alwaysright | November 28th, 2007

November 28th, 2007 - Wednesday

Amber eyed the small mountain her bags added up to. Part of her wondered if she hadn’t overdone it; this wasn’t the apocalypse. The rest of her new better: Thanksgiving with her family? Was worse. In those suitcases were provisions for all possible disasters, including a sleeping bag and extra bed sheets. Her mom would not accuse her of forgetting anything.

The salad, though, they’d get that in Worcester itself. Amber preferred to face last-minute Wednesday lines than bring six-hour wilted lettuce from Princeton-Plainsboro.

That ought to be it, though. Time to go. They were going to have a lot of traffic as it was since House had insisted they stay Wednesday afternoon despite the fact that they had no case—and also despite the fact most of the hospital had been gone since yesterday. House couldn’t actually be that lonely and bitter, not when she knew for a fact that Wilson had invited him to a full Thanksgiving meal cooked in his very own apartment. If House wanted to stay at the hospital to impress and/or to get into the pants of Cuddy—who would be working through the holiday, according to Amber’s sources (Cameron)— he didn’t have make them all suffer with him.

Amber got her cell phone out and texted Eric: Leaving now, be ready to go. He probably knew by now she would not spare him his life if he and his own bags were not waiting for her on the curb. He was rather inconsistent about when and when not to get into a power struggle with her, but for his own good and for her punctuality, she hoped he wouldn’t make a case of it today. Throwing her cell phone back into her purse, Amber began the wonderful journey of torture, starting with getting all her damn things down a huge staircase. First thing she’d do when she got back was get in the apartment management’s face about getting a damn elevator.

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Oh, god, was the brat going to get into another one of her fits over how much she waaaanted a dog? Amber only had to see her once or twice a year and already she'd had enough of that particular spiel; if she were Geoffrey or Leila, getting a damn dog would've been well worth the price of shutting her up. They spoiled her every other way, after all.

Awaiting the inevitable spat, the last thing Amber expected was Eric's soft, inviting voice instead. Amber moved into and towards him, giving a smile that was for him alone. "It's alright," she said in a low voice. They were in the middle of her parents' living room, with most of her family watching, so she couldn't give in to the urge to drive off the boredom by kissing and pushing him down into a lying position, but squeezing his hand was more than acceptable by the household standards. If he’d been wilting a couple of minutes ago under the inane conversation, this small bit of interaction perked him right up. "But it's not what I want."

Amber stood up suddenly, saying into the air, "Eric, come get a drink with me." It was the perfect moment: Aunt Jude and her mom were fussing over Madeline, and Geoffrey and Leila were preening over their pride and joy. That was one of her foolproof plans for escaping: slip out discreetly when others were vying for attention. Only her dad made as if to get up and join them, but Amber, walking by, patted his arm. "I know where everything is."

"Probably better than me," her dad agreed.

Amber sympathized. Her mom rearranged the kitchen fairly often in seek of the Holy Grail of Perfect Organization, but she tended to try the same patterns over and over. It wouldn't be hard to find the generous alcohol collection or the glasses.

Tilting her head at Eric in invitation, Amber went to the kitchen.

Foreman returned Amber's smile before he'd even considered what it would look like to any of her family members who might be watching. Pulling himself back to seriousness, he glanced around, but the only person who might have noticed was Chris, and he was gracious enough to act like he hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary. Amber didn't take his glass from him--maybe sharing a drink would've been too intimate? Foreman still had no real idea of what counted as discreet, among her family, although he more or less assumed that public displays of affection beyond sitting next to each other, holding hands, or the occasional peck, would be considered over the top. He grinned when Amber stood up and imperiously summoned him out of the room. The invitation was for everyone else's benefit. Kate looked up, but was quickly drawn back into an argument with Jude over how much time kids should spend with their mothers and whether it was fair to tie a woman to the home for as long as she was fertile, just in case.

Yeah, Foreman was ready to escape. He followed Amber's footsteps, exchanged a nod with Chris, and determinedly ignored the embarrassment of 'going for a drink' when his current glass wasn't even half-empty. He found his way to the kitchen, where dinner looked to be nearly ready, and there were signs of the involved preparations for tomorrow's Thanksgiving dinner. Setting his glass on the first counter he found, he grinned at Amber. He was feeling proud and a bit smug that no one had tried to cut his legs out from under him. Amber had painted a picture that sounded like setting foot in her parents' home would be equivalent to willingly crossing a piranha-infested river. Had she been trying to scare him off simply because she didn't want to come? She'd rescinded her invitation quickly enough, insisting it was because he hadn't jumped for joy at the opportunity. But then why mention it in the first place? Foreman had a feeling he'd only get himself in trouble if he brought that up, and he wasn't going to waste a few minutes with Amber arguing about whether she'd misrepresented her family to him. Geoffrey was an ass, anyway. The rest of them seemed nice, if entirely suburban. "I think it's going well," he said, moving across the room to join her, although not starting anything he didn't want to finish in front of Madeleine--or Kate, for that matter.

The kitchen was more a step back in time than the living room; Amber's mom had said they'd put off further renovations until Thanksgiving had come and past, since they hadn’t wanted it to be in bits and pieces on the big day. It had the same canary yellow cupboards, less bright from years of use.

"Yeah, it's going pretty good," Amber agreed, spotting a flat-bottomed basket filled with long, elegant bottles. Most of the collection was for show and guests; her dad was mostly into beer and her mom preferred wine. "Dump the rye and get what you want." If Eric had strolled into the kitchen all on his own that'd have been reason to kick him out-- her mom certainly had expulsed her friends for lesser crimes-- but with her there to accompany him, no one would even notice he'd switched drinks. "Why’d you even accept it in the first place, if you hate it that much?" Her family was annoying, but aside from her mom, you could fairly safely say "no" to any of them, even as a guest.

