Vincent's Thanksgiving Date (10 page)

Vincent was feeling stuffed, but Cory made contented sounds next to him whenever he took another bite of buttery potatoes with rich gravy so he wasn’t fighting the urge to take a few more forkfuls. The gravy went very well with cornbread, which had been lightly sweetened, as opposed to the sweet potatoes, which were practically candy. Every drenched in brown sugar and butter bit of those had been claimed by Ricky, who had complained about his body being his moneymaker as he’d devoured them.

The green beans were all gone too, as was most of the cornbread and even some of Laci’s casserole. They’d all assured Cory that everything was good, with the exception of the tofu turkey, which everyone had mixed feelings about, but Cory seemed convinced that he’d done well only when plates were cleaned.

Ricky was almost ready to pass out again, judging from his open mouth and sloppy posture. Laci and Rhonda were at the puzzle table, seated on the kitchen chairs as they talked quietly to themselves, empty plates and half-full glasses next to them. Vincent took his eyes off them and turned to Cory, who appeared to still be considering Vincent’s question.

“I’m going to read yours,” Cory promised him, utterly serious. “You know now, so I can. I’m going to read every word.”

Vincent waved that off, too flushed from his wine to blush. “Not mine. Other ones. Ones without sex scenes.” He leaned in, though he was already whispering, not wanting to ruin the hushed mood of the room.

Cory hummed and dropped his eyes, considering Vincent as though he’d forgotten about the sex scenes until reminded at that very moment. Vincent swung his gaze back to his plate, staring at what was left of his ham and steamed green beans, and of course the tofu turkey. It wasn’t that the tofu was bad, per se, it was that it wasn’t turkey. But he’d eaten it with gravy and cornbread and nearly swooned. The only thing keeping him from eating more—of the gravy and cornbread at least, was not wanting to get up from his spot next to Cory, and the lingering fear that he was going get gravy in his beard and embarrass himself.

“What?” Cory wondered, sounding drugged or drunk, but then brought his eyes up from his study of Vincent’s body. “What’s wrong with sex scenes?” He took a drink from the glass of wine that had somehow become their glass when they’d gotten glasses confused. “Agatha Christie didn’t write them. Though that is good for all of us, I think.”

Cory said some interesting things when he was drinking. Vincent felt his lips turn up. “Yeah. We don’t need that.” Cory laughed loud enough to make Laci raise her head. Vincent took the moment to discreetly cheek his beard for crumbs. “So you’ve read Agatha Christie?”

“When I was growing up, I had to stay at my auntie’s house for a while when my mom was pregnant with my little sister and had doctor-ordered bed rest. My aunt had a broken TV, a patch of cement for a yard, and all these old Agatha Christies,” Cory explained. “Which is funny, because now I can’t stand those books, but back then I read all of them for something to do. That’s what got me started. But Christie is more about describing the people than the mystery. She kind of tacked on her endings. It used to infuriate me because that meant I couldn’t guess who did it.”

That was true enough. Vincent made a face anyway and lowered his head again. “So you’re a
real
mystery fan. I’m going to disappoint you.”

“You keep saying that.” Cory nudged him with his shoulder until he looked up. “But you haven’t yet.”

“I swear to god,” Ricky mumbled, and pulled the turkey hat up to peer at them. Vincent tried not to hunch his shoulders but that was all Ricky had to say. His eye roll seemed playful.

“Sci fi mystery, that’s what you should do next.” Rhonda was decided.

“What, the alien butler did it?” Laci narrowed her eyes. “How much wine did you have?”

Vincent spent a few moments goggling at all of them. He loved his sister, loved her husband and his nephews, but never in his life had he been among people like him on an occasion like this. Maybe they weren’t as messed up as he was, but they were like him enough that he could talk about anything, if he could make himself. They didn’t care about who he wanted to sleep with, or that he was quiet, and though they were only being polite, they acted as if they didn’t see how he wanted to squirm at being so close to Cory.

