Foreman darted his gaze across Amber's face. There was a quick instant when she very nearly smiled. He could still sense the humour in her eyes when she took the spoon from him, but it faded quickly. He shrugged a bit. Soup as a peace offering was stupid, yeah. He could offer her more than that, if only he could get up the nerve to stop acting like a child about the entire topic. He watched Amber's lips close over the spoonful of soup. The corners of her mouth turned up in enjoyment. Foreman let his fingers brush hers again when she returned the spoon, trying to find that sense of connection.
He didn't know what to do either. Words didn't mean anything, not compared to what Amber felt. He'd been jealous over her, too, the bitter clench in his gut and the directionless anger leaving him frustrated, with no way to lash out that wouldn't break the bounds of his self-control. So far, he'd kept it to himself, beyond a few glares that probably left Amber with a fuller picture than he'd intended. But that had been over random guys, not over the specific embodiment of one of her fuckbuddies. And he could reassure himself--she'd already said there'd been no one serious. He believed her. He had to. Maybe she didn't even remember his moment of complete idiocy when he'd imagined an abusive boyfriend for her and had immediately wanted to go out and kick his ass. But she wasn't the only one who'd behaved like exes were the end of the world. Foreman didn't feel like bringing up his own stupidity, not even to reassure Amber. Showing himself in a bad light wasn't on his agenda, and besides, he had a feeling that his failings were a separate thing altogether from Amber's. She'd blame herself far more than she'd blame him for the same thing.
There was nothing to say. But if he could show her...Foreman's heart thudded, anxiety making his feel cold despite having his hands wrapped around his coffee mug for most of the meal. Telling the damn truth, why was that so fucking hard? He could do that, at least, for Amber. "My mom's soup did," he said. "Make everything better. She made hers from scratch. I don't think there was anything it didn't solve." Except her own sickness. But when he was a kid, it had been as close to magic as he could remember. Foreman searched out Amber's eyes, trying to get a sense that she knew what he was doing. Sharing. Because apparently even Shanelle had noticed that he didn't. Well, it wasn't going to be like that with Amber. If she wanted to compare, she could see that he'd give her more than he had to anyone since...in a long time.
Talking about his mom only made it more real, how much he missed her. He felt more in control right now, not about to break down bawling, but that didn't make it any easier to let this all out. To give Amber permission to know him, and ask about his family, and pretty much obligating himself to answer. "She never had to write her recipes down, she could just--take anything out and make something with it. She--" He swallowed, a frown creasing his forehead, but dammit, he was going to get through this. "She can't remember now. Multi-infarct dementia."
no subject
He didn't know what to do either. Words didn't mean anything, not compared to what Amber felt. He'd been jealous over her, too, the bitter clench in his gut and the directionless anger leaving him frustrated, with no way to lash out that wouldn't break the bounds of his self-control. So far, he'd kept it to himself, beyond a few glares that probably left Amber with a fuller picture than he'd intended. But that had been over random guys, not over the specific embodiment of one of her fuckbuddies. And he could reassure himself--she'd already said there'd been no one serious. He believed her. He had to. Maybe she didn't even remember his moment of complete idiocy when he'd imagined an abusive boyfriend for her and had immediately wanted to go out and kick his ass. But she wasn't the only one who'd behaved like exes were the end of the world. Foreman didn't feel like bringing up his own stupidity, not even to reassure Amber. Showing himself in a bad light wasn't on his agenda, and besides, he had a feeling that his failings were a separate thing altogether from Amber's. She'd blame herself far more than she'd blame him for the same thing.
There was nothing to say. But if he could show her...Foreman's heart thudded, anxiety making his feel cold despite having his hands wrapped around his coffee mug for most of the meal. Telling the damn truth, why was that so fucking hard? He could do that, at least, for Amber. "My mom's soup did," he said. "Make everything better. She made hers from scratch. I don't think there was anything it didn't solve." Except her own sickness. But when he was a kid, it had been as close to magic as he could remember. Foreman searched out Amber's eyes, trying to get a sense that she knew what he was doing. Sharing. Because apparently even Shanelle had noticed that he didn't. Well, it wasn't going to be like that with Amber. If she wanted to compare, she could see that he'd give her more than he had to anyone since...in a long time.
Talking about his mom only made it more real, how much he missed her. He felt more in control right now, not about to break down bawling, but that didn't make it any easier to let this all out. To give Amber permission to know him, and ask about his family, and pretty much obligating himself to answer. "She never had to write her recipes down, she could just--take anything out and make something with it. She--" He swallowed, a frown creasing his forehead, but dammit, he was going to get through this. "She can't remember now. Multi-infarct dementia."