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Kath takes another piece of brownie, avoiding my eyes, and I feel like wincing. I don’t know how to make this any better. I know I fucked up last time. I know Kath has every right to tell me that I’m not good enough for her brother. I’m pretty sure no one is good enough for her brother, he’s the best person I know. But he seems to think I’m worth waiting around for.
“Ok,” she says quietly, looking back up at me. “If you’re sure, then you have my blessing. But Claire—please don’t break his heart again. Once was enough for both of you.”
My throat tightens, but I nod. “I won’t. I promise.”
Kath studies me for another second, then lets out a breath and claps her hands together.
“I’m happy for you guys.” A huge smile breaks across her face. “Really, really happy. The two of you together makes so much sense.”
I smile, unsure of what to say, but luckily Kath interrupts before I can stammer out a response. “Right then. I can see you haven’t begun cooking yet so let’s get cracking before you start crying into the chopping board.”
Relief bubbles in my chest, and I manage a shaky laugh as she hands me an apron. Over the next hour my nerves settle as I realise that Kath seems to be happy to carry on as normal.
Tom arrives at the same time as Sam.
“You look ravishing, Buttercup,” Tom tells me with a wink, and Kath scoffs at him.
“Gross, Tom. Don’t be weird.” She waves a hand at him.
“What? I’m paying her a compliment.”
They devolve into bickering, and I shake my head, trying to keep up.
“Enough.” I grab Tom. “Play nice.”
“I’m always nice,” he says, and Kath laughs as she goes back to the kitchen.
Tom leans in, lowering his voice, breath tickling my hair. “I seem to remember I was particularly nice to you yesterday evening, even after you nearly suffocated me with your thighs.”
I keep my gaze forwards and attempt not to blush by thinking about serious things. Like climate change and melting icebergs and motherless baby penguins. I’m so distracted by Tom that I can’t track the conversation flowing around me and Kath has to call my name twice before I realise something’s burning in the oven. Luckily the conversation then moves on to a discussion about Sam and Kath’s upcoming holiday, and my brain actually has to focus on what other people are saying and not just Tom.
Dinner slides into a rhythm so familiar that it’s strange to realise that we’ve only been doing this for twenty minutes and not years. Kath tells us about their planned week away, and even whips out the colour-coded itinerary that she has, of course, already made, and also has in her bag.
Sam asks how the school campaign’s going, and before I can produce a deflection Tom has already put down his fork.
“You should see what Claire’s doing with it. She’s been taking amazing photos for the school, way better than the usual posed stuff. The pictures are great.”
“They’re alright,” I manage, ears heating.
“And she’s doing a graphic design course,” Tom tells Sam. He appears to think he’s now my press officer. I’m not complaining, it’s nice having someone who seems to be engaged in what I’m doing.
“It’s been fun,” I settle for saying, and then squeeze Tom’s thigh in thanks.
“You’re already very soppy,” Kath says to her brother. “It’s sort of sickening, but I like it.”
“Says the girl who makes personalised signs for races, which are colour coordinated and covered in glitter.”
My whole body relaxes as I watch them. Even though Kath had said it was fine earlier, sitting through a dinner where the pair of them are teasing each other makes me finally realise that this has turned out fine. Better than fine.
The evening doesn’t feel strange. I’ve spent years hanging out with these people, and I know how it goes; Kath and Tom teasing each other, Sam interjecting with an occasional one-liner but generally content to watch the siblings provide their own material. Telling Kath hasn’t broken this picture, it’s just brightened it. Under the table Tom’s knee rests against mine, and I’m filled with contentment. I hope nothing happens to break moments like this.
Chapter 34
Tom
“Would you be able to look at this slide?” I ask Claire, surveying my computer screen. I’ve spent the last ten minutes moving textboxes three millimetres to the left and then the right, and it still looks off.
Claire’s sat at my kitchen table with some watercolour paints.