Amber wasn't interested in any of the liquors in the basket, though. She was more in the mood for wine, to swirl it around in her goblet and breathe it in deep. It'd be something to take her mind off the boredom of cooing over her niece. She pulled the fridge door open and extracted the wine bottle, not bothering to check the label. From past experiences at home, it wouldn't be anything she'd deign to drink in a restaurant, but her options were limited here. "That kid," Amber complained. "If it were up to me, there'd be a ban: no kids in adult spaces. There’s no reason why they should be inflicted on us.”

Foreman lifted his eyebrows. It didn't exactly sound like Amber meant it when she said things were going well. But then, maybe she was distracted, tense. Foreman hadn't seen any reason for that, but he was hardly attuned to whatever nuances might be going on under the surface. Other than Leila's rather ham-handed portrait of him as a frightening figure hulking in the shadows of the parking lot, offering his umbrella to young, pure maidens, he hadn't felt anything to object to. "I was being polite," he said. And he'd been a bit overwhelmed at that particular moment; it hadn't seemed like the time to get into a discussion of what exactly the Volakises had on tap and start treating them like bar staff instead of hosts. With a twist of his mouth, regretting the waste even as he was glad enough to get rid of the rye, Foreman dumped his glass down the sink and ran the water hot for a second so that the ice cubes disappeared, too. "I'll have a glass of wine, if you're opening the bottle," he said, and held up his empty glass. "Should I wash this?"

He found a second wine glass, having seen where Amber had gotten hers from, and set it next to hers on the counter while she got out a corkscrew. With a sigh, he looked around the kitchen. The meal smelled delicious, and he wondered when they'd be sitting down to eat, and whether the Volakises had held the meal for their sake, or if they were still waiting on Amber's younger brother. Brian. The one she liked, if the way she talked about him was any indication. Foreman hadn't had much of a chance to eat today, and his stomach rumbled.

Leaning against the counter, he crossed his arms. "This isn't an adult space," he said. Kids could be annoying as hell in restaurants and movies, but Foreman had steeled himself for far more of a fuss when he'd found out that he'd be meeting Amber's niece. It was her parents' house, and Thanksgiving. How could she expect to ban a four-year-old from that? Foreman couldn't figure out where Amber's hostility was coming from. It probably wasn't Madeleine herself, who'd been perfectly well-behaved. "And Madeleine wasn't bothering anybody. She was colouring in the other room." In fact, considering how late it was, and the fact that it seemed no one had eaten yet, he was surprised that Madeleine hadn't collapsed into a temper tantrum by now. Amber didn't have a problem with children in the clinic, or as patients. She wasn't a natural with them, but she handled herself well around them, so it wasn't that. "You're upset your brother can use her to get attention," he said, the diagnosis slipping out as soon as it occurred to him, and before he could shut his big mouth.

I was being polite. That one phrase brought back just how much Eric was doing for her, being here, shaping himself into whatever it was that her family wanted: the doctor to Aunt Jude's paranoias, the taker of random drinks. It wasn't an awful fate-- Amber had seen worse in the clinic this week-- but Eric did look fairly miserable, like he'd been left out in the rain too long and shrunk down a size or two. Amber took a pause in her hunt for win to kiss Eric quickly on his cheek, smiling with sincere appreciation. "You're a prince, but you can say 'no,' you know. And, no, leave the glass on the sink, my mom will have a heart attack if you do any work." She'd take it as an accusation that she was a poor, sloppy host.

The scent of roasted beef reminded Amber of just how long her last meal had been: hours ago she'd scarfed down a granola bar as she put the final touches on her bags. Her mom wasn't a professional chef, but Amber did miss her cooking, from time to time. Brian might not be here yet, but luckily her mom's sense of punctuality was stronger than her impulse to wait for all the guests.

Amber dug the screw into the cork, then twisted with hardly a thought. "It should be; it's only not because she's here." Between inane adult conversations and infuriating cooing over precious children, the former won by a landslide. Focusing on opening the bottle, Amber didn't really notice Eric's cooling dismay. "Yeah," she said distractedly to his comments-- until, that is, his last one. Jerking her face towards him, her hand shot up too, bringing a loud pop! from the bottle. "Are you crazy!?" she demanded. "I'm trying to avoid any attention, if you haven't noticed!"

He was so off the mark. Wanting the attention, really, Amber had never heard anything so stupid in her life. "I don't like kids, that's all," she gestured, then stopped when the wine threatened to spill. She could deal with kids in the hospital; there was no avoiding that part of the clientele. It was work, so she grinned and bore it. But in her time off, why should she have to deal with them? They were loud and messy and obnoxious.

Foreman hid his amusement as Amber attacked the wine bottle with the point of the corkscrew, looking more like she was wrestling a gator than opening a nice Sauvignon Blanc. He breathed in, for the light scent of her perfume from when she'd touched his cheek and kissed him. "You can't assume that about families," he said. "You're only going to have more kids around later." Didn't Brian have a long-term girlfriend? All three siblings were around their mid-thirties; Amber was lucky there was only one kid underfoot so far. Grimacing briefly, Foreman remembered their own scare. Was it going to be like that for the rest of their lives? Not that he felt able to think in terms of 'the rest of their lives'. He had no plans to shake things up; he was happy. But that didn't mean he hadn't thought about kids, some day. If Amber was this adamant, then either he'd have to change his mind or they'd have to decide what they were each looking for.

