Vincent's Thanksgiving Date

by Cooper, R.

  There would be no hiding it, in that small of a space, around that many new people. Not even with a pill, although Ativan and wine together wasn’t a good idea anyway. Perhaps if he only took half a pill, like he had for his job interview, Cory wouldn’t completely see his every social failure.

  “Weird? Vin, honey, you haven’t met my friends. They don’t know what weird is. That’s the point of this Thanksgiving for us.” Cory reached out, then seemed to rethink it and pulled his hand back. “It’s going to be us, being ourselves, doing what we want.”

  “You still can’t actually want me there.” Maybe this was pity, Vincent worried. Cory had heard that phone call with Judith. He’d known Vincent would be pathetically alone on Thanksgiving and he wanted to offer him a place to go. Cory was a good man, thoughtful. Maybe he knew someone else with anxiety issues and had known that he’d have to work Vincent up to the idea—which was admittedly a lot for one stranger to go through for another stranger unless Cory was in the habit of rescuing people.

  Perhaps he was setting Vincent up with someone. His friend Ricky seemed a likely candidate. It wasn’t as if Cory had seen Vincent around the complex and decided that the awkward, chubby, bespectacled loner in 220 was his kind of adorable. Vincent generally wasn’t anyone’s kind of adorable. Once in a while he attracted men who were into bears, but when they realized he wasn’t gruff or stern, or they got a load of his many issues, they hit the road. Vincent understood. It probably took a particular sort of person to desire a fucked-up cuddle bear of their very own.

  “I invited you, didn’t I?” Cory could make his warm gaze harden to iron. Vincent gulped. Cory worked his jaw. “I’ve already got my family refusing to understand what I want, Vincent. I don’t need it from you too.” Vincent imagined there was an alarmed look on his face, because Cory tossed his head and briefly closed his eyes. Then he began again. “I’m inviting you to dinner tomorrow because I think you should be there. Would you like to come?”

  His gentle voice after that hint of hurt and anger was almost painful. Vincent shivered and knew this was going to go one of two ways: he said yes and he humiliated himself all day tomorrow, or he said no, and humiliated himself right now and every day after that when he ran into Cory. There would be no way to impress Cory if he went. Cory would see how Vincent was around others. But chickening out wasn’t going to do the job either.

  Vincent wished his monumental act of bravery was the kind of courage and daring that people noticed, and not the very normal act of attending a small party. He wished he could explain in some meaningful way the amount of strength it would require for him to talk to that many strangers for a long period of time. He wanted Cory to know he would do these things for him.

  But all he said was, “Can I… can I leave if I’m uncomfortable?”

  He was sweating, waiting for Cory to smile again. And then Cory did. “Of course. I’m not kidnapping you.” He leaned in, so close Cory’s eyes went even wider. He seemed to notice Cory’s tension. “That was a joke, Vin.”

  Obviously it was a joke. Vincent’s nerves simply couldn’t handle humor right now. He nodded, a quick, jerky motion, and inhaled the tea on Cory’s breath.

  “And if you’re too nervous, it’s okay. I mean,” Cory sighed, “I’ll be disappointed. But I’ll get it.”

  But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He didn’t know Vincent had already convinced himself he had to do it. He was still talking and stepping slowly, gracefully, toward the door.

  “I’m nervous too. Sure, if it doesn’t work out, I can make my guests something else to eat. No one will starve. But I’m still freaking out. Hey.” He drank more of his tea, then put the mug down on the counter because Vincent wasn’t moving. “Hey, if something is terrible tomorrow at dinner, lie to me. I don’t like to lie, but you can shield my feelings all you like.”

  “Everything will be fine.” From the other side, irrational fear sounded as stupid as it felt. Vincent was less sympathetic than he probably should have been, but he’d already seen evidence of how talented and competent Cory was.

  “You’re lying right now, aren’t you? I’d laugh, but oh my lord, I’m serving dinner to my best friends tomorrow. Thanksgiving dinner!” Cory marched toward the couch and coffee table, where he grabbed his wine and tossed it back. Then he straightened his shoulders. “I can do this. Millions go through this every year. I can do this.” He meant it. He was genuinely worried.

