Foreman didn't want to get into whether his identity or Amber's parents' stereotypes were the issue. The first time he'd met Claire's parents, he'd been nervous about getting their blessing, but at least there were some things that he and Claire already understood between themselves. They didn't need to hold a symposium just to make sure they shared a vision of exactly what the world was like. An awkward Thanksgiving dinner might be about how prejudiced Amber's parents were. He'd give them the benefit of the doubt, as much as he could considering how cynical the last twenty years of fighting to be considered the best in every college and hospital he'd joined. Soon enough he'd have more evidence than one phone call could give him, one way or the other. He wanted to ask Amber, are you going to tell your parents it's their problem when we're all passing the cranberry sauce? but he already knew the answer to that. Amber--Amber, of all people--would be meek. Don't rock the boat, as long as her parents didn't rock it first. And Foreman doubted she'd consider herself any less than a hundred percent supportive of him, because she agreed in private that her family had a problem. My family are idiots, sure, but that was about as specific as she'd get. Let's not call a spade a spade, he thought, with bitter irony.

He smiled, still slightly preoccupied, when she said he was the first guy she'd wanted to show off. It didn't make the situation any easier on him; he not only had to measure up to her parents' standards, but also up to whatever mythical white boy they'd imagined she'd show up with some day. Not to mention living up to Amber's trust in him, her love. Remembering that softened him like no half-baked apologies about her family could. He exhaled, and turned his hand under hers so that he could interlock their fingers and squeeze back. "Hey," he said, trying to draw her out of the sad, distant mood she'd fallen into. "I'm glad. That you want to." He raised his eyebrows encouragingly, trying to coax a return smile from her. "It means a lot to me."

Amber seemed more intent than him, even, on getting back to normality. The daily routine. Foreman slumped a bit further on the couch. He'd sat down straight after his run, and now his calves were cramping, the loose heat in his muscles tightening up and starting to ache. "Okay. I'm going to grab a shower," he said. Amber had sat next to him without a murmur of protest at the smell, but Foreman didn't want to sit around with dried, salty sweat itching along his temples and down his chest. If he tried hard enough, had the break to gather his thoughts, then he could pretend just as well as Amber that colour didn't matter.