“How scared should I be?” Ned asks as he fiddles with his tether and frowns in the mirror at his choice of shirt. Three more like it are strewn across the bed with an air of rumpled rejection. “I know how protective your brothers are. Does that mean they’ll automatically hate me?”
Wrapping my arms around his waist from behind, I peek over his shoulder, my eyes and nose visible in the mirror. “Ned, you’re the lead singer of a rock band. I’m not sure you appreciate the coolness factor inherent in such a title. They’ll love you.”
He turns in the circle of my arms, taking a deep breath. “What about your parents?”
I snort a laugh. “Mum seems ready to throw her arms wide for anyone willing to attach themselves to me. As for Dad...” I step away from him, grabbing my jacket from the closet. “Who knows? He may end up liking you more than me.”
“You and your dad don’t get along?”
“No, we do,” I assure him. “We were close when I was a kid. Then as I got older...” It’s hard to explain. Maybe that’s why it bothers me because I don’t understand the distance between us. “He doesn’t have a problem with me being gay or anything. But I get the impression he would like me better if I were… a different type of gay. More of a manly man. Like you.”
Ned stalks towards me, his eyes fierce. “You, Toni Fairweather, are every inch the type of man I want and the kind of human I need.” He cups my face, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Don’t ever doubt it.”
A fizzy kind of joy fills my belly at his words. “Thank you,” I tell him before taking his hand to pull him in the direction of the door. “It’s time to go or we’ll be late.”
An hour later, my whole family is crowded around my parents’ outdoor table on the back patio. Mum and Dad are seated at either end. Joel is on one side, flanked by his girlfriend, Kiera, and our middle brother, Owen. Ned and I sit opposite them. The table between us is covered with food. Charred meats hot off the grill, a variety of salads and a sliced sourdough loaf.
The moment every butt is in a chair we all dig in, piling our plates high. Ned takes a little bit of everything and Mum smiles approvingly.
“So, Ned...” Dad’s voice is laced with curiosity. The interrogation is about to begin. “Toni tells us you’re a musician. What’s that like?”
Ned’s throat moves as he swallows a bite of half-chewed steak. “A lot of time and effort goes into it, and it’s less glamorous than people imagine. But there’s nothing quite like being on stage with my band, sharing the music we’ve created with our audience.” He smiles then, and it’s like a firecracker has lit him up from the inside. “It’s the most rewarding job I’ve ever had.”
My parents appear pleased by his response, but it doesn’t stop them asking a dozen more questions. Because, of course, bringing a musician home to meet the family has a completely different effect on parents than it does on siblings.
Owen clears his throat between questions, drawing everyone’s attention. “Toni, I hear you went to the Autumn Skies festival last month,” he says.
I jump on the opportunity to take Ned out of the line of fire. “Yes. Ned and I went down there together.”
“Sounds like fun,” Joel pipes up next. “We’re thinking of going next year. Aren’t we, Kiera?” At her nod, he looks back to me. “Who did you see perform?”
“Ned performed. He’s the only one I was interested in,” I gush, loving the way Ned’s cheeks flush at the praise. “We saw heaps of other acts though and ate tons of greasy food. It was fun.”
“Did you see Dante Sinclair perform?” Kiera asks, before she gasps suddenly and stares at Ned. “Oh my god, have you met Dante Sinclair?” Her eyes are round like saucers at the idea of being two degrees away from the Aussie rock legend.
“Afraid not,” Ned admits with a chuckle. “He’s a rung or ten above me on the career ladder, so we’ve never crossed paths.”
“Maybe next year?” she adds, hopefully. I know Ned isn’t planning on a repeat performance at the festival, but he nods anyway. “Maybe.”
“What other shenanigans have you been getting up to, T?” Joel asks.
This is the part where I usually launch into long spiels about the parties I’ve been to, the people I’ve met, and the men I’ve dated. I never add any of the gory details, of course. But I have always taken great delight in wowing them with stories of my adventures. For years, they’ve inspired laughter, shocked gasps, and the occasional round of applause.
Most of the wow factor has been faked, though, now I think about it. In the past, I’ve never considered how much embellishment I’ve added to my tales. I figured as long as the foundations of the stories were true, who cared if I added a little technicolour to liven things up?
Maybe I don’t need to, though. Maybe I could talk about my life the way it is, without additions or fabrications. It’s not like they’ll stop loving me if my fabulous is less garish than normal. This is my family. They have to love me.
Taking a deep breath, I talk about how my work is going. I mention the lovely florist I designed a website for, and the personal trainer whose constant indecision has become a thorn in my vocational side. I tell them about Rodney’s engagement party, leaving out the part where he threw me out and is refusing to answer my calls. Then, there’s the funny story about the chicken and pasta dish Ned and I tried to make that all went horribly wrong. I finish by recommending a TV show we’ve been watching. The season finale was so good we were still talking about it three days later.
These are the things we do together, now I’ve started relaxing into the idea of us. We still go out and do heaps of fun stuff, but we also spend time hanging out at home. Watching movies, cooking meals, all the things real couples do. Because that’s what we are—a real couple.
When I stop talking, the table is silent. Everyone stares at me with varying degrees of weirdness. Owen’s jaw has dropped. Mum’s eyebrows have vanished beneath her fringe. Dad’s wearing a bemused grin.
I glance at Ned. He glances back, looking as confused as I feel. Clearing my throat, I take a sip of my water. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Not at all,” Mum rushes in with a breathy laugh. “It’s nice to see you settling down a bit.”
Settling down? What the fuck? Exactly how drastically have I been glamming up my stories if a little Netflix and Chill is all it takes to stop my entire family in their tracks?