  “You can do this?” Vincent tried to be supportive when he realized, then noticed his uncertain tone. He cleared his throat. “You can do this. We can do this.” He caught himself. “Not that we are together—working together. But we’re both doing something new.”

  “What was it you said? ‘There is no right answer?’ I like that.” Cory gently pushed up Vincent’s glasses, but then didn’t seem to know what to do when Vincent stared back at him with wide eyes.

  “It’s from my therapy,” Vincent told him without moving away. He thought he might even be moving in, drifting slowly toward Cory’s smile. “Obviously there are right and wrong answers in life. But it’s to help me worry less about reactions when someone asks me what I want. It’s supposed to free me to do what I want to do.”

  “How interesting.” Cory appeared to mean it. If he noticed how Vincent was drawn toward him, he made no move to get out of his path. “Is it working? Do you feel free to do what you want to do?”

  “I—” That was a leading question, with a potentially humiliating answer. Vincent blinked and stepped back. “Didn’t you have something you wanted to ask me?”

  Cory straightened. He studied Vincent for a long time, long enough for Vincent to blush in embarrassment and then go cold with nerves. Then he shook his head. “Maybe tomorrow.” He put his hand on the door. “Will I see you?”

  Vincent’s voice was strangely husky. “I’ll have a pie for you,” he answered, only to wonder where such a confident reply had come from. Certainly not from him; false bravado was about as much his thing as baking pies. Yet he’d said it, and Cory seemed cheered as he opened the door.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Cory offered in return, much better about saying the right thing than Vincent would ever be. Then he gave Vincent one last smile and left, shutting the door behind him.

  Vincent stared at his door, and then the mug of tea, the proof that he hadn’t imagined all that.

  Then he turned to the only thing he could turn to that wasn’t intangible fears and anxious hope.

  Pie.

  The next morning, somewhat bleary-eyed, Vincent stumbled into his kitchen to stare at the three pies lined up on his countertop. They were real. He had really done it.

  He stared at them as he ate a small bowl of cereal and downed as much coffee as his body could hold. He stared at them as he turned on the TV to watch the stupid parade. The pumpkin had a less-than-perfectly-edged crust and a spot in the center from where he’d tested it to be sure it was done. The apple had crooked latticework that he was trying to think of as charmingly lopsided. And the pecan well… it looked fine, despite how he’d had to resort to the frozen crust. He had no idea if the filling had set, but it looked all right.

  After some internal debate during a lip synced musical number, he snapped a picture of them and sent it to Judith. About half an hour later, she responded.

  “You made three pies?” There was all kinds of noise in the background, cooking sounds and the TV, someone talking. Judith’s mother-in-law wished Vincent a happy Thanksgiving and then started asking about the pies before Judith could say anything else.

  “Yes, I wanted to try something new.” The explanation was reasonable. Judith wasn’t going to buy it though, even if her mother-in-law did.

  “I can tell you are doing that keeping secrets thing that you used to do when we were little and mom was overreacting to everything.” Judith mumbled something else he didn’t quite catch. Then she sighed. “They look good.”

  “You think so?” Vincent bit his li
p. “The crust on the apple is—”

  “They look good,” Judith repeated, louder. “If there’s any left, I want some. And oh yes, Vincent, I will be down there in the next few days, because clearly you and I need to talk about some things.”

  “I have to take a shower now.” Vincent cut her off as quickly as he could. “Get dressed.”

  “To go where? The parade is still on.” Without seeing his sister, he knew she had narrowed her eyes.

  “I’ll talk to you later. Say hi to everyone for me.” He hung up before he could change his mind. Judith was going to ask him about this. He physically could not tell her he’d panicked and decided last minute to not go over to Cory’s. She would be so disappointed. This way was as good as burning his bridges to ensure he’d take those pies across the hall.

  But he went into his medicine cabinet and got a single pill, then cut it in half and took it with his coffee before he got in the shower.

