I JUST WANT YOU TO LIKE ME | ✓

▬ 02: in the posture that fear overcame me

            'So, when are tha off t'university, Miles?'

I stop chewing and force my eyes up to Bà. She scrutinises me from across the table. I didn't have high expectations but I hoped we'd get further than five minutes into dinner before the question.

I eat slowly to mentally prepare myself, acutely aware of every pair of eyes on me. 'Soon.'

My tone must give away my disinterest because her eyes narrow. 'Miles, you have to go t'university.' Bà and Ông Nội call both Iris and me by our government names, never Xoài or Thỏ, unlike Má's family. They think nicknames are stupid superstitions by nhà quê — country bumpkins. 'We didn't pay for your school for ya t'work in some warehouse forever.'

'No, I know.' I poke at the mushrooms in my soup. 'I will go t'uni. Just... when I figure out what I wanna study.'

Ông opens his mouth but Ziri speaks first. 'He just got promoted to shift manager last month.' Ziri places a hand on my knee under the table and I glance to find him smiling. He's so proud I don't quite know what to do with it. There are people my age with postgraduate degrees.

'That's reet grand, but it's no career,' Ông says, picking more shrimp and lettuce leaves into his bowl. 'You can't wait much longer or your school diploma will expire. You're almost twenty-four.'

'He can always do some courses in open university to apply with on top of A-levels.' Ziri's voice is so chipper it gains a passive-aggressive edge. 'Loads of people go to uni well into their thirties or forties these days. One of my classmates was actually fifty-two.'

The table is stunned into silence whilst Ziri, refusing to feel awkward, attempts to pick stir-fried lettuce leaves into his bowl with a fork because he still can't use chopsticks.

'And he's got a forklift licence which I find really sexy.' Má chokes on her water whilst Iris snorts into her food. Ziri casts me a glance to say tough crowd before he turns to Bà and Ông's astounded expressions. 'That was a joke. Sorry.'

I warned him several times that my family (like most people on Earth) will not understand his sense of humour so best not to make jokes, but I have to wrestle a smile. He builds me an armour with his love. To express my gratitude, I take his bowl and fill it with a second portion so he don't have to struggle with his fork.

Thankfully Bà moves on. 'So, what do you do, Ziri?' She struggles to speak his name, so foreign with its short angles, but she sounds like she might genuinely be interested.

'I'm a media consultant for a cosmetics company in Brighton. It's not what I planned on doing — I got this job just for the summer after my BA cause I didn't get accepted into any research consultant jobs without higher qualifications, but it turned out a decent fit so I stuck around. And it's Black-owned, so the sunblock doesn't turn you white.' He shrugs. 'So that's what I'll be doing for the time being and then we'll see.'

In reality, the main reason he stayed is that his boss has an aunt with bipolar so she's incredibly understanding and I think Ziri's afraid he won't find it anywhere else. Though his episodes have been mild the past few years — "who knew that when doctors say balanced diet and regular exercise, they really mean balanced diet and regular exercise?" — he still needs several weeks of sick leave annually.

'Ziri's reet clever. He got into Oxford and all.'

This rouses Ông's attention. 'You went t'Oxford?'

'No, I didn't go. I did get a preliminary acceptance but I rejected it.'