No way in hell he was going to bring that up right now, although the idea sat at the back of his mind and goaded him not to let the current subject drop. "You? Not want attention? You haven't stopped putting yourself forward for the last three months." And that had nothing to do with kids. That was just Amber. She probably thought that self-effacement was a sin, of stupidity if not of morality. Foreman settled his crossed arms more firmly. "Do you think if you keep quiet enough that nobody will notice me?" he asked. Just because he hadn't been offended yet didn't mean that Amber couldn't accomplish the same thing by constantly worrying that he would be. For one thing, he had better self-control than that. For another, Amber constantly worrying about whether her family would say something regrettable, when they'd been nothing but polite, appreciative, and welcoming to him, made him wonder exactly where the problem lay.

"I can assume they can find babysitters," Amber muttered. Geoffrey and Leila wanted more kids, she knew, and Brian.... was Brian. As for herself, there'd be no kids in the picture. Anyway, no matter how many her brothers popped out, nannies and babysitters were definitely options. They had the salary for it. Or they could stay at home, if they couldn't bear to be separated from their kids.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Amber asked. Was he talking about putting herself forward at work? Of course she was, she needed House's attention to get the job. Her fist tightened and it was the cool beads of perspiration pressing between her fingers that reminded her that they weren't exactly in a situation propitious to fighting. Her own resolutions to be more generous in giving Eric the benefit of the doubt aside, her family was right over there in the next room. They'd hear. Judge. ‘Oh, that Amber, we knew she couldn't make it last. Especially not with a guy like him.’

She set the bottle and glass on to the counter, hissing quietly her next words. "When have I been quiet about you? If I wanted to hide you, I wouldn't have told them-- I wouldn't bring you to my living room and call you my boyfriend!" That had been a humiliation in its own right, overcompensating for all the times she hadn't brought a boy back home, and now he was acting as if she hadn't put her neck on the line for him. "What's with all these accusations? First I want attention, and now I don't? Make up your mind!"

Foreman bit his tongue and gave up on the conversation about kids altogether. Obviously he and Amber had different ideas, but he'd never known that she was so committed to keeping kids out of her life that she couldn't stand her own niece. He still didn't think it was quite that, but going down the path of arguing her own views with her would get his head bitten off sooner rather than later. "It means that usually you like the attention, but that changed as soon as we got in the door here," he said. Amber had been withdrawn, all her usual careless belief in the rightness of her own opinions erased. Foreman couldn't believe that she'd actually knuckle under Geoffrey's opinion, but she hadn't even said a word about what bullshit the evolutionary psychologists and social Darwinists staffing the New York Times usually wrote about kids and parenting.

"They aren't accusations!" Foreman stood up straighter, his eyes going automatically to the kitchen doorway in case Kate started wondering whether they'd snuck off for a drink or a make-out session. He stepped closer to her and tried to take her hand, although he didn't know if she'd allow it. "I want to know what's changed." Sure, she'd announced him as his boyfriend, but Foreman had heard the overcompensation in her voice. He'd thought at first it was just awkwardness, but now it seemed like embarrassment--or even a challenge to her family, daring them to find something wrong with the first guy she'd brought home, and making sure he was as 'controversial' as possible when she did. That was assuming too much, and Foreman knew it; he didn't want to believe it of Amber, that he was her attempt at defying her family's standards, that she'd invited him first because it would, in the end, get her some attention. Why else would she be overreacting like this if it wasn't because he'd actually been accepted by her parents, apparently effortlessly? Foreman couldn't figure it out, and he didn't know why she was getting pissed off, either. "Look, have I done anything wrong, or was it someone else?" he asked. "Because it's something, and I don't know what."

There'd been here a few minutes, more than enough to pour themselves new drinks. Amber knew for a fact that her mom would notice, and possibly some of the others too; it depended on how good the conversation was, and with conflicting groups in the same room-- Aunt Jude and her mom, Madeleine and the other adults-- awkward moments were way more likely. They'd think she and Eric were talking about them.

Eric was-- frustrated. No wonder. He didn't know the situation or the rules, and Amber knew how much he needed to know everything. To be in control. That was why she hadn't wanted to bring him here, because he would get pissy. But instead of sympathizing, Amber just found herself more annoyed at his insistence on having everything systematized and clearly labelled. She and her family weren't under the microscope, ready for dissection. "Of course it changed," Amber snapped back as quiety as she could.

Their time was up. Amber started to pour herself her wine, cold-shouldering him as he went on and on, his tone growing hotter even as his voice lowered. She didn't have to see his face to know those familiar anger creases had deepened on his forehead. "We don't have time for this." Amber took Eric's glass and poured him wine as well. "You haven't done anything." If she didn't tell him that much, he'd stew in his resentment and it'd grow into a thing. "It's like I told you, things are difficult with my family. We'll talk about it later." With that, Amber swung towards the door.

Amber wouldn't take his hand. Foreman withdrew the offer and backed off, feeling himself stiffen up slightly. She wasn't answering him and other than a kiss on the cheek, she hadn't touched him since they'd gotten away from the living room. Foreman was as sensitive as she was to the prospect of getting caught in a compromising position, but he didn't think that holding his hand counted, when they weren't even in the same room as her parents, where Amber had sat next to him easily.