  He emerged from his bedroom in a light green buttoned shirt and jeans, and was in the middle of debating if his darker green sweater vest made him look too dressed up or not dressed up enough, when someone knocked on his door.

  Nerves instantly formed a knot in his stomach. He shivered and left the vest on the couch.

  Through the peephole he saw a small, svelte Asian man, wearing a hat that was some kind of stuffed turkey dressed like a pilgrim. Somehow, Vincent didn’t think anyone in a turkey hat was a threat, and in any event the man looked vaguely familiar. “Hello?”

  “Oh hey, good, you’re in there. You wanna open the door? I have been sent to help you. Also I was driving Cory nuts.” The man perked up when Vincent unlocked the door, then stepped back as he opened it. He was more familiar when not viewed through a peephole. Vincent had glimpsed him around the complex once or twice, usually in the parking lot. He was generally well-dressed, though Vincent seemed to recall him in shorts, and a lot of bare, tan skin. The man swept a look over him. “I’m Ricky Phuthong, and you’re Vincent Green.”

  “Thomas, er, yes. Green.” Vincent had never introduced himself by his nom de plume before. “You’re Ricky?” Honestly, the conventions were so overwhelming to him that he didn’t remember the details. He had noticed the scantily dressed men working the booths around the gay romance sections, but, to his shame, not their faces.

  “Can I come in?” Ricky asked, then came in anyway when Vincent made an articulate noise. “It’s great to meet you. I didn’t know people wrote anything about bisexual characters until your books. I mean, sometimes they say they do, but when you read the books it’s barely there. Past tense. Hinted at. Oh, uh, Cory said he forgot to tell you when to come over, and if you were worried about it, I’m supposed to tell you that you’re welcome any time.”

  “I… Cory said that?” Vincent followed Ricky inside his apartment.

  Ricky made a beeline for the framed poster. “This is so cool.” He pulled off his hat, scratched at his short black hair, disrupting the style, then plopped the hat back on again. His shirt was form-fitting and his slacks were pressed. It made the hat even more incongruous. “I told Cory I would go easy on you, but oh my god, can we talk about Lando please?”

  “Cory said to go easy on me?” Vincent was having trouble focusing on the relevant information. “Lando? You mean his cases? I can’t discuss anything new yet.”

  “There’s new stuff coming?” Ricky skipped in place, with way more energy than Vincent knew how to deal with. He talked too fast for Vincent to have any time to worry about his responses. “Tell me more. Wait, don’t, because I want to talk about him first. Because you do this thing where he has feelings for all these people, boys, girls, everyone, even if he doesn’t act on them. And it’s like, not a big deal to him. You can tell it in how he treats people.” Ricky stopped expectantly.

  Vincent realized he was supposed to talk. “Well, I, I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I’ve always needed to have feelings for people to be intimate, and if you care….” He had no idea what he was saying. “Even if those feelings were more emotional than physical, you can’t deny them. And if they are physical, Lando isn’t the type to lie about it.” Speaking was getting a bit easier because it wasn’t about Vincent. “Lando has this veneer to protect himself, but he does what he does because he likes people, all people. He’s protective of almost everyone he meets.”

  “That is the most beautiful shit I’ve ever heard.” Ricky came over to him. “Are you ever going to deal with that directly? Like, if he gets into a settled relationship, people will be rude about it and he will have to defend himself? Would he settle down? Lately he doesn’t get around as much, does he? Ooh.” Ricky widened his eyes. “Are you leading to something romantic?”

  Vincent turned his head but considered Ricky carefully from the side. He seemed genuinely invested in Vincent’s answer. Vincent took a breath. “I’ve been thinking about that lately. Not that he needs to settle down, but he’s been afraid, I think. He gets so attached even to the clients he’s trying to save that he’s been avoiding a real attachment to someone else. Deliberately missing what’s in front of him, I think. But it’s so obvious when I look back on it.” His own writing surprised him all the time with what it revealed. He could only imagine what people reading his books must think about him.

