen table, elaborately hand-wrapping a wholesale carton of Kinder Happy Hippos.
“I can’t believe,” I said, “I ever thought you were boring.”
He gave me what I’d come to recognise as his “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be insulted” look. “You mean because when I give somebody a gift, I like to pay attention to its presentation?”
“I’m not being sarcastic, Oliver. This is delightfully strange of you and not what I was expecting to see today.”
“I’m wrapping a present. What on earth is strange about that?”
“It’s the fact you’re going fullLove Actuallycinnamon stick on a job-lot of cheap German chocolate.”
He gave a little cough. “Italian.”
“What?”
“It’s Italian.”
“Isn’tKinderGerman for ‘child’?”
“Yes, but the company is based in Italy.”
“I’m so glad we’re focusing on what matters here.” I folded myself into a chair opposite him. “What. Are. You. Doing?”
“It’s for Jennifer’s birthday.”
“Oh yes,” I affirmed convincingly. “That is a thing I definitely remembered.”
He gave me one of those annoying looks that people give when they’re not disappointed because they know and care about you, instead of not being disappointed because they have incredibly low expectations. “How was your father?”
“Dick like always.” I fiddled pointlessly with the vase of newly refreshed table flowers. “And I know I’m trying to be better at this, but I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“You don’t have to. And I’d understand if you weren’t feeling up to the party tonight.”
“No, I want to. If only for the expression on your friend’s face when she discovers you’ve bought her five hundred loosely hippo-themed wafer treats filled with a gooey substance that vaguely resembles chocolate.”
He blinked petulantly. “It’s not chocolate. It’s a milk and hazelnut cream. And they’re what I always get her.”
“And yet somehow you remain friends?”
“She likes them. And it’s sort of a tradition.”
I ran my toes up his shin. “I somehow thought you’d be too…grown-up or something to have a shit gift ritual.”
“I think you’ll find I can be just as quirky as you can, Lucien.” He haughtily attached a sprig of lavender to his exquisite creation. “When I choose to be.”
“Yeah, but I thought straight people were into, y’know, bottles of wine. Or, I don’t know, toast racks.”
He covered his mouth with his hand. I wasn’t sure if he was laughing or appalled. “Lucien, you work with heterosexuals. Your mother is heterosexual. Bridget is heterosexual.”
“Yeah, and I always buy them wine.”
“But”—he actually wagged a finger at me—“and please be honest with me when you answer this question: nevertoast racks.”
I sank lower in my chair and nearly wound up on the floor. “I…I…panicked, okay? Yes, I know some straight people. But I’ve never chosen to hang out socially with a large number of them all at once. I’m scared.”
