Almost dinner time. Almost.

Coming back into the house, balancing the plate of burgers and not-actually-burgers along with the bottle of BBQ sauce, metal spatula and an additional plate of toasted buns wasn’t the problem.

No, there wasn’t a problem with any element of the dinner.

The problem was the raised-voice discussion happening over in the living room that was edging into full-on argument territory. Even that wouldn’t have been an issue if it was Edgar and Paul doing their usual arguing brothers act. Or Brent and Paul. Or Brent and Edgar. Or Ollie and just about anyone cause she could never admit being wrong about something.

It was Gemma and Edgar.

That was the problem. Mostly because you knew Edgar was a bit of a stubborn idiot and had no idea what he was getting into arguing with Gemma because she’d been playing the nice, sweet, bubbly girlfriend so far.

Sabrina was leaning against the bannister to the stairs when you walked in and she glanced over at you with a slightly self-satisfied smile, which just signalled to you that Gemma was obviously in the right and Sabrina wasn’t about to cockblock your girlfriend from winning. You had to groan as you stepped quickly over to the kitchen and set down the meat on the counter. Corey shot you a look as if he was worried you were going to overreact; Victoria was with him and you had a feeling she had probably retreated from the confrontation as soon as it started.

Now with your hands emptied you went over to the living area.

“John, fucking finally!” Edgar said loudly. “Get your girlfriend-”

“Don’t try and pull that shit, you little weasel,” Gemma interrupted him. “John isn’t some voice of authority over me that you can just call in to save your ass from embarrassment. And it’s a little pathetic that just because you’re wrong you would resort to misogyny to try and save face in front of… oh look, no one! Because your brother is laughing his ass off at you right along with Brent and Ollie already said she agrees with me.”

Gemma was sitting on one couch, sitting forward a little aggressively as she stared across the coffee table at Edgar. It wasn’t a glare, you’d seen her glare. It was just her totally engaged. Edgar, on the other hand, was clearly frustrated and off balance in the conversation. He was blustering a little and looking away a lot, and you would have bet if he was white he would have been flushed red. Instead, he was doing that thing you’d noticed that he and Paul did, pursing his lips in frustration, and you had to wonder if they’d picked that up from a parent or if it was a cultural thing.

Paul and Brent, meanwhile, were on the other couch and were both in absolute tears as they covered their faces trying not to openly break into laughter. Ollie was smirking and leaning back, sitting next to Gemma on the couch with her arms folded over her chest looking all the world like she was completely happy to just watch Edgar get taken apart after she’d argued with him over dumb shit so many times in the past.

“Don’t call me a weasel,” Edgar said. “That’s fucking racist, and just because you aren’t from America doesn’t mean you can just pretend to be better than us.”

“I never once suggested that,” Gemma said. “And since when is calling you a weasel racist? I didn’t say you look like one, or that your race has some sort of similarity to one. I said you, as an individual, are acting like a misogynistic weasel by trying to weasel your way out of admitting you’re wrong by trying to get my boyfriend to check me. Guess what, if John were an abusive asshole who would do something like that, he wouldn’t be having threesomes every night.”

That broke Brent and Paul, who started howling their laughter.

“What is this even about?” you asked with an exasperated smile.

“Edgar said the Nigerian film industry is the most successful one in the world,” Ollie said. “And Gemma corrected him by pointing out that Nollywood isn’t even the highest producing one.”

“It’s Bollywood, then Nollywood, then China, then Japan, then Hollywood,” Gemma said. “And that’s only on the number of films produced, not quality. And the only reason Nollywood is even second is because they produce so much trash.”

“Gemma took a class on the Entertainment Industry for her degree back home,” Sabrina said from behind you.

“This whole thing is about… movies,” you deadpanned.

“She’s being racist! She’s saying our cultural heritage is trash!” Edgar argued.

“Our movies are trash!” Paul laughed at his brother. “I mean, they are classic, memey trash, but they are trash. Everyone knows that.”

“Alright, whatever,” you sighed. “Food is up, it’s time for dinner.”

Gemma stood up and came to you, kissing you on the cheek. “Sorry, love,” she whispered.

“I know,” you whispered back and squeezed her fingers.

Ollie followed her and winked at you, mouthing, ‘I like her even more now.’ Brent and Paul both followed, heading for the kitchen and wiping at the tears in their eyes.

You looked down at Edgar, who was still looking uncomfortable and unhappy. “Ed,” you said. “I don’t care if you argue with Gemma or Sabrina about whatever. But if you ever insinuate that they need to be checked by me, or if you try and ‘check them’ yourself with anything but civil discourse, I’ll deck you.”

He gave you a snotty little look and you just shook your head and turned, wanting to get past the whole thing with a good cheeseburger and time with your friends.

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