Nick would have liked to go home and just cuddle with Charlie, maybe take a nap on his bed, later walk Nellie and watch a movie with his mum.

But that wasn't going to happen today, because everyone was coming to dinner.

As they approached Nick's house, he could hear his father inside shouting at the TV from the sidewalk.

"Do we need to pretend to be platonic BFFs in front of your dad?" Charlie asked. They had talked about not telling him they were dating, but letting him see them together, acting normal, wasn't something they had discussed.

"I mean ..." Nick would have liked to have skipped telling him altogether and let him figure it out, but ... This was his dad. He deserved to have Nick tell him. "Yeah, maybe just for now, but I'm going to tell him about us tonight."

Charlie stood up on his toes and kissed him. "You can do it. I'm here for you ... mate." He dropped his voice ridiculously and punched Nick in the chest with both fists.

"You did not just call me 'mate'."

"Pal. Bro ... Supportive straight friend?"

"Charlie!"

They were both laughing when they went into the house.

His dad and David were sitting on the couch, glued to the TV.

"Dad, we're home," Nick said as he went past.

"Ah, Nick!" His dad turned on the couch, didn't even get up or put down his beer, just reached to shake Nick's hand in some kind of weird complicated movement Nick couldn't follow. "And your friend," he said in French. "Um ..."

"Charlie." The first person Nick had introduced to him in years, and he couldn't even remember his name.

"Yeah, Charlie." He shook Charlie's hand properly. "Nice to see you again." As he turned back to the TV, telling Nick and Charlie they should come watch, David sat back in the corner of the couch and gave Nick a look. Fortunately, before he could say anything, his attention was drawn back to the TV as well.

Charlie and Nick went into the kitchen. "Shall I lay the table, Sarah?" Charlie asked.

"Oh, you are a good boy."

Nick hovered over his mum, feeling guilty that he had set all this up and he wasn't even here when his father arrived, or to help with the dinner. "How's it been since he got here?"

"It's been fine." She turned to him and smiled more naturally, repeating herself. "It's been fine." As Nick stared at the back of his father's head, she leaned forward slightly. "He doesn't have to know, sweetheart. He's got no right to know. You don't owe him a thing."

Listening to the voices from the other room, so loud in their usually quiet and peaceful house, Nick understood something suddenly. He didn't want to tell his father because he wanted his father to know—he wanted to tell him because he wanted to stand there and say it out loud, and so that later he would always know that he had tried, that he had made the attempt to bring his father into his life. "I'm not doing it for him," he said. "I'm doing it for me."

The doorbell rang, and his mum hastily took off her apron and settled her hair before going to open it.

"Hi! Hello, thank you for coming," she said to the Springs.

They came inside, handing her the bottle of wine they'd brought. Introductions were made. Nick wanted his father to ask why they were having a family dinner with one of Nick's friends, what made Charlie so special. He wanted him to care. But he didn't care. He accepted the Springs with a smile, but he wasn't interested in what role they took in his son's life.

They all went to the table, where the wine was poured and the food dished out, and conversation flowed easily. One thing about Nick's dad, he could talk to anyone. He was talking about his birthplace, in the south of France now, although Nick had no idea how they'd gotten to this part of the conversation because all he could do was practise what he wanted to say.

"Ah, yeah, yeah, very near Spain," Charlie's dad said. "My father's from the south of Spain. Almeria."

"Oh, yeah? But your surname, it's so English."

Charlie's dad chuckled. "Yeah, well ... um, he always said we had a rather complicated family tree."

Nick had wondered that himself, but he had never asked. There were so many things he and Charlie hadn't talked about. He looked forward to long hours of talks in their future, asking all these questions.

"Do you visit often, Stephane?" Charlie's mum asked.

Nick tensed, and he could feel his mum, next to him, doing the same.

"As much as I can. My job, it keeps me very busy. I'm in property development."

Nick couldn't help but stare at him. Everything really was all about him, wasn't it? His job, his life.

"You should see some of the places Dad renovates," David said. "Insane."

All his life Nick had been jealous of how close they were, but he realised now that they weren't close—David only knew as much about their dad as anyone else did, and his dad didn't know anything about David, either. They just spent more time together.

"Work isn't everything, you know," their dad said. "Although the pay does help."

Everyone chuckled weakly. Nick wondered if they could all tell that he didn't mean a word of it.

David leaned forward. "Dad, has Nick told you how he met Charlie?"

"No, he hasn't."

What was David doing? What was in this for him? Did it make him a better son if he made Nick look bad? But everyone was looking at him, so he had to answer. "Um ... we got sat together at school, and then Charlie joined the rugby team." He should say, now, but it wasn't the time. It would be strange, and awkward. He'd wanted to wait, until after dinner, and then tell his dad alone, with only Charlie.

"Oh, you play rugby, Charlie?"

"I'm not very good."

"And Nick was obsessed with getting Charlie to join," David said, as if he knew anything about it. He'd been at uni the whole time, never calling or texting or showing any interest at all. "Wonder why," he muttered, taking a long pull on his beer.

Seeming oblivious to the rising tension, to Charlie's sister's muttered aside to David, trying to get him to stop, Nick's dad said, "I played rugby when I was in university. It's a very attractive sport to women."

Nick winced. He'd never noticed that himself—none of the rugby lads had ever come close to having a girlfriend, as far as he could tell.

"Have neither of you boys found girlfriends?" his dad asked.

Well, now he was going to have to tell him. He couldn't sit here in front of Charlie's parents and not tell him.

But before Nick could get out the words, Charlie jumped in for him. "No. I guess not."

"Ah, well, there's still time."

"I'm not sure Nick's too interested in looking for girlfriends, really," David said. He smirked down the table.

Nick saw Tori's hand clamp down on David's arm, but he didn't hear what she said. And it didn't matter. David was bound and determined that the news was going to be told at the dinner table, and Nick suddenly couldn't imagine why either his or their dad's opinions should matter to him in the slightest.

"David, be respectful, please, at the table," their mum said in a clipped tone. "We have guests."

"Why do you always do this?" Nick asked him.

"I'm just trying to help." He couldn't even say it with a straight face.

Nick dropped his knife and fork on the plate. "Sorry, this is ridiculous." He looked across the table at his father. "Dad. Charlie's my boyfriend. Surprise. I'm bi, he's gay, and I was actually really stressed out about how I was going to tell you, but you know what? I don't care what you think about it anymore. 'Cause you don't care to even see us more than two times a year. And you know, every time I do see you, I always think 'this is it'. 'This is the time when you might actually take an interest in my life', but ... you never do. So, if you don't care, then ... then I don't care, either."

His father looked down at his plate, but other than that, there was no response. No apology, no explanation, no 'thank you for telling me'. He couldn't have proved Nick's point better.

Nick looked at David, the idiot. "And I don't know why you're acting like you are ten years old, but your bullying just doesn't affect me anymore because, quite simply, I do not care. I like who I am. I like my life. Maybe you should stay with Dad next time." He got to his feet, needing to move after all of that, needing some space. He dropped his napkin on the plate. "Sorry, Mum."