by Cooper, R.
“Vincent?” Cory prodded gently.
“Milk!” Vincent remembered. “Evaporated milk. For the pie. It’s not regular milk. And I don’t have any.” More information was required, he could tell from Cory’s lightly puzzled expression. “You said I could borrow a cup of something.”
Cory nodded as he understood. “I did.” His smile widened. “And you came. Let’s hope I have what you’re looking for, since I’m not sure we have the time to go to the store today.” He made a thoughtful noise and took a step closer in order to open a large cabinet. As he did, a door creaked behind Vincent, and he turned around as Cory’s roommate, who was named Sarah apparently, emerged from her room.
Vincent had never seen her looking less than perfect, but now he was privy to her beauty process. Sarah was short and curvy, with flawless, tawny skin and a penchant for bright colors. Right now she was in a yellow bathrobe and slippers, with a pale green beauty mask hiding most of her face and pink things between her crimson-painted toes. She nodded at Vincent the way she always did—friendly but impersonal, the kind of neighbor he liked—then paused to look at him again with her eyebrows high.
Cory pulled his head out of the cabinet and made a noise.
Sarah turned her lips up into a sharp smile. “Aha,” she said.
“Shut up.” Cory used a no-nonsense voice. “And don’t mess up that bathroom.”
“I’m not going to ruin your perfect day!” Sarah called out, sing-song, and began tying up her many long small braids before she slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
“You’re really nervous about tomorrow, aren’t you?” Vincent asked, fluttering his hands a little at the tension around Cory’s eyes. “You shouldn’t be. Everything seems great so far. Under control.” He coughed and Cory focused back on him, stealing the breath right out of Vincent’s lungs by giving him the widest, sweetest smile Vincent had ever seen.
“Honey,” Cory said again, though in a much different tone from the day before, and then began to hum as he resumed digging around in the cabinets until he found a small can. He closed the cabinet before handing it over. “Your milk.”
“The mysterious evaporated milk.” Vincent peered at the label. “I don’t get why it’s special, or comes in a can. But okay. Now I,” he braced himself, “have to make the pie.”
“You haven’t started?” Cory appeared genuinely concerned. “Do you need some moral support?”
“I gave myself some last night, but I woke up with a hangover.” Vincent’s honesty got him another bright smile and a crack of a laugh. Then he felt like an idiot as it occurred to him that Cory had been offering to help, or to at least hang out with him for a little longer. “I can’t lie. I could use all the support I can get.”
That was good. Desperate, but in a deprecating way. Playful, that’s what it was. Vincent could almost fool himself into thinking he was getting better at this.
Maybe he was. Cory patted his hair where the scarf had been. “I could use a break, if you don’t mind me nosing in your business again.”
“No, you can always—” Vincent calmed himself just in time, but barely. “No, I don’t mind.”
“Yeah?” Cory shared a grin with him and then waved him to go ahead. He stopped to put his keys in his pocket and locked the door behind him.
Vincent, of course, had been too excited to remember if he’d even closed his door. He had, and luckily, he hadn’t locked himself out. He let them both in and then clasped his hands together as Cory slid him a glance and then approached the kitchen.
Vincent had left out all the ingredients out except the butter, which one had to keep cold, he’d learned; icy cold butter for the crust was a requirement. But looking at the collection of bags and cans made him sigh tiredly.
“Thanksgiving is exhausting,” he announced, with feeling, and placed the can of milk on the counter.
Cory turned to him and heaved a similarly worn out breath. “Truth.”
“Do you want to sit down?” Vincent offered immediately, pointing to his couch, which was still, always, a mess of blankets and squished pillows. He took a step toward it as he realized that, but Cory was faster, and sank onto the many cushions with a short, pleased exclamation.
He sat ramrod straight for one moment, and then apparently the soft pillows got to him, and he slid down enough to put his face against the arm. He got comfortable, then twisted around to stare at Vincent over the back of the couch with his chin on his hands.
That left Vincent under his direct attention. A distraction was needed. “You, um, would you like something to drink? Coffee or water or wine?” Vincent probably came off as an alcoholic, but it was the holidays, and really, he was such a light weight. Most of the bottle from last night was still there.
