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“What’s this I hear about you having a fucking prod boyfriend, James?” She didn’t give him a chance to say anything before she carried on, “A boyfriend’s all well and good – we’ve known you were gay for a fucking eternity – but a prod?”
James rolled his eyes, relieved that she couldn’t see it. “Hello to you, too, Michelle.”
He’d been waiting for this since Erin left, really. He loved her (as a friend) but he didn’t trust her to keep her mouth shut around Michelle. Especially not about this.
“Erin’s just called me, and he’s British? We’re Irish, James. Their lot’s been oppressing us for centuries!”
Why was she just now calling him Irish? “Funny, you always called me English before I had a boyfriend.”
“This is no time for your fucking jokes. I’m getting on the next fucking plane to London.”
Oh, god; she couldn’t do that; he wouldn’t survive a visit from her, and neither would his relationship with Matt. (They were in a good place, honestly, but Michelle was a force of nature). “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
“What happened to having a sofa for me to crash on?”
“Not when you’re coming all the way to London to interrogate my boyfriend, Michelle, Christ!”
“Clare will back me up.”
“No she won’t.”
“Then he should visit us. You’re on term holidays anyway, aren’t you?”
James really couldn’t argue that. “Matt wants me to go on holiday with his family.”
“Oh, he’s Matt, now, is he?”
“Considering that’s his name, yeah.”
“If you think I won’t go down to London…”
“Fine, fuck. I’ll ask him.”
He didn’t want to ask him. He knew Matt would say yes, of course. Erin might have interrogated him, but it had all ended just fine.
With Michelle… well, James doubted it.
He just hoped Matt loved him enough to put up with her.