Page 91 of Leaning In

I go to say something but she holds up a hand. “Not yet.”

Sitting next to her on the bus, I try to absorb the last hour of my life. I knew her mum didn’t like me, but I’d assumed that she might have come around a bit over the last few months. Maybe I was being delusional thinking that things would be better now. And her dad… well he barely seemed to figure. He just sat there and watched the conversation unfold around him.

The money issue hasn’t come up before, though it’s maybe clung to the subtext of conversations in the way that we don’t talk about going on holiday abroad but instead talk about visiting my nan in Devon, or the way we generally eat in rather than going out to restaurants.

“I didn’t realise your family thought so little of me,” I say carefully after we’ve let ourselves into my flat. “I know you tried to warn me before. Thanks for standing up for me.”

“I should have done it a long time ago.” She says it quietly.

The words hang between us, the gala sitting right there in the room, months later. Even though Claire has apologised for how she reacted, it doesn’t mitigate what her mum said. I try to swallow the sting, and push down my frustrations about her family. But they come bubbling back to the surface. I hate that they make her feel like this.

“I’m sorry if I made things more difficult for you. I know your parents want a very specific type of person for you—someone with a bigger flat, who knows their way around a wine list. I just never expected to turn up to lunch and find out they’d already lined up the next candidate.”

Claire rubs her hands over her face. “I should have tried harder to warn you. I was just terrified that if you saw the full picture, eventually you’d realise I wasn’t worth all of this.” She gives a humourless laugh. “But that’s not really fair anymore, is it? You’ve never once given me a reason to think that.”

I sigh. “Claire, I know trusting people hasn’t exactly gone brilliantly for you in the past. But you need to realise you can’t always protect me from the difficult bits.” I reach out and squeeze her hand gently. “I want to be your partner, not someone you have to perform being ok for.”

“I know.” She gives me a small smile. “I’m trying.”

I look at Claire for a moment, at the way she’s obviously shaken but still standing firm.

“I’m so proud of you,” I tell her. “I wish I wasn’t part of the reason things are difficult.”

“They were difficult anyway, and I feel better with you than I have done in years. I’ll work out what to do about it, but it’s a problem for another day.”

“I agree.” I just want her to have at least a semblance of a relaxing afternooon. Then, suddenly, her words from the lunch come back to me. “I love you too,” I tell her gently.

Claire’s quiet for a moment, gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder. Then she startles.

“Wait.” Her voice is small. “You said you love me.”

Heat creeps into my face despite everything. “Yeah.”

Claire stares at me like the room’s tilted sideways. “You mean that?”

I let out a soft laugh. “Of course I do. And Claire, I’m pretty sure you announced you loved me to your entire family over roast potatoes.”

A horrified noise leaves her throat and she drops her face into her hands. “Oh my god.”

I grin despite myself and gently tug her hands away from her face. “For the record, I was very into it.”

Her eyes search mine cautiously, then she smiles. “Well, just in case you didn’t hear it well enough the first time, I love you.”

December

Chapter 37

Claire

The glass doors slide open as we step into the museum foyer. Marble floors gleam under the dramatic lighting, a swirl of onyx and cream stretching out ahead of us. Tom’s hand brushes mine, fingers catching for a moment before he laces them together properly.

The entrance is decorated for Christmas, with wreaths and ribbons. On a huge tree a collection of silver baubles glint under the bright lights.

“This place is incredible,” Tom murmurs, looking around. “I still can’t believe you got us into an opening night. These tickets were impossible to get.”

I pull my “Friends of the Museum” card out of my pocket to show him. “Mum used to be on the board here, she joined when I was about ten, so Sophia and I grew up coming to all their exhibits. She moved on a few years ago, but I actually bought a membership.”

Mum rotates through boards like other people do through streaming subscriptions. I can’t remember the latest one she joined. She’d mentioned something, maybe education, but I hadn’t asked.