  “Could you write that now? Forget dinner.” Ricky gave him an impish grin, then twisted his lush mouth. “Or don’t. If you don’t go over there, I don’t even want to think about the moping that will occur.” He paused. “I didn’t scare you, did I? I was warned not to scare you. I have on a harmless hat and everything. And I don’t want you to think I only read your books for the sexy protagonist. I like the mysteries too, but I just wanted you to know there’s something about Lando. I would marry that man.”

  “Oh.” Vincent’s stomach dropped. He pushed out a slow breath. “Oh.” This was a set up after all. Cory had done this so Vincent could meet his friend. He’d arranged it very nicely. Cory probably always arranged things this neatly. Vincent admired that, even if he knew he must have been so obvious in hoping that Cory had liked him.

  Vincent had dared as much as he’d ever dared anything and this was the result. Cory thought Vincent was good enough to date, but not for himself.

  He made himself smile. He should be grateful. Ricky was pretty and already knew about his books. Cory had probably even warned him about all his anxiety.

  Ricky waved him forward. “Did you want to go over now? I’m supposed to ask if you needed anything.”

  “Cory’s instructions were thorough,” Vincent remarked, wishing he could sound bitter about that.

  “You have no idea. He wasn’t about to leave this to chance.” Ricky snorted, then took another moment to look Vincent over again. “So how about it? Need anything?”

  Vincent thought about dashing to the bathroom to take the rest of that pill. He thought about wine. Then he clenched his hands at his sides and nodded. He’d been set up on blind dates before. He could get through this and come back here later to hide in the blankets on his couch and consider moving to a new apartment building.

  “The pies,” he began after clearing his throat. “I need help carrying them over.” They had long since cooled, and he didn’t have any decorative trays or anything. All he needed was a way to get them down the hall. He handed Ricky the apple pie, blushing at Ricky’s doubtful glance at it, and then balanced the pumpkin on his palm as he got his keys. He’d keep the pecan to drown himself in later. He left the TV on.

  “Can I call you Vincent?” Ricky turned him to as he closed the door, then walked ahead of him with breezy confidence. “Cory has been pestering me about your books. But then when I tell him where to buy them, or offer to loan him my e-reader, he says it would be too weird, because you don’t know that he knows. Whatever.” Cory’s door was unlocked. Ricky led him in. “He loves mysteries. This has to be killing him.”

  “He loves mysteries?” Vincent froze.

  Ricky stopped too and dropped his voi
ce to a whisper. “Oh my god, yes. Old ones, news ones, forensic ones… probably even silly ones about cats. I don’t know what he reads, but he loves them. But not yours. Oh no, those he’s saving. It’s cute, considering everything.”

  “He loves mysteries,” Vincent repeated breathlessly, aware that he could panic right now, very easily. “Mine are… mine don’t compare to the great ones. I’m no Rex Stout or Chester Himes.”

  “I have no idea what that means, but I liked them, and you can’t get me to read things that aren’t turned into movies.” Ricky wasn’t one to mince words. If Vincent hadn’t been stupidly hung up on someone not interested in him, he would have liked that. Honest people meant less anxiety for him. “Lando… yeah, I have a crush, so what? Wait, did you say what was in front of him? Are you going to pair Lando up with someone he knows?”

  Vincent didn’t get a chance to answer. A female voice made them both jerk upright and face the living room. “You two can stop whispering together any time now. You’re letting the cold air in.”

  “Blah blah blah. She’s sitting next to the heater anyway,” Ricky told Vincent after rolling his eyes, but he continued into the apartment where he held up the pie like a trophy.

  Vincent stood there, a deer in the headlights before the two women in front of him. They were Laci and Rhonda, if he remembered correctly. They were standing over the table Vincent had noticed yesterday, however instead of plates and flatware or flowers, the table was being used for a puzzle. Pieces were scattered around next to the box, and someone had bent a desk lamp over it as well. Both women were holding puzzle pieces and glasses of wine.

  Ricky had disappeared, probably around the corner into the kitchen. Vincent was all alone and had to say something.