This wasn't easy. Foreman knew that. If their positions had been reversed, he knew he'd be trying as hard as he could to orchestrate every sentence in the conversation. He'd probably be sweating every time his mom opened her mouth, in case she was having a bad day, wandering through time, in all likelihood calling Amber by the name of his high school girlfriend, or worse, Claire. But Amber was a doctor; even if she grilled him about the information his mom let slip, she wouldn't judge her for the dementia. Still, Foreman would be sweating it out, tense every second. Somebody would mention Marcus, either his dad or more likely his mom, asking where Marc was. So, yeah, he got it. It wasn't easy introducing someone to your family. But Amber didn't have that kind of skeletons in her closet. No incarcerated relatives, nobody with debilitating illnesses that could make them blurt out the most embarrassing information at the worst possible moment. Not to mention that his dad would probably mention Foreman not going to church anymore. He usually managed to work that into a conversation. He'd probably want to know Amber's beliefs, too. There were a hell of a lot of things that Foreman didn't want to deal with. Which was why he hadn't invited Amber to his parents' for Thanksgiving. Again and again he kept running up against that fact: if she didn't want him here, why had she agreed to the invitation? Just because her mom had cornered Foreman on the phone once? Amber was an adult, fully capable of saying no, meaning it, and explaining to him that she didn't think they were ready yet. It had been six weeks--he was an adult, too. He could take it. And yet here they were.

Amber had poured them both wine, and a whole lot of defensiveness besides. Foreman took his glass. He wanted to stop her and demand what things? but she was right. They'd been away from the conversation long enough. He wasn't completely insensitive, he knew what she wanted. He took his glass and followed her back into the living room, intending to throw himself back into the conversation. Hell, maybe he'd even disagree with Geoffrey; mildly, of course, but even that much would be both satisfying and an implicit defence of Amber. And probably completely unexpected.

"Everything all right?" Kate asked, with the slight tension that showed she'd noticed how long they'd taken, and she was reprimanding them--or probably Amber--for breaking up the conversation by escaping for however short a time.

Foreman smiled. He was being a good guest; he was doing this for Amber. Even if he couldn't get a straight answer out of her, he could at least run interference for her. "Just discussing wine," he said. "You have a nice selection." There'd been a few bottles in the wine rack in the kitchen, as well as the Sauvignon chilling in the fridge. He fervently hoped that somebody in the family was enough of a connoisseur to take the conversational bait.

Eric trailed behind her. At least they could agree on keeping up appearances; Amber didn't know what she'd have done if he'd insisted on talking then and there, but whatever it was, it wouldn't have been pleasant. Nothing unforgiveable had happened-- yet.
Amber caught her mom's sharp tone. Before she could glide into a smooth lie about going over the details of their latest, complex, and very important case, Eric was already speaking, talking about wine. Amber's eyes widened slightly-- that wasn't an invention that'd fly so well with her family. It'd only put pressure on her parents to pretend as if they knew anything about wine, when her mom was likely to buy the most expensive bottle of European she could afford than any other factor.

Her mom stiffened, squaring out her shoulders. "Thank you. I do try to keep an eye out for the best--" Was that her dad hiding a smirk? Oh, god, he better not laugh, otherwise they'd all be in trouble.

"Actually, I brought the Sauvignon you're drinking now," Geoffrey said with a light grin. "It was hard to pack with all of Madeleine's things, but I knew it'd be worth it." Madeleine, back between her parents on the sofa, stirred at the mention of her name, but a frown crossed her face as though she was pretty sure that wasn't a positive mention. She did get some things right.

"It's pretty good," Amber granted, taking Eric's hand as she sat down in their previous seats. "Very sophisticated," she said knowingly, though she had yet to take a single sip.

The hallway phone rang. Amber and, from the look of it, her mom, sat up, ready to go get it, but her dad beat them for once, rising slowly but with more conviction. He hadn’t gotten a five-minute break in the kitchen like Amber and Eric, and everyone else was more in their element, here in the living room exchanging small talk. "I’ll be back," he said, waving his hand above his head as he walked away.

Kate's uncomfortable smile and immediate but vague response to Foreman's wine gambit said it all. She didn't know a thing about wine, and Foreman had backed her into a corner. With sudden clarity, Foreman remembered his very first night with Amber. She'd snapped at their waiter over the first bottle of wine he'd brought them, only to turn to Foreman and admit she didn't know a thing about it, only knew that acting dissatisfied would get her something better. Oh, great. Instead of making things easier for Amber, he'd stuck his foot in it, again. Foreman looked down into his wine and wished it would disappear as easily as the rye. If he took a sip now he'd look like he was judging it, and if he took his time, he'd look like an even bigger snob.

Geoffrey's interruption was, for once, welcome. If he'd brought this wine, then Foreman's opinion of it wouldn't reflect on Kate. And he didn't really care if he insulted Geoffrey: Geoffrey seemed immune to any implied negative opinion. Still, there was no point in formenting bad feeling. Foreman raised the glass to his lips and sipped, contenting himself with a nod afterwards. It was good, but Foreman suddenly didn't feel like bullshitting about the bouquet or the undertones. He knew enough terminology to get through a conversation, but he'd probably had even less exposure to quality wines in his life than the Volakises. This wasn't about playing more-sophisticated-than-thou, which seemed to be the game Geoffrey was interested in.

Chris got up to answer the phone, and Geoffrey sat back as if he was taking on the role of host with his father out of the room. "So you're in neurology?" he asked, with probably the same hearty tone of voice he'd use to ask if Foreman was in "business", whatever business it might happen to be. "Amber tells us these really quite unbelievable stories about the patients she treats. Wouldn't you say they're more the exception than the rule? I bet most people you see only have a headache."

