Foreman barely noticed Amber tilting her milkshake towards his mouth, offering it to him. He let it pass, until she'd put it down. Only when she pressed her hand against his chest and made an effort to meet his eyes did he wrench himself back to the present. "Hm? Nowhere." He blinked, refocusing. He hadn't really thought so much about his family in months, maybe years. Something about the questions that Amber asked brought them to mind more and more. It was easy to fall into reminiscing because he wanted to tell her about them. But he couldn't. He'd get to the part where his brother was a dealer and that would bring on...he wasn't sure what. Not pity--he didn't expect that from Amber, and he didn't want it, either. But she hadn't really understood about his own juvenile record, how serious it had been, how nearly it had stopped him from living the life he had now. She didn't know how much it mattered. She'd brushed it off with stories about pranks she'd pulled, as if they were equivalent.

And his mom. It would be no use introducing Amber to her; she'd only forget. It was embarrassing, awkward, painful. Why go through that? Foreman hadn't been home for longer than a quick visit in years. Never long enough to let Mom's condition truly affect him. It was easier that way, and it would be easier if Amber didn't know, too.

He wanted to trust her, though. He wanted her to know everything, all the important things. Telling her would mean getting into stuff he didn't like about himself, too. Lead to another fucking argument, because Foreman knew it wouldn't be an easy conversation. Better to get away from it, change the subject. He covered Amber's hand with his, hoping she would let it pass. "I still have the ride tickets. We could see how sick we can make ourselves now that we've risked botulism."