Page 83 of Leaning In

“You’re a hot domestic nuisance,” I correct. “With better taste in dresses.”

That earns a snort of laughter from her, and I feel some of the tension melt off her shoulders. Sam and Kath are still on holiday, which means Claire is facing my parents without a human shield in the form of my sister—a fact she has mentioned four times in the last ten minutes.

As I suspected, her fears are unfounded, and there is no need for a human shield. The moment Mum opens the door, she pushes past me and envelops Claire into a hug before pulling her towards the kitchen. The dog bounces around, tail smacking into everyone. I reach down to pet her and she licks my face, before running after Claire and Mum.

“Anyone notice I’m here?” I joke.

“Not really,” Dad says, taking my jacket.

When I finally make it into the kitchen, Claire’s next to my mum at the table giggling at some story. I frown as I catch the tail end of it.

“—and then he stormed out of the nativity play because he didn’t want to be a shepherd again, and he wanted to be the star. Not a star. The star.”

Claire laughs so hard she snorts into her tea.

“Oh my god,” she gasps. “That’s amazing. How old was he?”

“Six,” Dad chimes in, also laughing as he walks past me. “The teacher had to bribe him back onstage with a packet of Wotsits.”

“I had range,” I say dryly, stepping into the room. “It was a protest against being typecast.”

“Ah, the original misunderstood artist,” Claire teases, her eyes dancing.

The dog is now resting her head on Claire’s lap, looking up at her with wide eyes. Mabel. Just another I can add to the list of animals that now prefer Claire.

“Right,” I say, giving Claire’s cheek a light kiss before walking around the table and sliding into a seat opposite her. “Anyone up for changing the subject to someone else’s most embarrassing moments?”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll get there, darling.” Mum’s voice is all mock sweetness. “But we’re just getting to the good part… Your teenage poetry phase.”

I watch with dread as Claire’s face fills with glee. “You wrote poetry? You joked about sonnets the other day, but I had no idea.”

“I was expressive,” I say with dignity. Damn, maybe I should have been more nervous about Claire meeting my parents. I’d forgotten that they’d probably all gang up on me. “It was a valid emotional outlet.”

“Sure it was,” Dad says. “Especially the one about the existential angst of the Napoleonic Wars. Did we keep that one? I’m sure we did.”

“Let’s talk about something else.”

Dad’s face brightens. “Don’t we have some of Tom’s old history projects in the loft? I love that we finally have someone to show these to.”

My stomach drops.

“No,” I say immediately.

“I think I did keep some,” Mum says.

“Mum,” I warn her.

“You know,” she turns to Claire, “you really could do a lot better than Tom.”

“You’re meant to be on my side,” I tell her. “I’m your son. Your firstborn child.”

“Sweetheart,” my mum says. “I love you, but you’ve always been at the bottom of the food chain. Even the dog is higher up the pecking order.”

I look over at Claire who is smiling from ear to ear. I knew it would be easy. I can’t wait to see her parents as a couple, I’m sure that this time things will be better, especially because it sounds like they might be becoming more accepting about what she wants. We haven’t spoken about it much, and I don’t want to pry, but I’m hopeful.

***

When we get home Claire is still giggling about something my mum told her.