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“Okay, one last time,” Foggy says as they mount the stairs to his parents’ brownstone. “If Uncle Roger tries to get you to smoke cigars with him…?”
“I can’t, because of Jesus,” Matt says obediently, fighting a grin. Foggy has spent the past week making him memorize tips for surviving a Nelson Thanksgiving, and though Matt’s not particularly concerned about Uncle Roger leading him down a tobacco-scented path of sin, the sisters at the orphanage would probably be pleased to hear him avoiding temptation.
“And if my cousins try to tell you embarrassing stories about my younger days…?”
“They are all lies and flim-flammery,” Matt parrots.
Foggy’s tone gets marginally more serious. “And if you get Nelsoned out and need me to make up an excuse for us to hide in my room or flee back to the dorm…?”
Matt suspects his smile has just gone a little softer. “The eagle flies at midnight. But Foggy, I’ll be fine.”
He is, he can admit to himself, a little more nervous than he wants to let on. Foggy accepted Matt politely declining an invitation to Thanksgiving last year, when they were freshmen and still getting to know each other, but this year he insisted Matt come along. Matt already knows Foggy’s parents and sister well, from Christmas and Easter and Foggy’s birthday, but this will be the whole extended family. He can already hear the clamor of over a dozen relatives inside the house, and the social hubbub of being thrust into the midst of someone else’s holiday is probably going to be fairly draining. But the mind controls the body.
Besides, Foggy’s concern makes it easier. No one’s worried about Matt in anything but a very academic way in a very long time. It should be annoying that Foggy does - Matt’s an adult, after all - but it isn’t.
“I know you will, buddy,” Foggy says, clapping him on the shoulder. “All right, once more into the breach!”
There’s a jingle of keys, and then Foggy’s pushing the door open, enveloping them in a cloud of warm, cinnamon-scented air and noise. There’s an immediate cry of recognition. “Foggy!”
“Hi, Aunt Harriet,” Foggy says, and then “oof” as he’s wrapped up in a firm hug. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“This must be the famous Matt,” Aunt Harriet says, turning towards Matt, who does his best to look humble and pleasant and enjoyable to have around during family dinners.
“Yeah, he doesn’t really hug - oh, you’re already doing it. Okay.”
“Nonsense, Foggy, he’s one of the family!”
“Nice to meet you,” Matt squeaks from Aunt Harriet’s arms.
She releases him but only to take his arm and give him a thankfully gentle tug down the hall towards the epicenter of the noise. “Come on, everyone’s excited to meet you.”
They round the corner, Foggy tagging along behind, and almost immediately bump into someone.
“George!” Aunt Harriet says. “George, come meet Foggy’s boyfriend.”
Matt freezes. Behind him, Foggy’s heartbeat kicks into overdrive.
“We don’t have a plan for this,” Foggy says, his voice tiny and stunned. “Matt, we don’t have a plan for this.”
Matt is too busy having his free hand vigorously shaken by Cousin George to come up with a new plan. He can feel his cheeks burning, and his tongue feels about three sizes too big for his mouth and extra-clumsy. “Nice to meet...I’m not...that is, we don’t, we’re not…”
“You need a drink,” Cousin George declares. “Are you kids old enough? Whatever, you’re close enough, the drinking age was eighteen when I was your age. Be right back.”
He disappears, and Matt and Foggy are ushered into the living room proper, where Matt is immediately introduced to at least fifteen people as Foggy’s boyfriend. Cousin George pushes a glass of red wine into Matt’s hand and Matt’s able to fumble for Foggy’s sleeve with the other, so at least he’s not asked to shake any more hands. He just stands there, tongue-tied and blushing, as Foggy’s cousins tell Foggy Matt’s too cute for him and Grandma Ruth calls them “modern.”
“So you two have been dating since, like, freshman orientation, right?” Foggy’s cousin Gretchen asks. “Foggy’s been talking about you nonstop since day one.”
“Gretchen!” Foggy hisses.
Matt can’t explain what he does next. He feels like he’s observing himself clinically from outside his body as he slides his hand down to twine his fingers with Foggy’s and says, “No, it’s new, but I guess it was inevitable.”
Foggy makes a noise Matt’s never heard him make before.
“Awww, that’s adorable,” Gretchen says, and someone else actually coos.
“Ha! Ha. Yeah,” Foggy barks like an uncomfortable robot, then leans in to Matt and grits out between what sounds like clenched teeth, “The eagle flies at freaking midnight, Murdock.”
“Would you excuse us?” Matt says to Foggy’s family. “I just need to…” He makes a vague gesture towards his eyes with the hand holding the wine glass. It doesn’t mean anything, but he’s found that if he implies he needs to go do something involving being blind, people tend to be too uncomfortable to ask any follow-up questions.
Foggy all but drags him upstairs and shuts his bedroom door behind them. “What the hell, Matt! Pretending we’re dating?”
