Each time Amber named another family member, Foreman felt more anxious. He was used to living up to every expectation set for him, but her entire extended family in one go? Yeah, getting ignored was not going to happen. It'd be a three-ring circus with both of them in the spotlight. Nothing Amber had said made it sound like her family was any less than WASPy whitebread, and he'd stick out no matter how hard he tried to be inconspicuous.
Foreman wanted to reach for Amber's nervous hands, catch her fingers in his the way they had been just moments ago. It'd be easy if he was calm to try and reassure Amber. But he wasn't. He was starting to get pissed off, jaw clenching, as Amber blithely glossed over the implications of everything she was saying. Did Amber believed he'd just blend in and make no ripples--was she so naïve that she believed that, or was she hiding the truth from him? Foreman would bet the latter, if it would make her family look better, and him like the outsider who wouldn't even show up. As if he didn't have every reason not to expect a fair trial once he did. "Do you really think I'd get ignored?" he said.
He shook his head and clasped his hands behind his neck, staring up at the ceiling. "I never said I wouldn't go," he insisted. "You're jumping this on me and then you say it doesn't matter, and I think you're not telling me what does." Why else would Amber be so stand-offish? She was nearly as tense as he was. Foreman wasn't going to simply forget that when so many times the conversations they dropped were the important ones. Things that made a damn difference. "My family doesn't do Thanksgiving much anymore," he said. Eight years, or ten, he was starting to lose count of how long it had been. The year his mom had nearly burned down the house making a simple dinner had put an end to any huge family gathering. Most of his dad's people were back in Chicago, and his grandparents on his mom's side were both dead. It didn't make for much festivity. Easier to work. Easier to ignore Marcus's empty place at the dinner table and his dad's utilitarian cooking. "My mom--"
To Foreman's complete horror, his voice broke. Christ, he didn't talk about her, and this was fucking why. He snapped his mouth shut, teeth grinding, furious with himself. He rolled to his feet, pacing away so that he could squeeze his eyes shut for a second without Amber seeing. It doesn't matter, he thought, insisting on Amber's words like a mantra. It doesn't fucking matter so shut up. If he could just get his damn control back, he could talk again, agree with her: forget it, forget it, it's not important.
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Foreman wanted to reach for Amber's nervous hands, catch her fingers in his the way they had been just moments ago. It'd be easy if he was calm to try and reassure Amber. But he wasn't. He was starting to get pissed off, jaw clenching, as Amber blithely glossed over the implications of everything she was saying. Did Amber believed he'd just blend in and make no ripples--was she so naïve that she believed that, or was she hiding the truth from him? Foreman would bet the latter, if it would make her family look better, and him like the outsider who wouldn't even show up. As if he didn't have every reason not to expect a fair trial once he did. "Do you really think I'd get ignored?" he said.
He shook his head and clasped his hands behind his neck, staring up at the ceiling. "I never said I wouldn't go," he insisted. "You're jumping this on me and then you say it doesn't matter, and I think you're not telling me what does." Why else would Amber be so stand-offish? She was nearly as tense as he was. Foreman wasn't going to simply forget that when so many times the conversations they dropped were the important ones. Things that made a damn difference. "My family doesn't do Thanksgiving much anymore," he said. Eight years, or ten, he was starting to lose count of how long it had been. The year his mom had nearly burned down the house making a simple dinner had put an end to any huge family gathering. Most of his dad's people were back in Chicago, and his grandparents on his mom's side were both dead. It didn't make for much festivity. Easier to work. Easier to ignore Marcus's empty place at the dinner table and his dad's utilitarian cooking. "My mom--"
To Foreman's complete horror, his voice broke. Christ, he didn't talk about her, and this was fucking why. He snapped his mouth shut, teeth grinding, furious with himself. He rolled to his feet, pacing away so that he could squeeze his eyes shut for a second without Amber seeing. It doesn't matter, he thought, insisting on Amber's words like a mantra. It doesn't fucking matter so shut up. If he could just get his damn control back, he could talk again, agree with her: forget it, forget it, it's not important.