Page 161 of The Good Boys Club

“Mated, not married, and yes.”

“Alright Mr and Mrs Barker?” Mash muscled between us, using his belly as a battering ram. “How’s it going?”

I knew that Mash had heard the conversation and sensed the awkwardness between us. He was doing what he knew best, using charm and humour to diffuse the tension.

Why had my parents even come? We’d only invited them out of obligation. Perhaps some part of me thought maybe they’d see Mash and me together and understand there had never been anything more genuine than our love, and finally accept me for me. After thirty-six years, I should have known better.

“And he’s pregnant,” Dad said in the same clipped tone.

“Oh, Cian, darling,” Mum cried. She wrapped her arms around my neck. “It’s never too late, honey.”

I pushed her off me. “Too late for what? What are you trying to insinuate?”

I’d thought things might be different. Thought time and space would have softened their opinions, but I’d been blinded. Nothing ever changed with them. My blood was heating, jaw grinding.

Mash enveloped my hand in his. He took a bite out of a meatball sandwich. Where the fuck did he get a sandwich from? Had that been in his possession the entire time?

I pursed my lips together to stop my smile. Only Mash being Mash could reverse such an awful, awkward moment.

Dad spoke to Mash, “If you’re looking for child support payments, Liv and I will take care of it. Cian needn’t—”

“It? You didn’t just call our child it, did you?” Mash said. He wasn’t annoyed, but to outsiders like my parents, you could have mistaken his tone for defensive. “The baby has a name. It’s Oaklen.” He paused, possibly for dramatic effect. “Oaklen Jellifer-Bellifer Cassidy.” Then he took another, more aggressive bite from his sub.

I turned my head so I wouldn’t crack and burst out laughing. I failed. Snorted like a pig. Mash winked at me.

“That’s right,” I tried to say. “That’s . . . our . . . baby’s name.”

My parents just looked at each other.

“Carl?” Mum said.

Dad looked at me. “Cian, this is out of hand now. You’re really proposing to bring up a half-were child in the middle of nowhere on a head chef’s salary with a partner . . . named Mash?”

“Sous chef,” I corrected. “I don’t make anywhere near head-chef money, or have the responsibilities it comes with.”

Dad opened his mouth to speak. No sound came out.

“Also, technically, I’m unemployed,” Mash added. “I have no active income, and probably won’t ever.” He followed the crushing statement with a hard glare.

I didn’t stop the smile from splitting my features. “But in answer to your question, yes, I am. Because I love him, and I love it here, and unlike yours, Mash’s love is unconditional. It’s not dependent on me pretending to be someone I’m not.” I took a step closer to them because I didn’t want anyone else overhearing this. “Are you even happy? Because I think you might be searching for happiness in the wrong things.”

“Ooooh,” said Mash. “Sick burn.” He low-fived me. “Well, Mr and Mrs Barker, you’re free to stay and enjoy the party. We’re having sausages and mash and peas and gravy for tea. Not the spenny sausages because I don’t like those. We’re having the cheap ones from the local butchers. They’re all eyeballs and assholes, but they taste so good. And if you don’t fancy that, I’ll find someone to escort you from my land. My mate and I will be just over there, should you want to apologise to him.” He turned, made to leave, then faced them again. “Also . . . it’s Dr Mash to you guys.”

And then, before my parents could even formulate a response, he grabbed my hand and marched me to the other side of the dais.

“Giddy!” Mash called out. I didn’t spare a look over my shoulder for my folks. “My favourite little goth-moth dude! How are you?”

Gideon almost shat his pants. He squeaked. “Uh . . . congratulations.”

“Hi Giddy. How’s it going? I love your suit, by the way.”

“Thank you,” he squeaked again.

“So, who’s your big blue boyfriend?” Mash boomed.

“Oh, that’s Jim,” Gideon replied.

I almost choked on thin air. I expected the mothman to ignore Mash’s question, or at the very least deny their dynamic.

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