“You’re offering to bring me a drink?” Cory blinked a few times, in real or pretend astonishment, Vincent couldn’t tell. “Yes, please. But a small one. I have more to do before I can properly pass out. Did you know this is one of the busiest nights of the year in bars?” He watched Vincent pull out a wine glass, a real one, and not whatever he had at hand like when he drank by himself, and that wasn’t making Vincent anxious at all. He managed to pour a little into the glass and bring it over without spilling a drop. Cory explained what he was talking about. “People come into town for Thanksgiving and then don’t want to spend time with their families, or they want to visit with local friends, so the bars are packed. That says something about Thanksgiving, don’t you think? I’m not sure if it’s good or bad. People wanting to visit and have fun, but unable to do it at home.” Cory accepted his wine with a bob of his head, then took a careful sip.
“You’re going out tonight?” Vincent went to the kitchen to fiddle with his pie ingredients while Cory made appreciative noises over the wine. Stupidly dejected at the idea of Cory going out, Vincent decided make the pumpkin first. It had been rated the easiest online. Then, when—if—he ruined it, he would had time to run out and buy one if it didn’t turn out right. He’d have all the time, because he wouldn’t be going anywhere tonight.
“What?” Cory seemed lost for a second. “Going out? No. I’m going to be up early, I’m sure, worrying that I’ve forgotten something. The stores are only open for a short time tomorrow, so if I need something, I’ll need to know early.” Cory made worrying sound so normal. Of course, it was normal for him. His concerns were legitimate.
“You could always ask me.” Vincent cleared his throat, then unwrapped his three disposable foil pie tins. “Not much of a cook, but I might have what you need. Or I could go to the store for you. I mean, I won’t be doing anything.”
He kept his gaze on his hands while he rinsed off the apples and left them to air dry. He didn’t want to do anything serious yet. If he failed, he would prefer to do it when no one was watching. “No pressure,” he joked in an only slightly shaky voice. “Just going to make pie for the first time ever.”
“A failed attempt at something doesn’t mean you’re a failure. It doesn’t mean anything. No one’s going to hate you if there’s no pie, Vin,” Cory reminded him, then frowned when Vincent raised his head. “Say the same thing to me tomorrow, only make it about potatoes, or that tofu, deal?”
Vincent felt himself smiling. “Okay.” For some reason, it was now easy to imagine Cory showing up midmorning, covered in flour and smelling of gravy while he complained about something not turning out the way he wanted it. Vincent could even hear the put-out tone in his voice. “Okay,” Vincent repeated, a touch more confidently, and inclined his head. “First real grownup Thanksgiving dinner party. Mistakes are allowed.”
“But a backup plan too. Just in case.” Cory nodded too, serious but maybe a bit tipsy. His glass was empty. Vincent hurried over to take it from him and refill it, although when he handed it back, Cory gave him a wide-eyed stare. Perhaps he felt uncomfortable being the only one drinking, Vincent reasoned, so he grabbed an available glass and poured himself about an inch of wine.
Drunken pie making was a bad idea, but at least he’d be relaxed. It ought to go great. “Here’s to hopefully getting it right,” he toasted, then swallowed his wine in one go.
Cory toasted him in return, then drank more of his. “And not worrying too much about it if we don’t.” He amended Vincent’s statement then stared at his glass. “If it’s not perfect, it doesn’t matter. Right?”
“No, of course not.” Vincent wasn’t drunk, yet, but the wine was going to hit him soon. Cory must not have eaten in a while, because his head was already listing to one side. Vincent was torn between letting him sober up, and the notion of Cory taking a nap on his couch while Vincent baked a pie for him.
That this was his most thrilling fantasy at the moment was probably something he shouldn’t reflect much upon if he could help it.
“So you wouldn’t mind?” Cory’s eyes went shiny when he’d been drinking.
