Page 43 of Bi-Partisan

Mina sticks her hand out as well. “Mina, nice to meet you.”

There’s a brief beat of silence, then I turn to Sophie. “Uh, you said Adrian was in the kitchen?”

“Yeah, go ahead. Maybe you’ll be able to drag him out here,” she says with a fond roll of her eyes.

I nod and head through the dining room, where the record player is softly playing a Hozier album. Before I get to the kitchen, I hide the flowers behind my back. Adrian’s back is to me, so I gently knock to get his attention.

“Knock, knock.”

He jumps, then quickly spins around.

“Oh, sorry, darlin’,” I say.

“It’s alright,” he says as he wipes his hands off on the towel draped over his shoulder. “Hi.”

I smile and close the distance. “Happy birthday. These—” I produce the bouquet with a flourish—“are for you.”

I’d been a little unsure of how the flowers would go over, but the blush that spreads over his cheeks tells me I made the right call.

“I told you not to get me anything,” he scolds, however the slight smile on his face undercuts it.

“And I told you that my mother raised me never to show up empty-handed,” I tease back. “Besides, you said your main objection to presents is having to open them in front of people. You didn’t have to unwrap anything, and everyone else is in the living room.”

“Of course you created a loophole for yourself.” He sighs and takes the flowers from me, gingerly, like he’s afraid of crushing them. “But thank you. They’re lovely.”

When he dips his head to smell them, it takes all my strength not to lean in and press a kiss to his still-blushing cheek.

“You’re welcome,” I say. “If you point me toward a vase, I can take care of those for ya.”

“I, uh, don’t have one,” he says. “I have a pitcher, though.”

“Has no one ever given you flowers?”

He shakes his head, and I frown, even though I probably could have predicted that given his stance on dating. Still, everyone should get flowers at some point in their life. I’ve never gotten flowers from a significant other—mostly because I’ve only ever dated women and heteronormativity dictates men are the ones to give the flowers—but my mom sent me flowers on my first day in office.

“Well, next time I’ll make sure to bring you flowers in a vase. For now, though, where’s that pitcher?” I ask.

“Above the fridge,” he says, slightly confused.

I expect him to comment on my “next time” comment, but he doesn’t, instead going back to arranging the veggie tray he was prepping when I came in. So I busy myself with getting the pitcher down and arranging the flowers in some water.

“So are your parents not coming anymore?” I ask.

“No, they are,” he says. “But I thought it might take some of the pressure off you if you didn’t have to meet Casey and Sophie for the first time while pretending you’ve already met them,” he says.

“Oh, right, seeing as, if we’d really been dating for several months before the photos came out, I would have already met them several times.” I’ve been so busy working on my slight surprise for Adrian over the past few weeks that I hadn’t even thought of that.

“Exactly, they should be here—”

“Adrian, your parents are here!” Sophie’s shout comes from the living room.

“Now, apparently,” he finishes. He looks at the nearly finished veggie tray and bites his lip.

“I’ll get this. Go say hi to your parents,” I say, pulling the towel off his shoulder.

“Are you sure—”

“Go. I’m right behind you.” I shoo him away with the towel and a smile. Then I arrange the last of the carrots before following him out, tray in one hand, pitcher of flowers in the other.

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