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Leo breathed deeply through his nose and didn’t bother to point out that talking to their own child hardly made someone an ally. Instead, he said, “I wondered, would it be all right if I brought a date?”
His mother tilted her head as she twirled the stem of her wine glass. “Since when are you dating? You never mentioned it before now.”
“It’s recent,” Leo hedged, “but I’d like to bring him to dinner.”
His mum nodded her approval. “That would work nicely. That way people can see that you’re gay, and we won’t have to find ways to slip it into conversation.” She hesitated. “Is he…he is the right sort of person, isn’t he?”
Leo thought of Tris, his nipple ring and his skimpy kimonos and the way he did that thing with his tongue that made Leo’s spine melt. “Yeah,” he said and smiled. “He’s perfect.”
Chapter Fifteen
Afew days before Leo’s parents’ fancy dinner thing, Tristan wandered home from the bus stop, taking his time so he didn’t miss the cat at number six who liked to demand all the pets. From where he was crouched on the footpath at number six, the cat weaving around him happily, he could see Jack’s ute parked up in front of their house, and a couple of other utes too, which suggested there were tradies of some sort on the scene. He wondered if there was an official start date yet. A ‘We’re knocking this whole wall down, so you have to go and live with your boyfriend for as long as it takes, Tristan’ date. He couldn’t wait. He and Leo didn’t work at all on paper, but in practice? Somehow, their opposing edges fit together exactly right.
The cat mrowped at him impatiently and butted his head at his hand in a clear demand for more scritches, and Tristan obliged. He couldn’t wait till Harry got a kitten. Although, would he be here to see it? Or would he just…stay at Leo’s once he’d moved in? It was a bit presumptuous to assume he’d be welcome—but then, Tristan always had been a bit presumptuous. Wallflowers didn’t get laid.
He stood and stretched, then meandered the rest of the way home. The house still had all its walls, so he guessed he wasn’t moving quite yet. Maybe he’d ask Leo if he wanted him to bring his stuff over this weekend. That way they could leave for the fundraiser together. Tristan still hadn’t perfected his outfit for the evening. It was proving harder than he’d thought to pin down a look that would get him in the door of a political dinner but still be shocking enough to scandalise Leo’s parents. The more Tristan heard about them, the more he disliked them. Leo was awesome and smart and funny and gorgeous, and Tristan would fight anyone who tried to make him feel like he was anything other than amazing. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like, having to fit into someone else’s blueprint to win their approval. At the same time, he admired Leo for finally taking a stand against his parents, their outdated ideas of decency, and their definition of what made the right kind of gay. He was looking forward to fucking them over, honestly.
“If we were all expected to be the same, we wouldn’t need an entire fucking rainbow,” he told the wheelie bin. He liked to think the cloud of flies buzzing around it agreed.
“Talking to yourself, mate?” a bloke in a high-vis vest and faded blue shorts asked as he hauled a ladder out the front door.
“I’m the only person who listens to me, Davo Two,” Tristan said, pulling his mouth down in an exaggerated sad mask.
Davo Two laughed as he headed for his ute. “Only one crazy enough!”
Tristan clutched his heart. “Davo Two! I thought we were BFFs forever!”
“I’m Davo One!” Davo Two yelled back, still laughing. “And my name’s Darren.”
“I never was any good with names!” Tristan called back, heading inside.
The small kitchen was crowded, with Jack, Harry, Ambrose and Liam all squeezed around the tiny table, helping themselves out of the parcel of hot chips sitting in the centre. “Ooh, chips!” He wedged himself onto Liam’s lap.
Ambrose side-eyed him.
“It’s okay. I have a boyfriend now,” Tristan assured him, and helped himself to a chip.
“I think that’s one of the signs of the apocalypse,” Ambrose said.
“Fuck you,” Tristan said. “How are you, anyway, you salty bitch?”
“Fine,” Ambrose said. “So’s Liam.”
Tristan squirmed. “Yeah, I can feel that. Fiiiine.”
“Oh, god,” Liam muttered in his ear, and shoved him off his lap.
“You have a parcel, Tristan,” Harry said, wide eyed. “I had to sign for it and everything. It’s marked fragile.”
Tristan furrowed his brow. “I don’t think I ordered anything.”
Harry darted into the living room and came back with a large box. Sure enough, there were orange stickers all over it proclaiming this way up and fragile. Tristan reached out and grabbed it and shoved the chips aside to make a space. It wasn’t from Bad Dragon or Adultshop, so he really had no idea what it could be. He ripped open the box—well, he tried to rip open the box, then Liam handed him a bread knife, which got it started well enough to tear.
The pristine white box inside it gave it away.
“Is that the newest MacBook Pro?” Harry asked, his jaw dropping. And no wonder. Whenever he started up his cheap ten-year-old laptop, it complained so loudly Tristan could hear it from his bedroom.
“Hmm,” Tristan said. “Looks like it, yeah.” He poked around in the wrappings and found an envelope with a card wedged inside the outer box. He flipped it open. “Oh! It’s just from Mum. She sent it as a ‘well done’ for getting HDs in all my mid-years.”
