As we devour the cake, his parents move onto my favourite topic yet: Logan’s childhood.

“Tell me everything,” I request, merrily, washing a bite of cake down with the last gulp of my third glass. Or is it my fourth glass? “The more embarrassing, the better,” I add, teasing Logan.

“He was afraid of the dark until he was ten,” Rupert recalls.

“He had an imaginary friend ’til he was six,” Buddy offers up.

“Both true,” Logan confirms.

“I had an imaginary friend, too,” I smile at him. “She was called Fiona. What was yours called?”

“Magic Mike,” Buddy tells me hastily.

I look from him back to Logan. “Seriously?” I ask.

Reluctantly, and trying hard not to laugh, Logan nods.

“Uh…as in the stripper movie?” I check.

“Yes,” Mary-Gene says, adding, “Oh, that film was most enjoyable.”

I laugh heartily at this revelation, while simultaneously thinking that Mary-Gene and Amber would get along like a house on fire.

“You can imagine the amount of teasing that happened when the film came out,” Logan laughs.

“He’s always been a keen swimmer,” his mom then tells me. “Everyday in summer he would wade out into the ocean and swim until his front was pink from exertion and his back was pink from sunburn. And he always did like architecture,” she smiles. “Even during his wayward years.”

I smile, finding it entertaining that that period of Logan’s life now has a title. It sounds like a name of a book — Logan Leary: the wayward years.

Mary-Gene continues, “I remember hauling your ass out of the oldest police precinct in Charleston and when I asked you if you had anything to say for yourself, your eyes glazed over and you told me: that is an attractive building,” she says to Logan.

Logan laughs again, “I remember that night.”

“Do you remember the tantrum that you had when we got you home? I learnt the word cunt that night,” Mary-Gene says casually.

“Mom!” Logan scolds.

Buddy and I are lost in a fit of hysterics.

“Your children teach you so much,” his mother says, reminiscently.

“That they do,” Rupert agrees, and they both look at Logan so affectionately that I have to stop myself from calling out how cute this moment is.

“You had a good childhood, I think. Until you turned thirteen, anyway,” Rupert says.

“Those five unhappy years won’t ever detract from the thirteen brilliant years that proceeded them,” Logan tells his parents. “I lost my way for a little while, but you two helped me to get it back.”

“I can’t believe that you’re thirty-five,” Mary-Gene blurts out. “There was a time when we weren’t sure that you’d make it to your eighteenth birthday. And look at you now: beautiful woman,” she indicates me, “beautiful home, and a friendship that has lasted longer than a lot of marriages do,” she smiles, referring to Logan and Buddy. “And this weekend we get to attend an event all about how marvellous you are, darlin’. I couldn’t be prouder.” She looks at her husband, “Our baby…thirty-five, Roo.”

“I know,” Rupert sighs, and I grin at Mary-Gene’s nickname for him. “Seems like yesterday that you arrived into this world, full head of jet black hair…”

Black? “Really?” I ask, my hand automatically going to Logan’s blonde locks.

His parents both nod at me, but Buddy steals my attention by saying, “Uh, Gemima, I don’t know what he’s told you, but Logan’s not a natural blonde. He dyes his hair.”

Logan picks up a cushion and hurls it at him.

“You lie, Buddy Jackson,” I accuse.

“You tell us, then…does his carpet match his curtains?” Buddy grins, enjoying the red flush that comes across my face.

“I’m not answering that,” I say in a small voice, avoiding the gaze of Logan’s parents, though I can hear Rupert educating Mary-Gene as to the meaning of Buddy’s words.

“Oh!” she exclaims in understanding, before smiling at Buddy, and saying, “My carpet has never matched my curtains.”

Buddy slams his fist on the sofa as he bursts into laughter. I stifle a laugh, very much enjoying the look on Logan’s face. He’s staring at his parents with a look of contempt. I revel in how fast the tone of our conversation changed. From sweet and endearing to pubic hair in under a minute. Again I think that Amber would feel right at home with my present company.

“TMI, mom!” Logan tells her.

“That’s something I’ve always found endearing about you, dear,” Rupert responds to his wife’s comment.

Logan quickly buries his face in his hands, and while the rest of us laugh, he mutters, “Oh my god!”

“You should be pleased that your mother and I are still sexually adventurous, Logan,” Rupert says to his son, and Logan’s head darts up to look at his father incredulously, as though he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. His eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them. He is mortified, much to my amusement. My body is silently shaking next to his as laughter rolls through me.

“Exactly,” Mary-Gene exclaims. “It’s inspiring. And if your stamina is anything like your father’s, then I don’t mind telling you that you’ll be in for a very happy life together,” she tells us both.

“No! No! No!” Logan says loudly, trying to stop their words from perforating his mind.

Buddy and I are in tears.

I admit, I never expected to know Logan’s parents so intimately, but their unabashed sharing makes me like them even more. They start giggling between themselves, pleased to have fulfilled their parental duty of embarrassing their child.

“I thought I was in danger of over-sharing,” I whisper to Logan in between giggle-hiccups. “When you told me that they weren’t shy, I never expected this.”

“I never expected this either,” he says exasperatedly, and I laugh even more. “I’d forgotten how overly candid they can be when there’s wine involved. Enough with the embarrassment, OK?” Logan pleads desperately with his parents.

“OK, kid. It’s only night one, we’ll have plenty of other chances to make you blush before our week is through,” his dad taunts him playfully.

Part of me revels in the thought of more fun and revelations, while another part of me doubts that there’s anything left to reveal. After all, what’s more private than pubic hair and sex lives?

* * *

It’s past midnight by the time that Logan and I are alone in his apartment once more. We retreat to the bedroom, where I stand at the large window, looking down at the street below to watch his parents walk back to their hotel. Logan stands behind me, watching too, and once we’ve seen them enter the building he pulls me away from the window.

“Shades…” he says, causing them to spring to life, enclosing us. “Did you have a good night?” he asks me.

“I had an amazing night, Logan,” I tell him sincerely. Logan loved his present, his parents loved me, and I managed not to embarrass myself. It couldn’t have gone better, I think gratefully.

I undress slowly, letting everything fall to the ground where I stand rather than putting it away, and though I had fully intended to fool around with my delectable boyfriend, as soon as I’m naked and under the covers I groan for an entirely different reason. My god, this bed is comfortable; and I’m so fucking tired. It’s been a brilliant day, but a long one.

We both lie on our sides, facing each other, as the sweet release of sleep beckons us.

“Technically, it’s your birthday,” I say sleepily.

He grins at me, and I cannot resist inching closer to him and pressing my lips against his. A sweet, sensual, and sleepy birthday kiss. His hand rests on my ribs and then slowly moves downwards, caressing my bare skin.

He pauses when he reaches my thigh, to say, “You have the most beautiful curves, Gemima.”

Smiling at him, I lean in to kiss him once more and his hand moves from my thigh to my backside, which he forces towards him, moving us even closer to one another. We lie like this for several long, quiet moments, before Logan breaks the silence.