Foreman's fingers tightened around the stem of his wine glass. All the eyes in the room were on him, Jude's with a kind of fervent belief, the rest with various degrees of curiosity. "Actually, Amber and I work in the same department," he said. "We're known for the unusual cases we take on." There had to be a way to get out of the hole he'd dug for himself with the wine comment, and as soon as he thought of it, Foreman latched on to the idea like he'd grab a life raft from the deck of a sinking ship. "A couple of weeks ago we had a patient come in for hallucinating. It could've been anything. At first there seemed to be some symptoms of a hereditary disease. But Amber found out she had ergot poisoning. It's a kind of diseased rye; the patient was eating homemade bread."

Amber closed her eyes and allowed herself a generous sip of her wine as Eric recounted her biggest victory in the Diagnostics Department. God, warning him that her family was difficult hadn't been enough; she should have trained him in what to and what not to say.

"Goodness," she heard Aunt Jude say, and she could just imagine her holding a hand to her chest, her mouth opening slightly with awe. "I have homemade bread at home! Eric, do you think I'm at risk?"

But her mom had started to speak at the same time as Aunt Jude, and her voice was louder. "Ah, yes, that story. Amber's told us all about it." No doubt about it; there was a light tone of recrimination. It'd have been one thing for her mom to boast about her daughter's feats over and over to her friends and acquaintances-- another entirely for her to have to be subjected to the same facts more than once.

"Even I've heard it," Geoffrey piped in. "I'm starting to think she hasn't done anything else there. Admit it, sister, you're handing out tissues to people with the common cold."

Amber smiled thinly, as she knew he'd said it as a supposed joke. No one laughed, but no one berated him either. That was alright. She'd learned to stick up for herself long ago. "And you're still getting men to pay nothing in alimony and child support, ha ha." There, see how much he liked that joke. He frowned, as did Leila, but Amber was within acceptable boundaries. Her mom would later rebuke her for the comment, but that was a small price for self-defense.

For now, the other price was the stiffening tension that overtook the room. A few stilted seconds passed, punctured only by Aunt Jude's sudden exclamation of the cold.

"Am I interrupting something?" her dad asked from the doorway, coming back.

"Nothing much," Amber's mom, tilting her head up at him and her relief unsubtle. "Who was it?"

"Brian-- guess what."

"They missed their flight," her mom said flatly.

"It was canceled," he corrected. "They won't get here until tomorrow."

Whatever reaction Foreman had been hoping for--some acknowledgement of just what it meant that Amber had made that intuitive leap from symptoms to diagnosis--he was more than disappointed. There wasn't a flicker of understanding on anyone's face. "No," he told Jude, "it's very rare," but he could already tell it wouldn't have any effect. She'd probably go home and throw out all her loaves and feel very virtuous doing it.

Christ, he couldn't win. The disappointment, the defeat, felt all too familiar, although he usually didn't get this feeling until the end of his visits home. He always felt like he'd accomplished nothing, like all the triumphs he worked to build in his regular life were shown to be nothing but castles in the clouds by the time he was ready to head back after being home. It was worse, this time, because it wasn't fair for Amber. Foreman felt sick with anger he couldn't show. Amber's jibe back at Geoffrey chilled the room right down, but Foreman could tell from the way she said it that she'd known the effect it would have and had fought back the only way she knew how.

While Kate and Chris went back and forth over whether Brian could conceivably switch his reservation over to another airline and get home any sooner, and whether it would be worth the trouble if he did, since any earlier and he'd be arriving jet-lagged in the middle of the night, Foreman put his hand on Amber's knee and said quietly, "I'm sorry. My dad gives all the credit to God when I save somebody's life. I don't know if this is better or worse."

Geoffrey and Leila had joined the conversation about whether it made sense to make Brian pay more just to get here a few hours earlier and how all the other flights were probably booked already; Aunt Jude listened in attentively, probably waiting for a moment to declare the statistics for plane accidents during the holidays. It'd be just her and Eric, for a couple of minutes.

Amber tipped her forehead towards Eric, a tired, wry smile tugging at her lips. Nothing seemed very funny right now, but what else could she do but find humor where she could? Though, poor Eric. At least she knew what to expect and where the bombs lay; his steps in good faith were blowing up in his face. She covered his hand with hers. What she really wanted to do was smooth away the strained lines from his face; kiss him, too, if that helped.

“That sucks,” Amber noted sympathetically. “At least I get the credit.” She hadn't known that about him, or his father. Maybe he wasn't just dealing with the challenges of her family, but remembering his own. Amber squeezed his hand tighter, resolving to be more supportive. She'd been wrapped up in her conflicts here-- like all the other times she’d come back-- and had left him hanging, shutting him out with her anger. Amber gazed deep into Eric's eyes; sometimes, in the right light, she could catch gold flecks in them. She asked quietly, "Is all this bringing back bad memories?"

She heard the kitchen door open again; her mom must be going to set dinner on the table. "Need help--" Amber called out, already knowing what the answer would be; in previous years she'd been expected to give a hand, but with Eric here, she'd been shifted to pseudo-guest status.

"You all stay seated," her mom said.

Foreman was glad most of the family had gotten caught up in a debate that didn't really matter. Geoffrey was saying something about how they could present Brian with the cheapest, most logical travel plan, and it would still be no guarantee that Brian would make the effort to change his ticket or arrive at the right gate if he did. Chris was trying to calm everyone down, with the simple pronouncement that if Brian said he had it figured out, then he did, and they'd still be seeing him for Thanksgiving dinner, which was the important part. It gave Foreman a moment to feel like Amber had actually seen him again. Ever since she'd announced 'her boyfriend', like a spectacle on display, he hadn't been sure she remembered him, Eric, the guy she'd been sleeping with for the past six weeks. When she smiled at him, he realized he might've been treating her the same way, like a prop in a game of good manners. He smiled back and leaned into her, so that their shoulders were pressed closer together.

