“Jett,” Mum prompts. “What’s her name?”
I take a breath. “His name. I’m seeing a guy.”
She widens her eyes. “A—guy?”
I nod.
“Oh. Oh. Well, that’s unexpected.”
“I didn’t know you were gay,” Dad says.
“He dates girls.” Mum pats Dad’s knee. “He can’t be gay.”
“He might have been pretending to like girls.”
“I’m bisexual,” I say, reminding them I’m still here. “I like women, and I like men.”
“That’s lovely, dear.” Mum’s voice is a little wobbly.
I tell myself it’s because she wasn’t expecting my revelation rather than because she’s got a problem with my sexual orientation. Hopefully, that’s the case anyway.
“What’s his name?” She puts far too much emphasis on ‘his’.
“Kian.”
“That’s an unusual name. What are the odds of you knowing two Kians?” Mum’s eyes get even wider. “Oh. You mean”—she gestures towards the house—“that Kian?”
“Rufus’s brother?” Dad asks in a voice loud enough to draw the attention of everyone close by, including Rufus, who gives me a thumbs up.
“Yes.”
“How long have you been seeing each other?” Dad asks.
“A few weeks.”
“And you didn’t tell us?” Mum sounds a little hurt.
“His parents don’t know yet either, but they will. In a minute or two. When we’re finished talking. We were figuring out how we felt about each other before telling anyone.”
That’s not strictly a lie. Our parents don’t have to know we spent the first month of our relationship telling each other that our arrangement was purely no strings and instructional.
“How do you feel about him?” Mum asks.
“I really like him.” I smile. “He makes me happy.”
“Are you in love with him?”
“I-I thought I was in love with Erica,” I whisper. “But if that wasn’t love, then I don’t know what love is or what it feels like.” Fuck, I sound pathetic.
“I think you were in love with Erica,” Mum says. “But she couldn’t have been in love with you, or she wouldn’t have run off like that. But try not to doubt how you feel about Kian or anyone else in the future just because she treated you badly.”
I don’t want to think about being with anyone else but Kian. Maybe that should tell me something. “But how do I know if I’m in love? How do I know what I felt for Erica was love? How do I know what I feel for Kian is love? How do I know when to say those words? They’re so tiny but so fucking significant.”
Mum arches an eyebrow.
“Sorry.”
“Would you move mountains for him?” Dad asks.
