Page 78 of Boyfriend Material
“An old friend from university. She and her husband are having a few of us round for dinner.”
I gave him a suspicious look. “Are these your straight friends?”
“I don’t generally categorise my friends by sexuality.”
“Do you onlyhavestraight friends?”
“I know Tom. And…and you.”
“Tom doesn’t count. I mean, not because he’s bisexual. I mean, because he’s dating Bridget. I mean, not that dating a woman makes him less bisexual. I’m just saying, he’s not your friend.She’syour friend. And I’m the rando you’re pretending to date, so I’m pretty sure I don’t count either.”
He smoothed down his adorably wind-tousled hair. “My friends are just the people who happen to be my friends. There are a lot of straight people in the world. I like some of them.”
“Oh my God.” I gazed at him in horror. “You’re like one of those documentaries about, I don’t know, a pig that got lost on the edge of the village and wound up being raised by gorillas.”
“I…I think that might be insulting.”
“Pigs are cute.”
“It’s more that you seem to object to my not choosing my friends based solely on who they do, or don’t, want to sleep with.”
“But do they not just…not get you?”
“Lucien, most of the timeyoudon’t get me.” His fingers twisted restlessly against mine. “I tried to do the…the community thing. But I went to one LGBTQ+—well, LGB as it was in those days—mixer at university, realised I had nothing in common with any of these people except my sexual orientation, and never went back.”
I half laughed, not because I thought it was funny, but because it was so alien to my experience. “When I turned up at mine, I felt like I’d come home.”
“And I’m glad for you. But I made different choices, and I’d rather you didn’t see them as mistakes.”
Honestly, it didn’t make sense to me. But I also didn’t want to upset Oliver—and I was still slightly stinging from being told I didn’t understand him. Well, I didn’t. But I wanted to.
I gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry. I’d love to go to your straight-people party with you.”
“Thank you.” His lips twitched. “Just a quick word of advice: if you’re at a straight-people party, you should try to avoid referring to it as a straight-people party.”
I tsked. “God, it’s political correctness gone mad.”
We tromped through the next couple of fields, which—with the one we’d just been through—made up the three fields that ran onto Three Fields Road.
“Nearly there.” I pointed down the winding track. “Main Road’s down that way. And Mum’s just round the corner.”
Oliver made a noise that probably wasn’t a hiccough but did a good impression of one.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m…I’m…a little nervous.”
“You should be. Mum’s curries are… Oh fuck, I didn’t tell her you’re vegetarian.”
“It’s fine. I can make an exception.”
“Donotmake an exception. In fact, if you could, please pretend you don’t want me eating meat either. You would be doing my lower intestines a massive favour.”
“I’m not sure coming across as the sort of man who polices her son’s diet would endear me to your mother.”
I thought about it for a moment. “I’m willing to take that risk.”
“I’m very much not.”