He was taken aback by Amber's question. He shouldn't have been; the topic of families and going home and holidays were all around them, and he knew Amber was curious about his family. She rarely let an admission of his pass by without asking a follow-up question, even if she was careful enough to step around the obvious pitfalls in his past. Foreman took a sip of his wine, frowning thoughtfully. Too much was different to really make comparisons. The Volakises were better off; their house and yard and neighbourhood all showed that. But Kate's admonishments to everyone to stay seated while she got dinner ready, or the way Amber and Geoffrey wrestled for the most credit, was familiar. "I don't know," he said. "It's not like Trenton." Maybe everything was too different, so that it didn't evoke specific memories, either good or bad. And for as long as Foreman had been going home for holidays, during college and med school, Mom had been fine, asymptomatic still. So he didn't associate Thanksgiving with bad memories. Sometimes Marcus had been there--usually eager about fresh starts, making grand promises, making Mom smile--or else he wasn't, and the only time he was mentioned was when Dad said grace, almost as if eating his Thanksgiving meal at the Downstate Correctional Facility was just an obligation he hadn't been able to get out of. "Is it different with me here?" Foreman wasn't sure he was ready for some kind of evaluation on his performance so far, but he could swallow his pride enough to get a few pointers.

"All right, everyone," Kate announced, coming back into the living room. "We're ready for dinner. Everyone head into the dining room."

Amber turned into Eric, accepting the small but important gesture of affection; and just like that they created their own world right where she'd never have imagined it possible. It brought back the entire reason why she'd dragged him here in the first place: because she loved him. Amber felt that reminder viscerally, a sudden flare to see his smile, sincere if worn.

Eric's happiness was short-lived, replaced by surprise at her question. Amber had thought it was a logical step in their conversation, but apparently not, if it took him that long to think up an answer. Her thumb absent-mindedly stroked the smooth, soft fabric of his suit pants.

Trenton was different how? Poorer? Amber had the impression Eric had grown up in "the hood," with brick city walls covered in graffiti and the wail of a police siren never too far off. …Maybe she'd watched too much TV. Whether or not visiting her home had revived any memories of his own, though, he side-stepped by asking her a question. And, unlike Eric, Amber's answer was automatic: "Yeah, it's better." Having Eric as an ally here, Amber wasn't alone. He'd pissed her off in the kitchen and said a couple of wrong things to her parents, but he had her back in a way no one else in the room did.

Her high school friends once told Amber that her mom was worse than a drill sergeant; she'd defended her, but there were times that the description fit like a glove. "You don't want to cross her," Amber whispered softly to Eric; her mom had already turned and walked away, so there wasn't as much danger being overheard.

Geoffrey offered Aunt Jude his arm to get up-- though Amber knew she didn't need it-- and Madeleine darted to the table like a bullet. Amber did feel a twinge of sympathy for her-- she was pretty hungry, so she could only imagine the four year old. Amber led Eric to the dinning room, taking her usual seat next to her mom, who traditionally sat at the head of the table. There was a space next to her—not to mention the two empty seats where Brian and his girlfriend would’ve sat.

It's better. Foreman's chest warmed with sudden feeling. He hadn't thought that he was doing badly, despite bringing up a few topics that he should've stayed away from in retrospect. But to hear Amber affirm that his being here meant something to her felt so much more meaningful than her words alone. He stood up at Kate's announcement and took both of Amber's hands in his as she got up too. Wanting to share his sudden happiness, he leaned in to kiss her softly, his lips moving gently across hers. Maybe this was the question finally answered--why she wanted him here. He'd been worried about being a block to her mother's questions about when she was going to settle down, or worse, proof that she wasn't bound to her family's values and expectations. But the way she'd answered so quickly, without having to think about it, and the warmth in her eyes as she'd accepted his touch, was more than reassurance. It was a reminder of the tenderness between them, the gentleness, the warmth. "I love you," Foreman murmured in Amber's ear, letting everyone else leave the room first.

"Trust me, I've figured that out," he said as he pulled back. Kate would expect them not to keep the food waiting now that she'd decided to serve. His hand in Amber's, Foreman followed her into the dining room, and following an impulse he'd been suppressing around her far too much, he pulled out her chair for her. He knew it wasn't something Amber looked for, or even wanted, most of the time, but he couldn't help expressing his feelings the way he'd been taught, in small gestures of consideration for her.

Everyone else had already trailed out of the room, but they were still in a sense there as Eric lit up with joy and kissed her with open, transparent love. If they turned around, they would see. Immensely shy all of a sudden, Amber barely moved, her breath hitching to feel the warmth of his lips against hers once more. This wasn't like getting as close as possible to fucking him in restaurants or bars, where she wanted the attention and acclaim of being with the handsomest guy in the room-- that was amongst strangers. It was a performance.

Here-- Amber felt like she'd blurted "He's my boyfriend" all over again, that same embarrassment and stubborn pride burning within her. She squeezed Eric's hands and tried to smile, but her mouth twisted into strange thing. This mattered. He mattered. And-- and she didn't want her family to see. Didn't want them to take this and judge and tell her how to do it right. It didn't make sense. Amber wanted to show Eric off and, at the same time, keep him to herself. He was none of their business.

Confused with this sudden rush of realizations and feelings, Amber shook her head. Later. There'd be real hell to pay if they lingered any longer. "I love you too," Amber said, more softly than she'd intended. She ran her hand over his face once, softly, before tugging him away.

"Would you like more wine or juice?" Her mom primly asked. More guest behavior; normally Amber would be expected to go fetch her own drinks.

