Page 56 of Playing By Ear

If only it was as simple as good or bad. “Joining the family for that feels like sliding back down to square one.”

“Surely it wouldn’t be square one. You’ve grown and changed over the last decade. And so have they, no doubt.”

“True.” Jamie was rather curious to have a catch-up with his cousins. But would it be worth risking his soul? Och, now he was being melodramatic. “When I was small, I thought my dad was so cool. I wanted to be just like him.” He paused. “That was before I knew what he really was, before I knew I could never be that, and before I knew that that was okay.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you are who you are.”

The pain behind Jamie’s breastbone eased. “A weird theory? I think if my mum and dad had never had me, I still would’ve been born, only to different parents. I wouldn’t be Jamie Guthrie, but deep down I’d still be some version of me, even if I was born a woman in Malaysia.”

“You believe in souls, then?”

“Aye. I was raised Catholic, so I suppose that bit stuck. The Pope would hate my theory, though, because it means all the aborted fetuses have a chance to be born to someone else who wants them.”

Perry turned his head and nuzzled Jamie’s hair. “How could anyone think there’s not much to you?”

Jamie shivered from the warmth of Perry’s breath against his temple.

“It’s a beautiful theory,” Perry said. “It blows up that nightmare alt-history scenario where you don’t exist because your parents used birth control or never met.”

“Exactly,” Jamie said. “I think you would still exist, but with different circumstances and different DNA.”

“And different eyes.” Perry made a soft huffing noise. “No, that would mean having different parents, and I wouldn’t trade Mum and Dad even for Superman’s X-ray vision. Besides, my coin-toss retinas are part of who I am, and I—well, I basically like that person.”

“I do too.” Jamie slipped his arm around Perry’s waist. He didn’t pull him closer, because this wee space between them, on this night, was exactly the right distance. “I’m glad you are who you are.”

Jamie woke to an amber ray of sunlight cutting across Perry’s bed. He sat up and peered out the window, searching for rain clouds. Poor weather would’ve been a sound excuse to spend the morning nestled within these high-thread-count sheets, at least until Perry left for his family’s holiday weekend in Oban.

But Jamie’s bank account needed him to busk. A sunny Good Friday could be one of his highest-earning days of the year.

Beside him, Perry was sleeping in their fortress of coziness, as gorgeous in the morning light as he’d been every other part of the day. Jamie slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the hall.

On the bathroom floor beside the sink lay a digital scale. Curious as to the cost of Wednesday’s pizza fest, Jamie stepped onto the sleek glass surface.

“Twelve-point-five stone!” the scale yelled.

“Fuck!” Jamie leapt off, banging his hip against the sink. “Ow.”

“Seventy-nine⁠—”

“No!” He waved his palms at the scale, as if it could be hushed like a crying child. “Wheesht!”

“—point six kilograms.”

“Shut yer gob!” Jamie jerked a bath towel off the rail and threw it over the scale.

“One hundred seventy-five pounds,” the device concluded smugly, its voice half muffled by the towel.

“You okay in there?” Perry called out, clearly stifling a laugh.

“Fine.” Jamie rubbed his cheek, which a glance in the mirror confirmed was bright red.

He found Perry a few minutes later in the kitchen, his dark hair tousled and his feet bare beneath the cuffs of his yellow-and-black tartan pajama trousers.

“Sorry about my shouty scale,” Perry said as he took eggs and bread out of the fridge.

“It’s my first time fat-shamed by a robot.”

“You’re not fat.”