Vincent smiled helplessly at him. “I wouldn’t mind a bit.” He spoke the truth, even if he wasn’t certain exactly what Cory was worried about. But he was hardly going to get in the way of a planner of this magnitude. Cory had already admitted this dinner party was kind of last minute, and yet he’d found the time to create and construct those garlands as well as make a menu and complete shopping list. He was not someone who took his plans lightly. He probably hadn’t slept much these past days either.
“It’s a day to be thankful.” Cory pronounced carefully, perhaps edging past tipsy toward drunk. He had also been up early for work that day. Vincent had somehow forgotten that. Cory was truly exhausted and Vincent had given him wine.
“Would you like some coffee? Or tea? I have many teas to choose from.” Vincent hesitated, then went to heat some water for tea anyway. They would both need the caffeine boost.
“You are a very nice person, Vincent,” Cory told him, sinking further into his couch. “I’m glad to finally know you.”
“I…” Vincent trailed off, because what was there to say to that? “It’s just tea. Oolong? Darjeeling?”
“Oh, honey, whatever is fine.” Cory was not asking for honey in his tea. This time he definitely called Vincent that name. He might call everyone that. Vincent’s blushes didn’t seem to care.
Vincent put his hands to his face but doubted he looked composed when he glanced back. “You’re nice too,” he confessed shyly. “Most people would have lost patience with me by now.”
“One more thing to be grateful for then,” Cory murmured. He ducked his head, then twisted himself around to put his wineglass on the coffee table before returning to his backwards position, where he continued to watch Vincent. “What else was there this year?”
“Well.” Vincent thought about it while he got clean mugs out. “I made enough in royalties to add more to my retirement account, although Tayl—my business friends tell me it’s still too small. At work, we applied for and received a grant. One of my nephews got a new, better hearing aid. And I haven’t embarrassed myself around you enough yet to run you off.” He chose Darjeeling after staring blankly at the box for a while. “Of course, you haven’t read my books.”
Cory was silent for so long Vincent lifted his head. Cory had his eyes closed and was smiling to himself. “Hmm.” He opened his eyes before Vincent could pretend he hadn’t been staring at him. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you own your books like that. Ricky really likes them, you know. He doesn’t read a lot but he’s read all of them. Be proud. Even if they’re terrible, which I seriously doubt, they’re your terrible books. I couldn’t make a terrible book if I tried. … I might be buzzed.” He drew his eyebrows together. “But I think you know what I mean.”
“I wasn’t trying to get you drunk!” Vincent protested and was happy the kettle began to whistle. He turned to finish making the tea.
He could practically hear the delighted grin in Cory’s voice. “Tomorrow is going to be great. You know what I’m thankful for?”
Vincent shook his head, then focused on bringing the steaming hot mug over to Cory.
Cory accepted it with two hands, then held Vincent’s gaze. “That I’ve got a job I like that pays the bills, even if it’s not earth-shattering. That I’ve got friends to spend the day with me when I thought I might end up alone. And, that after a year and a half, I find out that you are exactly as sweet as you look.”
The tiny amount of wine Vincent had swallowed would not have rendered him this flushed and dizzy. He made a noise, a croaking sort of denial, then drew in a breath and stared down. “I, no, I’m not… sweet really. I only want people to be happy. I… I should probably lay off the wine until the pies are done. It’s going to be a long day and you already think I’m strange enough, I bet.”
“You don’t have to kid me.” Cory was speaking absolute nonsense as far as Vincent could tell. “You don’t have to act like I don’t mean it. You can’t possibly not realize that I….” Cory went quiet for a worrying amount time. When he finally spoke, his voice was once again level. “Vincent, I have something to ask you later. But not right now. Not when I’ve had a drink on an empty stomach. I bet you won’t think I’m serious.” He blew on his tea and took a cautious sip although it hadn’t seeped for very long. “I should probably go before I get messy drunk and ruin your good image of me.” His momentary pauses were more intimidating when Vincent realized they indicated Cory was considering something and probably adjusting his plans. Cory went still. “Is that why?”
“Is that why, what?” Vincent wondered, struck by Cory’s surprised expression.