"Wine," Amber said.

In her distraction, Amber didn't notice Eric walking up to her chair and pulling it from the table. At the sound of wood scraping against wood, she saw. Again the chivalry. Her self-consciousness came back stronger than ever: this time, everyone was watching. And it'd be a real popular move: Amber didn't have to see her mom to know she'd be smirking knowingly, or that Aunt Jude would be nodding along, satisfied that her niece's guy friend was following proper etiquette.

Amber sat down without comment, as if she were demurely accepting. What else she could do? Even if she were annoyed, she couldn't tell Eric off, not when everyone else approved. She was still trying to impress them all, and this furthered her goal, even at the price of her own dignity.

“I thought no one did that anymore,” her dad said, his voice betraying how impressed he was.

“Just because you don’t doesn’t mean no one else does,” her mom said.

“Yeah,” Geoffrey said, and the smug jerk pulled out a chair for Madeleine and then Leila, both of whom seemed pretty happy with the attention. He probably did always do that, to make himself look good. Self-serving gallantry.

Amber's soft touch against his cheek and her hand in his had felt like they'd insulate him against anything. He didn't need to try hard; he could accept another glass of wine and content himself with answering whatever conversational topics came up, instead of trying to draw the Volakises out or prove himself. In fact, that would probably be better. He didn't want to look like he was trying. Still feeling relaxed and warm from their moment in the living room, however brief, Foreman smiled at Amber as she took her seat, and then sat down himself.

A second later, all that insulation was burned away. Foreman had pulled out Amber's chair for Amber, as a gesture to her, forgetting that he was on display. Seemed like everyone at the table had an opinion. Foreman couldn't even care that they were mostly positive; he felt like an animal in a zoo being put through its paces. Every word he'd said so far tonight had been more or less been taken at face value, but this one little courtesy caused a whole flurry of opinion. If he even said a word about it, he'd look like even more of an idiot than he'd already made of himself. He watched Geoffrey ostentatiously make a point of doing the same, not only for Leila but for Madeleine, somehow making a mockery of it, like he was a pompous butler instead of a caring father and husband. Christ, did Foreman look like that? Maybe he did, in Amber's eyes. If her family was so hung up on it, that's probably how she'd taken it, each time he'd tried. No wonder she asked him not to, if he'd looked like such a prat opening doors for her. He probably came off like he was spreading his jacket over a puddle instead, doing it for the so-called honour, rather than what it really meant, that he cared. Face burning, Foreman couldn't help the grim set to his mouth or the sudden hyper-awareness of everything around him. Would it occasion just as much comment that he knew how to eat with a knife and fork? Maybe they'd be just as surprised that he knew the difference between a salad fork and a dessert spoon. Look at that, he could be dressed up and taken out. What a marvel!

"Well, everybody dig in," Kate said brightly. The food all looked, and smelled, delicious, although Foreman's churning stomach stopped him from reaching immediately for anything. He wasn't going to screw up again, in case Kate's invitation was only a ritual phrase and some people were expected to wait while others served themselves first. Being in an atmosphere like this, Foreman had almost expected everyone to bow their heads and listen to Chris or Geoffrey say grace. His dad certainly wouldn't have let anyone touch a serving spoon before they'd given thanks. Foreman himself had stopped saying grace almost the moment he'd moved out of his parents' house, and he wasn't about to go through the motions here if his hosts didn't.

Chris didn't stop to let anything get cold, and Leila started serving Madeleine, who looked pouty and recalcitrant over waiting. When Chris passed the bowl of peas to Foreman, at least that was a pretty clear sign that 'dig in' meant just that. Somewhat relieved, although still furious with himself for being taken for a chivalrous fool, Foreman got involved in serving himself and passing things on to Amber. No way he was going to offer to serve her, or even hold the serving dishes while she got her own. He'd been taught his lesson.

Amber lifted the glass of wine to her lips as soon as her mom poured her some. At this rate she'd drink too much before the end of dinner, but the alternative was to get through this sober, an option she didn't much relish. Anyway, what would her family do if she got a bit tipsy? It wasn't as if being perfect had ever been good enough. The wine kept her body warm, the room light.

For the next few minutes the conversation ground down to requests for the pepper or a piece of roast beef. Sometime between serving herself potatoes and passing Aunt Jude the peas, Amber's mom managed to pour for everyone: juice for Madeleine and wine for the rest. Only Leila and Amber's mom took from the salad Eric made-- everyone else was probably leaving it for later, but Amber loyally got herself a generous serving. She appreciated his vinaigrette.

Good thing, too, because Eric looked as pissed as he got when House was questioning his authority in front of the rest of the team. Amber snuck her free hand beneath the table and ran it over his thigh. Small touches from her always did help calm him down. "I still can’t get over how different everything looks," Amber said, shifting the topic from herself and Eric. "It's almost like another house."

“Don’t give your mom ideas,” her dad said, but it didn’t sound like just a joke.

It was just as well that everybody concentrated on their food at first, because Foreman doubted he'd be able to offer anything other than a sullen response if he'd been asked for one. He tried to get himself under control, but the attack had come from a direction he hadn't guarded against. Politics or religion were automatically on the list of topics not to bring up and not to argue; sex was to be avoided entirely; but having his personal habits put on the microscope slide was a little much.

