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Roommate.That did not feel nice at all. I could tell you that much.
“Don’t you live in a one-bedroom?”
“Riggs is crashing on my couch until he finds a place.”
“Eh.” Tim gave me a long once-over. I could read his mind.Almost forty. Sleeps on someone’s sofa. What a winner.“And he decided to tag along? Sightsee, ay?”
The conversation was turning from painfully awkward to catastrophically bizarre.
“Actually, I just got two tickets to London, and since Duffy had a place to crash, we made it work,” I said, interfering.
Tim’s forehead creases smoothed, and he nodded.
“Makes sense. Well, don’t just stand there! Come on in.”
In, we came. The house wasn’t too shabby, but Duffy was right: it didn’t look like something you’d see on a Netflix reality show. Tim offered us acuppa, and I prayed to shit it wasn’t some code to fondling my junk. In a matter of minutes, the entire house was on its feet. Mrs. Markham came rushing down the narrow stairway in a fleece robe, howling when she saw her daughter. They exploded into a hug, crying into each other’s hair, mumbling incoherently like warprisoners reunited. Next was Kieran, who trotted down in an adult Mike Wazowski onesie, holding a half-empty jar of peanut butter and a can of beer.
After everyone hugged and kissed and cried (I did not do the third one, which, at this point in my infatuated existence, was a relief), we sat for a full English breakfast Mrs. Markham somehow whipped up in twenty minutes.
I never understood English breakfasts. Potatoes, beans, sausages, and black pudding were all lunch and dinner ingredients, unless your idea of fun was to clog your arteries with enough fat to fill a bathtub. Mrs. Markham also couldn’t be accused of being the best cook to grace this planet, as the sausage was both soggy and cold, the potatoes half-raw, and the black pudding ... well, to be fair to her, I didn’t think anyone could make it edible.
Still, as we all sat at the round table, chugging screwdrivers, I was beginning to see the perks of this whole family-concept thing.
“So BJ doesn’t mind you rooming with a dashing young man like this?” Mrs. Markham motioned to me with her knife. Interesting table manners. I wondered if the Windsors approved.
Duffy rolled her eyes. “Riggs isn’t that young.”
“But he isthatdashing.” Tim pointed at me with a sausage-laden fork. “And Brendan ... well, I’ve met more confident blokes, let’s just say that.”
“Yeah, Duff.” Kieran sat back like a fat cat, grinning. “Doesn’t BJ care? I mean, what kind of boyfriend is he?”
Kieran and I shared a knowing glance.A nonexistent one.
Duffy licked her lips, pinking. “He’s fine with it.”
“And is he still in ... what’s it called?” Her mom snapped her fingers.
“Denial about his receding hairline?” Kieran offered with a grin.
“Need to hurry up and pop the question?” It was Tim’s turn to ask.
“—Tibet, was it?” Mrs. Markham completed.
“Kathmandu,” Duffy corrected, turning bright red now. “He’s still in Asia, yeah.”
Kieran turned his attention to me.
“So Riggs, what do you do?” He chewed loudly, with his mouth open, just to piss people off, I suspected. He spoke like we hadn’t been planning and executing the Conquest of Shelby in the last few weeks. She was thawing real nice. He’d even managed to get a date with her next week.
I sipped my screwdriver, sticking to eating the eggs and hash brown on my plate.
“A photographer.” But he already knew that.
“That’s an interesting job!” Mrs. Markham said perkily.
“Not much money in it, though, right, son?” Tim popped a fried cherry tomato into his mouth.
“Not much,” I confirmed.