“Is that why you hurry off so quickly?” Cory was too smart. Vincent froze in very real terror, his heart racing, but Cory only blew on his tea again, almost absentmindedly. “I’ll be talking to you, and everything will be going all right, I think, but then you bolt. I used to think it was me. Then Ricky said you were notoriously attention-shy. But it’s more than shyness. That’s what you were trying to tell me before, weren’t you? It’s, um, anxiety, right? How much do you overthink everything, Vincent?”
“Too much,” Vincent confessed in a rush. The beast had been named; there was no point in denying it. “Everything. All the time.” Moving in fits and starts, rethinking decisions after they’d been made and mucking up situations worse with his second-guessing, that was his life. “It doesn’t leave a good impression.”
“It didn’t leave a bad one. Not to me.” Cory toyed with the string on the teabag but continued to hold Vincent’s gaze. “You’re trying not to do the wrong thing.”
If Vincent was a braver man, he would say, “With you.” And then Cory would pause in confusion, and Vincent would gaze at him significantly and add, “I don’t want to do the wrong thing with you.” But Vincent wasn’t a braver man. So he finally shrugged, letting that stand in for the crap he couldn’t say because it made him sound barely functional. “That’s why I got the frozen pie crust too. In case I mess up. I want it to turn out all right. You wouldn’t want a burnt pie crust.”
“That’s just good planning.” Cory managed to make pie crust anxiety sound normal. Maybe it was. After all, what did Vincent know about pie? “But, Vin, you should stay, some time.”
“What?” Vincent had lost track of the conversation somewhere around the time Cory reached out to touch his arm. Cory’s hand was hot from holding the mug of tea.
“Stick around instead of running off, see what happens.” Cory’s melting eyes had Vincent captivated. “I might sound glib but I’m serious. Good or bad, you learn a lot that way.”
Vincent could barely breathe. “About what?”
Cory had a shrug of his own for that, but it was more tense than relaxed. “Other people. Yourself. I spent every holiday with my family for a long time. Long enough to learn that they love me because they knew me as a kid, but as an adult, they only tolerate me. They joke a lot, mean jokes, Vin, cruel jokes. They don’t think they’re being cruel, but they drag me to meet girls, over and over again. That’s not respecting who I am.” He released a long breath
. “I learned what I can take, and what I won’t stand for, and who I’d rather spend a day off with.”
His hand was warm and solid on Vincent’s arm.
Vincent gaped at him.
He was suddenly nervous and dry-mouthed, and Cory might have been too. He removed his hand and took a huge, probably scalding, swallow of tea, then made a strangled noise. But he kept the mug in his hand as he rose to his feet. “I forgot to ask if you were coming over tomorrow.” He took another sip, slower this time, with his eyes on the mug. “You are, aren’t you?”
Cory blew on his tea some more, then took another swallow. Maybe he figured his taste buds were already gone or he liked his tea hot. Or maybe he was nervously avoiding Vincent’s eye. “I won’t leave you alone with strangers, I promise.”
That effectively stopped Vincent from reminding him he didn’t do well with new people. He thought of that pretty little room, so much more casual than a dining room. But a group of strangers…. For some reason, Vincent remembered his tea. He’d left it on the counter. How strange. But he’d been so eager to get closer to Cory again. He always was. Now he could do something about it. “I could…. I could stop by. Your friends wouldn’t mind?” He had no idea what he was doing. There was no way this was going to end well.
But Cory’s relieved grin made him feel like a hero. “Bring them pie and you could show up with Republicans and they wouldn’t care.”
“That can’t be true.” Vincent was too familiar with the pauses in conversation that he couldn’t fill, or couldn’t seem to fill right. He answered too fast, then too slowly. He’d get looks. He’d gotten those looks since he was a kid and he’d say something so incredibly gay. First, the adults stared, and then the other kids had started to as well. If it wasn’t that, that uncertain, judgmental pause he’d come to dread, it was how he wasn’t loud and confident. It was his mother reminding him that a strong boy wasn’t afraid of taking the lead. He was supposed to be outgoing. Successful people, successful men, were supposed to be, but Vincent wasn’t. Vincent didn’t mind people how they were, but they always seemed to mind how he was. “They’ll think I’m weird. You’ll think—” Vincent stopped himself a second too late.
