Page 90 of Leaning In

“Oh.” Mrs Robinson makes a disapproving noise.

I look at her and try to smile. Her necklace looks like it costs more than six months of my salary.

I have no idea how the conversation has turned to this. It doesn’t exactly scream “first meeting with the parents” material.

“Mum,” Sophia warns, but it’s too late.

Claire sets down her glass with a thud. “Can we stop pretending this isn’t completely inappropriate? You’re being rude.”

Her mum looks scandalised. “I’m being rude? I’m trying to include your friend.”

“By insulting him?” Claire snaps. “And he’s not ‘my friend’, Mum, he’s my boyfriend.”

“Claire,” her dad says sharply. “Don’t speak to your mother like that.”

“No, seriously,” Claire continues, cheeks flushed. “You’ve spent the whole meal making digs about his job, about money, about what kind of wine he brought. I get that he’s not who you pictured for me, but it’s my life, so maybe just let me fucking live it.”

The silence is instant and total.

Putting down my cutlery, I try to catch Claire’s attention.

I want to tell her it’s fine, that she doesn’t have to do this, but the words stick in my throat. Because I can see how much it’s cost her to say it. And I’m also feeling a sting of humiliation. Part of me wants to say something, but I don’t want to make anything worse for Claire.

“Sweetie,” Mrs Robinson says eventually, her tone the brittle sort of calm that sounds like she’s actually furious, “let’s talk about this later.”

“No,” Claire says. “I think we should talk about it now. If you’re happy making jabs in front of company then surely you’re happy to talk about everything in front of guests.”

Her mum lets out a long breath. “If you insist.”

“I do.” Claire’s expression is stony.

“Well, we’re just concerned. You and Tom have very different lives. We want to be sure you understand what that means.”

“It means nothing,” Claire says. “I’ve been friends with his sister since I was five and you didn’t seem to have a problem with that. Our lives aren’t that different. Tom works hard and actually gives a damn about people, which is more than I can say for half the men you’ve introduced me to.”

Angus coughs quietly into his napkin.

Sophia looks between us and mutters, “Well, this is fun.”

Mrs Robinson ignores her. “We just want the best for you, Claire.”

“You want your version of best,” Claire shoots back. “The one with men who probably wear ties to bed.”

I nearly choke out a laugh, but she’s on a roll now.

“Tom makes me happy,” she says fiercely. “I love Tom. And if you can’t see why that matters more than his job title, that’s your problem.”

Wait what?

Before I can process any of that Claire stands up, pushing back from the table.

“Tom, let’s go.”

I fold my napkin and get up as well. There’s a small pulse of embarrassment somewhere under my ribs, but it’s almost entirely masked by the admiration I feel for Claire right now.

“It was lovely to see you. The meal was delicious,” I mutter as I follow Claire out of the room. Becuase apparently I’m so British that even if I’m insulted I still have to thank people for the food.

Claire power walks out the house to the bus stop.