It was another thing to thank Cory for, but as Vincent was about to, the door opened, startling everyone, and Vincent tensed up at the unexpected arrival of a new person. A young man, in his early twenties and loaded down with a heavy backpack, came in, then stopped to consider all of them. He started at seeing Vincent. Vincent stared blankly at him until he was distracted by Cory leaning in to whisper into his ear.

“That’s Jase. He lives with roommates downstairs, but they went home for the weekend and he didn’t have the money to visit his family. He’s here for the food.” Cory raised his voice for Jase, “It’s all in the kitchen. Help yourself,” then lowered it again when Jase ducked his head in greeting and popped into the kitchen. “He’ll probably fall asleep on a textbook. He usually does when he’s here.”

“Sleep sounds amazing,” Ricky remarked. “Am I old now? I feel old.”

“You know what sounds amazing to me?” Cory’s every word was sending shivers along Vincent’s skin. Whatever was happening, Vincent wasn’t going to ruin it by talking, so he shook his head. Cory took his plate and stood up, leaving Vincent unhappily surprised and cold. But when he turned, probably with a sad, hurt expression on his face, Cory was a big, contented cat. “
Pie
,” Cory reminded the room at large, and like that, everyone was awake and sitting up again.

Vincent had forgotten the pie. “If it’s not good, please let me know. I have ice cream.”

“Gluttony is good at this moment,” Laci sighed. “A day off, a glass of wine, good food, and friends.”

“Sometimes I love you stupid,” Rhonda told her matter-of-factly, then planted a slightly drunk, smacking kiss on Laci’s forehead before taking their dishes into the kitchen. She came back wobbly yet triumphantly carrying plates of pie. Each plate had two slices and a fork.

Vincent got up in alarm, either to help her or in preparation to apologize if the pie was terrible, but she made it her chair without incident.

“Pumpkin
and
apple?” Laci wiggled her fingers in delight before she picked up the fork. “I’ll explode.”

Ricky scrambled up to get his own. Vincent turned to see Jase standing over the counter, reading while eating, and Cory taking a bite of a slice of pumpkin pie

Vincent glanced away, then over again, clasping his hands with nervous energy to see Cory take another piece. Even if the pie wasn’t great, it wasn’t awful. Vincent had managed edible. That was something. He dropped down to the couch again.

“Vin, did you want some?” Cory sounded closer, and also like he was speaking with his mouth full.

“Better grab it soon,” Ricky warned, almost in the same moment.

Vincent opened his mouth to say yes, but he’d only been going to make the pie for something to do today.  Now that he had something to do, he could wait. “You guys eat first,” he said at last. “I’ve got more at home.”

“Ugh. The
sweetheart
.” Ricky wasn’t quiet with his envy.

“I know,” Cory answered his friend, sweetly as anything, and then came back to sit next to Vincent without looking at him. “The third or fourth time I saw Vincent, he was in the parking lot, trying to explain to a little girl with a box of kittens that the building didn’t allow pets. He was holding one anyway, clutching this ball of fur to his chest, clearly reluctant to hand it over, and I think he gave the girl directions to a no-kill shelter.” Cory made this statement effortlessly, without appearing to notice how Vincent froze or flushed with embarrassed heat. He had a new plate, with two new pieces of pie, and two forks. “Running out of dishes,” he confessed when Vincent shot him a glance. Vincent believed him, even if Cory hadn’t suggested anyone else share a plate.

Ricky coughed. “If you feed each other, I’m out of here.”

Vincent had thought his blushes were over, but they had just been gathering strength. His face felt so hot it stung. Cory reached down, to a glass of wine that was probably one of the ones Vincent had forgotten along the way, and handed it to him.

Vincent asked himself how this was happening but wisely kept his mouth shut. He would do that for as long as this lasted. This was the best Thanksgiving he’d had in a long time. No, it was the best day he’d had in a long time.

“So, you’re okay? Everything was good?” Cory ignored his friends and kept his voice low. “I mean, judging from that look on your face.”

Vincent was almost afraid to ask. “What look?”

Cory put his mouth next to Vincent’s ear. “Relaxed,” he revealed, with relish. “Happy. Did I take care of you okay?”

