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Chapter Eleven
On his weekly phone call to his mum back home in Broken Hill—the one that was more like a monthly phone call these days—Harry talked a lot about successfully completing his prac at Saint Robert’s, but didn’t say a single thing about Jack. He wasn’t even sure why. He thought it was maybe because explaining Jack would lead to Mum asking him why he’d never said he was gay before, because that was what Mum would think. That he was gay. He doubted her imagination would even stretch to bi, let alone demi. And Harry didn’t really want to tell her that he wasn’t keeping his sexuality a big secret or anything, but how was he supposed to explain that until Jack, he didn’t think his dick did that?
So it was easier to just say nothing at all about that massive development in his life, and pretend that he was just the same as the last time they talked. Except he didn’t feel the same, and it had nothing to do with how often he was getting erections these days—it was all to do with the warm feeling in the centre of his chest that spread out in tingles all the way to his fingers and toes when he heard Jack rattling around in the kitchen cooking them dinner.
“…and your father’s bringing her to dinner,” Mum said. “He said she’s shitting herself!”
Harry’s parents had been divorced for a few years now, but they were still on more than friendly terms. Dad still rocked up for dinner once a week, and Mum called him if she needed help moving heavy furniture and stuff like that. Dad’s new girlfriend—Marge from the council—was having a hard time wrapping her head around it, apparently. So had Harry, when it had happened. If you liked someone enough to stay friends, why didn’t you like them enough to stay married? But he thought that maybe he got it now. Friends didn’t make your fingers go tingly when you heard them humming in the kitchen.
Tristan slunk into the living room, hungover, and collapsed on the couch.
Harry angled himself away from him so he wasn’t distracted by his self-pitying moans. “Does she think you’re going to extract horrible revenge on her or something?”
“Maybe!” Mum sounded delighted at the idea. “Oh, and also, Dad wants to know what you want for your birthday.”
“My birthday’s not for another eight months.”
“I know. Marge bought him an organiser, and he’s gotten a little bit carried away. I give it about a week before he forgets to ever fill it in again.”
“Money,” Harry said. “Money’s always good.”
He was a broke uni student, so he had no qualms about begging. And he’d been a little more broke in the two weeks since he started dating Jack, because he hadn’t exactly been getting back to the people who had called Bad Boyfriend. He had at least four messages he was ignoring. But he wasn’t sure how he felt about going on dates, even if they were fake, when Jack was his boyfriend. Even Ambrose had given up being a Bad Boyfriend when he’d started going out with Liam, so it wasn’t like it was nothing, right? It wasn’t just Harry being new and uncertain of how to navigate a relationship. Not if Ambrose had done it first. But he also didn’t know how to bring the whole thing up with Jack. What was the etiquette for saying, “So, do you mind if I spend Saturday night being awful to a girl from my uni class for rent money?”
And in the meantime, while he was dithering and not knowing what to do, he had no money. He’d spent way too much on glitter glue for prac, and pipe cleaners were a specialty craft item these days, because nobody actually smoked pipes anymore. They probably used to be dirt cheap when the entire population was coughing up their lungs on the regular. And as for the price of feathers? It would be cheaper to buy an entire chicken. He’d wasted so much money on craft supplies for kids he’d probably never see again, but he couldn’t really bring himself to regret it, even if it left him in a financial squeeze.
God, he realised as he mentally calculated his bank balance while he listened to Mum cackle about coming home to find the chooks had escaped into the neighbours’ vegetable patch, he needed to be a Bad Boyfriend again, and soon, if he wanted to pay rent this month. And he did, because he liked having luxuries like a roof over his head.
“I’ve got to go, Mum. Dinner’s almost ready,” he lied, because as much as he loved her, he couldn’t listen and think about money at the same time. He had the horrible feeling that she’d pick up on his distraction and ask if he was doing okay, and she’d know if he lied. She always did.
“Oh, what are you having?” Mum asked.
“Um, I don’t know. Jack, our new roommate, is cooking.” He shot a guilty look at Tristan, who had opened his eyes long enough to give him a ‘huh, interesting’ look before succumbing to his hangover again.
“Well, I hope it’s nice,” Mum said. “Love you, and don’t leave it so long to call next time, sweetheart.”
“I love you too,” Harry said. “And I won’t. Bye.” He ended the call.
Tris gave him another look but didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Harry was judging himself harshly enough.
He fiddled with his phone while a guilty bird did loop-the-loops in his stomach. “Don’t,” he muttered. “Don’t say anything.”
“I didn’t,” Tris pointed out.
“Good.” He sat there, silent and miserable and feeling like shit, until Jack called out that dinner was ready.
Jack kept throwing him worried glances all through dinner, which didn’t make Harry feel any better about the whole conversation he knew they needed to have. Jack was an actual decent human being, and Harry was new at this whole relationship business so he had no idea how he was supposed to ask his boyfriend if he could keep dating other people. Plus, he knew he definitely shouldn’t have called Jack his roommate when he’d been talking to Mum. He could only imagine how he’d react if Jack pulled that on him. Not that Jack ever would, because he wasn’t a coward like Harry.
He prodded at his sausages listlessly, and when Tris pushed his half-eaten plate away with a moan and staggered back to his room and it was just the two of them, Jack finally asked “Okay, what’s going on? Is it something I did?”
Harry bit his lip. “No, it’s not you. It’s…” He took a deep breath. “I’ve got some Bad Boyfriend calls I have to return, for people who want dates.”
Jack perked up. “That’s great, isn’t it? Because I noticed it’s been quiet, but I thought it was because you were busy with prac.”
Harry lifted his head from where he was drawing patterns in his gravy with his fork. “You don’t mind if I call them?”
Jack’s brow furrowed. “Why would I mind you doing your job?’
“Because we’re dating? And it feels a bit like cheating?”
