Page 85 of For Real

After a moment, I nodded.

“Can’t you just…laugh? It’s not a big deal.”

Easy for him to say. “She’s right, you know. I am old enough to be your father.”

“So?”

“So it’s not appropriate.”

We walked along awhile in silence. “Look.” Toby pointed. “A giant gold boob!”

“The Radcliffe Camera was built in 1737 by James Gibbs. It’s very much admired.”17

“Yeah, it’s a good boob.” He was quiet a moment, and then, almost pleadingly, “Oh, Laurie, please don’t freak out on me. This is my minibreak.”

“I’m sorry… I just—”

He cut me off. “Okay, you know what I think is ina-fucking-propriate? People who don’t love each other. People who hurt each other. People who stay together out of fear or habit or apathy. We’re in love, how is that wrong?”

“The disparities between us. It’s an abuse of pow—Ow.” He’d kicked me sharply in the ankle. “What was that for?”

“Because you’re insulting me, right to my fucking face. Do you think because I’m poor and little and nineteen, I don’t know what I want?”18

He was shouting, now, in Radcliffe Square, his free arm windmilling wildly. To be honest, it was probably the place to do it. A student standing by the railing and smoking a cigarette with an air of artistic panic barely gave us a second glance.

“Do you think if I felt abused or exploited or taken advantage of, I’d be with you? Do you think I can’t tell the difference? Do you think I don’t know what love feels like?”

I was going to reply, but he kicked my ankle again.

“Fuck you.” The anger faded from his voice, leaving only pain. “You believed in me. At that club, you believed in me. The only person who’s ever. And you didn’t laugh, and you didn’t judge. You just got on your knees, and it’s the most romantic thing that’s—”

I dropped everything except the cologne, and that was only because I was afraid it would break. But my bag, my suit, the jacket I’d had on my arm because it had been hot in Debenhams—all went tumbling to the ground. Then I dragged Toby into the mess, wrapped him up tight, and kissed him with everything.

When I finally gave him his mouth back, he went on without missing a beat. “The second most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me.” And then he smiled his smallest smile, the secret one, the one with all his pain in it.

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I do believe in you. It’s just…” I’d been about to say I didn’t believe in me, but with Toby in my arms—smelling pungently of far too many things—it wasn’t a moment for doubt. Just this.

So I kissed him. Again. Again.

Afterwards, we stood wrapped in each other, surrounded by cobbles and centuries and stone. And a gaggle of slightly startled tourists, some of whom were pointing phones and cameras at us.

I glanced at them warily. “You do realise this is probably going to end up on YouTube, don’t you?”

“Then”—he shrugged—“I’ll find it and Like it a gazillion times.”

I gathered up my things again, but as I started walking, Toby slipped his arm through mine. And I didn’t shake him off or pull away.

* * *

College, when we finally arrived, blew Toby’s tiny mind. His exact words. “It’s like…a fucking mansion just off the street. Like that’s normal.”19

“Welcome to Oxford, darling.”

He stood in the archway, staring at St. John’s quadrangle, a small, out-of-time figure, cast in pale shadow by the silver-gold towers. “I’m in goddamn Hogwarts.”

“No, that’s Christ Church.”

I stepped into the porters’ lodge to pick up a room key and almost immediately ran into trouble.

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