Page 88 of Husband Material
“Okay.” I went back to shuffling index cards, but that only lasted about four seconds.
“And I resent the implication,” Oliver continued.
Fuck, he was back sounding like his dad again. The Blackwoods were massive resenters of implications. “What implication?” I asked, only slightly disingenuously.
“That I’m some kind of poster child for false consciousness.”
In my defence, he was the one who’d gone there. And now that he had, it seemed fair to at least talk about it. “I mean”—I drew in an uneasy breath—“if you feel like youmight be, then doesn’t that suggest that it might be worth thinking about?”
“You’re not my therapist, Lucien.”
“No, but I’m your, like, your fiancé. This stuff matters to me.”
I knew he was angry because he’d put the index cards down. And also because the only thing he said was “Why?” in a tone of actual challenge.
“What do you mean, why?”
“I meanwhy?” Yeah, definitely pissed off. And not in a sexystern way, but in a you’ve-touched-a-nerve-you-shouldn’t-have-touched way. “Why is it so important to you that my distaste for brightly coloured tat be part of some pathology or personal flaw instead of a feature of my personality?”
“Oliver, queer iconography is nottat.”
“It is when it’s printed on merch and sold for four ninety-five on Etsy.”
I dug my fingers into my temples. “Oh myGod, how is this not trying to please your parents? Sorry, Oliver. Yes, I do actually like things you can buy on Etsy. I do actually like crap that has rainbows randomly painted on it. I even think the MLM flag looks kind of okay, and I’m thinking of buying one to hang in my window becauseI love you and I am proud that I love you.”
There was a right time and a wrong time to tell somebody you loved them. As a weapon in an argument might, just might, have been a wrong time.
“You make it sound,” Oliver said in his most have-to-stay-calm voice, “as though who I am and who I love onlycountif I want to put them on a banner or a T-shirt. A banner or a T-shirt that I don’t even get to design myself and must, instead, let the ‘community’ design for me.”
“Oh, you did not just air-quotescommunity.”
Oliver was on his feet. Why was he on his feet? “We’ve discussed this, Lucien. I don’t choose my friends based on who they want to fuck. My community is people I know and care about.”
“You knowme. You care aboutme.”
The expression on Oliver’s face as he looked down at me wasn’t quite disappointment and it wasn’t quite betrayal. How had we even got here from a joke about a balloon arch? “I do. Which is why I accepted your proposal. But what Idon’twant is either to get married surrounded by garish Pride merch or to be made to feel thatunlessI get married surrounded by garish Pridemerch, I’m somehow a lesser member of thiscommunityyou’re so proud of.”
“And I don’t want to be made to feel like you don’t think my community—ourcommunity—matters.”
He was staring at me like he barely recognised me. “Are youcertainyou want to marry me, Lucien? Because sometimes it—”
Before he could say anything else, his phone rang. It had been sitting beside him on the floor so he could use one of his many organising-things apps for the wedding planning, and that meant we could both see that it was his parents calling.
“I should probably take this,” he said. “It might be about the wedding.”
“The wedding you just accused me of not wanting.”
Sweeping up his phone, Oliver stepped outside into the corridor. I tried not to feel let down that he was still so under his parents’ thumbs that he’d taken a call from them in the middle of a fightabouthow under his parents’ thumbs he still was. But I didn’t quite manage it.
All the same, the time he was outside gave me space to catch my breath. To remind myself that whatever else happened, I loved Oliver and he loved me, and we didn’t need flags or banners or, for that matter, rings or weddings to prove it. And that we’d shown over the last two years we were strong and we could come through this, and that was why we were getting married in the first place.
When he came back in, I noticed he was very pale.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“That was my mother.”
“Are they not coming to the wedding?”
