“With Christa,” she adds, glancing between us.
“Yes,” he says again. “With Christa.”
Her smile widens, eyes already shining. “Oh. How wonderful.”
Geoff doesn’t rush. He lets the moment land, then says, calmly, “There’s more.”
She stills. “Alright.”
“We’re not getting married,” he says. “We’re co-parenting. Together. But we’re not planning a wedding.”
I brace myself.
His mum blinks once. Then nods.
“Well,” she says. “That makes sense.”
Geoff looks genuinely startled. “It does?”
“Of course,” she replies. “Babies are a lot. Weddings are a lot. No need to stack your stress like some sort of emotional Jenga tower. You can always throw a party later if you feel like it.”
Geoff swallows, then clears his throat. “Just to be clear,” he says, careful and earnest in that way he gets when he’s lining up facts in his head, “we’re also not… a couple.”
There it is.
His mum blinks. Once. Then again. Her head tilts slightly, like a Wi-Fi signal has dropped.
“Not a couple,” she repeats.
“No,” Geoff says. “We’re friends. Co-parents. Living together. Raising a child. But not romantically involved.”
I give a small, polite wave beside him, like this is a completely normal sentence to hear for the first time via video call.
His mum studies us both, eyes flicking from him to me, back again. “So you’re having a baby together,” she says slowly, “but you’re not together.”
“Yes,” Geoff says.
“And you live together.”
“Yes.”
“And you get on.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re not secretly miserable.”
“No.”
She considers this, lips pursed. “Right.”
I can almost hear the mental furniture being rearranged.
“Well,” she says at last, “that’s… modern.”
Geoff exhales, relieved. “It is.”
She nods again. “I suppose that’s what matters. That you’re kind to each other. And that the baby is wanted.”