He served himself, and, seeing everybody else eating, began to cut up his roast beef. He glanced over at Amber when she let her hand rest on his thigh, but she wasn't quite looking at him, so whatever message she'd intended to convey, he wasn't getting it. It couldn't be 'shut up' since he wasn't talking, and he doubted after his failures in the living room it was some kind of encouragement to speak. He supposed his expression had been obvious. With an effort, he did his best to unclench, taking his first bite. The roast beef was tender and spicy, and his stomach immediately clamoured for more. Foreman controlled himself enough to eat slowly; he didn't want to clear his plate while everyone else was still eating, and look like he'd stuffed himself.

"We only just got the workmen out of here," Kate was saying. "I had to have them back in to fix the wainscotting on the stairs three times! The contractor wanted to charge me! If they hadn't made the mistake the first time then it wouldn't have cost him to re-do it."

Foreman glanced around the dining room. Everything did have that untouched feeling of being brand new, even though Amber had mentioned living in this neighbourhood all her life. Everything looked well put together, but Foreman preferred the comfort of Amber's apartment. Not that he was going to say a word about that. "The roast beef is delicious," he said, when it seemed that the renovation talk had died down.

"Why, thank you, Eric," Kate said. "So nice to hear. I do love trying old recipes on new people."

There was nothing Amber's mom liked to talk about as much as her own projects. As Amber suspected, bringing up the renovations guaranteed them a few moments of relative peace, with her mom going on quite happily about all the ways she'd caught the workers trying to cheat her. Only Geoffrey seemed to listen, though. Her dad probably had had enough, since he'd been living here; Madeleine was chattering on to Leila about who knew what; and Aunt Jude had tuned out at once.

But Amber hadn't raised that topic for any of them; it'd been for Eric alone, who needed the break. Not even her touch softened his grimace.

Complimenting the food was a good move, at least. Everyone else chimed in, including Amber, but she knew that her mom would remember that Eric said so first. 'The first compliment is the real one,' her mom had told her many, many times.

"I'm just looking forward to tomorrow," Amber's dad said, winking at her mom.

Her mom snorted. "I'm looking forward to you helping me, for once." This was an old, warm joke. He actually did pitch in a fair amount on Thanksgiving. Not in other parts of the year, but... which brought up another good question. Would her mom want Amber's in the kitchen this year? Not setting the table one thing, but the Thanksgiving feast was huge. Even Leila had been helping for as long as Amber could remember; she wasn't sure if Eric, a man, would be expected to do the same.

The conversation shifted to Geoffrey's latest work: more big important rich clients wanting him to save them in their divorces blah blah blah. Amber wished she could be like Madeleine and be excused from the table as soon as she'd cleared her plate. She enviously watched Leila pick up the drowsy Madeleine, murmuring softly to her, and carrying her out of the room. Aunt Jude excused herself to go give Leila a hand.

By the end of the meal, Foreman was feeling invisible. He couldn't decide if he was relieved or annoyed. While Kate's talk about the renovations, even if she had gone on, hadn't bothered him because he understood the urge to let everyone know exactly how much work had gone into the dinner and the setting, Geoffrey's stories were more insufferable. If Geoffrey had been an investment banker, Foreman would have at least had something in common with him to discuss; even estate law would interest him, for his parents' benefit. But a divorce attorney only had one thing on his mind: exactly how, when, and why relationships crashed on the rocks, and how lucrative it was when they did. During his first visit to meet Amber's parents, Foreman didn't want to be thinking about whether they'd end up at each other's throats five years down the road. They both had immensely stressful jobs, they had different ideas about having a family, he was technically her boss...according to Geoffrey, those were all signs of imminent relationship collapse.

Fortunately, Geoffrey didn't seem to need any encouragement from Foreman to keep up his stories. Chris asked a question or two, mostly about Madeleine's school and the neighbourhood where they lived, and whether Leila was thinking of going back to work, which segued into talk about relatives Foreman hadn't met and people he didn't know. When Kate suggested--obliquely--that they move out of the dining room so that she could clear, Foreman was nearly the first one on his feet. "Can I help?" he offered, picking up his empty plate.

"No, no, you and Amber go enjoy yourselves." Kate took the plate out of his hands and started stacking it with Leila's and Madeleine's. "You haven't even had a chance to settle in yet. I know you'll want to see the room."

As much as his better instincts pushed Foreman to clear the table and at least make a stab at offering to do the dishes (a chore he'd never have escaped at home, guest or not), the thought of putting a few solid walls between them and the family was far more appealing. He turned to Amber and tried to smile. "Want to give me the tour?" he asked, remembering too late that it was practically what he'd said the first time he'd seen her apartment, and carried her through it naked before depositing her on her bed and joining her there. His face heated, but the memory made his smile much more genuine than he'd thought he could manage after that dinner.

Amber barely believed their good fortune. She'd thought they'd have to spend another hour or two with drinks and more small talk about just how perfectly green Geoffrey's grass was, but her mom went and gave her permission to break away. She reached for Eric's hand, a smile bursting on her face. In her eagerness to be alone with him, her annoyances from earlier, their near-fight in the kitchen, were all but forgotten.

Her mind flooded with images of what they could do once she'd closed the door behind them. They'd have to be quiet, but at least a proper kiss, long and deep. Amber wasn't sure if she'd be up for much more, knowing that most of her closest relatives were meters away, but that was okay. Eric and walls around them sounded perfect right now.

Amber was already on her feet, fingers lacing between his and ready to bolt, when Eric asked, with more a wince than a grin, if she'd give him the tour. Now why would he go and ruin the escape plan they'd been given on a silver platter? She almost said no. But... he seemed to unfold with the question, some of his tension easing away. Amber could give him this. "Sure," she said. "You've seen most of the first floor, but we also have another living room in the back--" Amber waved towards it, willing to go there if he wanted. "And then there's the second floor, that's where all the bedrooms are."

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