Page 154 of Lessons in Chemistry

We break into groups to chat. Somehow I end up with Emory’s dad, Patrick.

“I didn’t ask how you’re enjoying your pharmacology degree. Emory loves it, but how are you finding it?”

I wince and glance at Emory, who’s talking to his mum, Jean, a short distance away. “It’s fine.”

“You don’t like it?” Casey’s dad, Neil, asks as he and Philipa join our conversation.

“I didn’t say that.”

“It’s written all over your face,” Philipa says.

I catch Emory’s eye and then Casey’s. They come over and stand on either side of me, holding my hands.

“I’m not finding it very interesting, but hey, I wouldn’t have met Emory and Casey if I’d picked a different subject, so it’s all good.” They are a pair of silver linings, and I love them for it.

“Is it too late for you to change what you’re studying? I know Emory and Casey had a few crossover modules last year, and they’re doing different degrees. You’re only a term into year two. Maybe you could carry your credit over into something in the same field you find more interesting,” Philipa suggests.

“Mum’s a lecturer at Lancaster University,” Casey says.

Philipa smiles. “I’ve talked to a lot of students who’ve realised they’ve chosen the wrong subject. You must have a tutor. Chat with them. I’m sure something can be worked out. No one wants you to be unhappy.”

Except for my parents, who would flip their lids if I tried to change my course. I can imagine the call from Dad now. He would cut me off, boot me out of the house, and probably change the locks for good measure.

“It’s fine. I’m almost halfway through. Besides, I like studying with Emory.” I nudge his shoulder.

He blushes beautifully.

Philipa pinches her lips together and then glances at Casey. If only I could send a plea for help to my boyfriends via telepathy. Sadly I can’t.

“I like studying with you too,” Emory says.

Philipa flicks her gaze over the three of us. “It looks like you’re taking care of yourselves.”

“Auggie is a great cook,” Casey says.

“Much better than me,” Emory agrees.

“You can cook? Why wasn’t this mentioned sooner? You could have helped with Christmas dinner,” Patrick says.

“Because he’s a guest, Dad. He’s not here to cook for you,” Emory says.

I laugh. “I’m happy to cook a meal for you to thank you for your hospitality.”

Patrick gestures at Emory. “There you go.”

“Do you fancy cooking for us too?” Neil asks.

“Dad,” Casey mutters.

“He’s joking,” Philipa says.

Neil stares at his wife and son. “Am I?”

After today, we’ve got two more nights in Lancaster before we go back to Leeds. As much as I adore Emory’s and Casey’s families, I’m looking forward to having them all to myself again. Needy? Me? Abso-fucking-lutely.

“I’m happy to cook for you as well,” I tell Neil.

Philipa gives me a thoughtful look again. “Perhaps chef school would have been more your thing.”