“Did you… do you want to take care of me?” Vincent slowly turned his head, his breath catching at how close they were now, how he could have leaned forward to kiss Cory, put his mouth on his mouth and moan at how soft his lips were. He raised his eyes.

The room was abruptly, tensely still, as if they had an audience, which of course they did.

Vincent ducked down over the plate and grabbed a fork. He shoved a piece of apple in his mouth, noting moments later that it was pretty good. There was too much cinnamon, but he kept his mouth full so he couldn’t apologize for that.

Cory was still for another moment. Then he took his fork and began to eat the slice of pumpkin without saying anything

Rhonda pushed her empty plate away and then burped. “Well, why don’t we help you clean the kitchen?” she suggested much too brightly, as though she wasn’t swaying on her feet whenever she got up.

Laci pushed her back down when she tried to stand. “I’ll do it. Ricky will help me, won’t you, Ricky?”

Ricky made a startled noise from the kitchen. Vincent imagined him with pie in his mouth, but didn’t look up to see for himself.

“There’s no need, guys. Sarah is going to pick through it anyway.” Cory protested, but didn’t actually get to his feet to stop them. Vincent focused on finishing his pie for a few minutes while listening to the sound of running water and clinking dishes. Then Laci asked Cory something about containers and foil, which made Cory finally get up too.

Rhonda began putting away the puzzle. Vincent twitched a little at that, since he’d thought they were going to stay all afternoon, but she was yawning. She probably had to work the next day. Ricky and Laci might as well. He didn’t know if Cory did, not that he thought Cory was going to want to hang out after this. Cory was likely ready to crash on the nearest comfortable surface.

Vincent finished the pie and held onto the plate until Rhonda swept over to take it from him, and the wine glass as well. She carried both into the kitchen and Vincent became abruptly aware that people were saying their goodbyes.

He rose to his feet as Rhonda came back over, putting on her jacket while struggling with another. He held the second one for her as she bundled up and received a pleased grin. “They’re right, you know,” she remarked. “You
are
a sweetheart. Don’t be a stranger, for his sake, I think, but also for ours. There’s never enough spice in my apple pies.”

Vincent started. She’d sounded like she meant that. He gaped, but had absolutely no words.

“I literally cannot give you more sweet potatoes,” Cory was telling someone in the other room, “Ricky ate them all.”

“Leave the tofu for Sarah,” Laci instructed. “Picture her face.” They were bickering, but Vincent didn’t feel anxious about the sounds of it. They were kidding, like Judith would kid with him. They were lovely people.

“The pie wasn’t perfect.” Vincent admitted at last. “You don’t have to say that when….” He trailed off when Rhonda arched a pierced eyebrow at him.

“Babe! I’m going to fall asleep right here.” Rhonda directed this at Laci, then winked at Vincent. “She’ll be in there talking to Ricky all night otherwise. She argues with him, but deep down they are two peas in a pod.” Rhonda cleared her throat and got louder again. “And bring Ricky! He can help us carry everything to the car before he drives home.”

“Hey!” Ricky objected distantly.

Rhonda patted Vincent’s arm. “That will get him out of your way too. You’re welcome.”

“I…” Vincent was at a loss. “Ricky has a car?” If Ricky had been available, Cory could have asked his friend for a ride to the store instead of Vincent. Rhonda gave Vincent a bemused look, clearly wondering why he’d ask that, but Vincent didn’t explain. He spent a stunned moment staring into space before he twisted to study the people in the kitchen.

He thought of the last chapters of every single one of his mysteries as it occurred to him that Cory quite possibly could have planned all of this from the second he’d overheard Vincent lamenting his lonely Thanksgiving. That was ludicrous of course; Cory had already invited his friends to his house for Thanksgiving long before he’d heard Vincent on the phone.

But Vincent couldn’t discount it either, no matter how much he knew it was wishful thinking. There wasn’t going to be a denouement where Cory announced that he had turned the situation to his advantage in order to get to know Vincent, or that he had planned to give Vincent this warm, comfortable holiday in an attempt to… to…
woo
him. Cory wasn’t going to lean in and whisper that he admired Vincent’s softness the way that Vincent loved his competence and strength. Vincent wouldn’t even know what to do if he did.