“They assumed!”
“You didn’t have to play along with it!” Foggy’s upset, that much is obvious. He’s keeping his voice down because sound travels in these pre-war brownstones, but he’s flushed hot with what’s presumably embarrassment, and his heartbeat’s still going a mile a minute.
“I...I didn’t…” Matt fumbles.
“You didn’t what, Matt?”
Matt bites his lip. “I didn’t want to correct them. It seemed rude, and they were all being so supportive…”
And he didn’t want to have to correct them, he realizes with a sudden swoop of nervous shame. Being Foggy’s boyfriend means he’s not an interloper, a weird orphan roommate with nowhere else to go, but honorary family. It gives him a place here, in this warm, noisy house that smells of food and love. He doesn’t want to let that go.
Foggy groans. “What are we supposed to tell my parents? They know we’re not dating!”
Matt relaxes marginally. That means Foggy’s going to play along, instead of marching back downstairs and telling all those nice people that Matt just lied to them for no reason. “Um. That I’ve been swept away by your many charms?”
Foggy huffs an angry breath through his nose. “I’m not lying to my parents about this. I’ll just...tell them on the downlow. They are going to make fun of both of us, but honestly, you deserve it.”
“I can live with that,” Matt says, relaxing further.
“Also, you’re doing my laundry for a month.”
“On your schedule or an actually responsible human being’s?” Matt teases, and laughs when Foggy swats at him. Foggy’s not too mad to be teased, at least. That’s good.
He even takes Matt’s hand again on the way back downstairs instead of letting Matt hold his elbow, and that’s even better. Matt doesn’t want to think too hard about why.
It’s trickier when they’re back in a mob of curious Nelsons. Luckily there are too many conversations intercutting across the room for anyone to pay all that much attention to them, plus several babies that Matt nervously declines to hold but which prove a compelling distraction. But every time someone whispers to Foggy about how cute and polite Matt is, or jokingly tells Matt not to break Foggy’s heart, Foggy gets palpably more nervous.
“Are you okay?” Matt whispers as they squeeze into seats around the overstuffed dining room table.
“Yeah, why?” Foggy whispers back.
Matt can’t say that Foggy’s heartbeat has given away that he’s lying, or that he’s swallowing more often than usual, or that his sweat has the slightly bitter tinge of anxiety, unpleasant on the back of Matt’s tongue when usually Foggy’s sweat doesn’t bother him. “I dunno. Just asking.”
“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine. The turkey smells great, doesn’t it?”
Matt can hear an obvious subject change better than most, and besides, Foggy’s dad is calling for quiet. “...so glad you all could make it,” he says. “I know you’re all excited for the delicious meal Anna’s prepared, but before we start…” There’s a collective groan. “I know, I know, but it’s tradition! We’re all going to go around the table and say one thing we’re thankful for. I get the easy one, and I already said it - I’m thankful to have you all here. Anna?”
They go around the table, as directed. Most people are thankful for the usual things: family, good health, good food. Some of the students joke that they’re thankful the semester’s nearly over; some of the younger cousins say very sincerely that they’re thankful it’s almost Christmas.
When it’s Foggy’s turn his sister Candace sings “Iiiiiii know what Foggy’s thankful for” from across the table, and there are a few titters. Matt’s cheeks flame, and he can feel Foggy’s doing the same.
But Foggy takes a deep breath, and finds Matt’s hand under the table. It’s not for show - no one can see him do it beneath the tablecloth. But he takes Matt’s hand anyway.
“I am,” he says. “I’m thankful Matt’s here with us. With me.”
And his heart beats absolutely true.
“Matt?” Foggy’s dad says.
“I...I…”
Matt can’t speak. Everyone’s looking at him and Matt knows he’s supposed to say something he’s thankful for, something polite and charming like that he’s thankful for their hospitality, but Foggy just said that he’s thankful for Matt and he meant it and Matt doesn’t know if he meant it just as roommates or the way all of Foggy’s relatives probably think he did, but Matt suddenly knows which one he wants.
He didn’t just say he was Foggy’s boyfriend because he wanted to be part of Foggy’s family, he realizes. He said it because he wants to be Foggy’s boyfriend. He wants Foggy to hold his hand under the table when he’s not trying to fool anyone, and call him baby, and kiss him on the doorstep when they’re on their way home, and before they leave for class in the morning, and before they fall asleep at night.
“I’m…”
Foggy squeezes Matt’s hand. “Dad, maybe you could…” he says, jerking his chin significantly towards Matt, or maybe towards the nine-year-old cousin on Matt’s other side.
“Right, of course, guests are exempt!” Foggy’s dad says, too cheerful. “Bobby?”
Bobby gives thanks for a video game Matt’s never heard of, everyone laughs, and the scrutiny moves down the table. Foggy doesn’t let go of Matt’s hand, though. “You okay, buddy?” he whispers.
No. “The eagle flies at midnight,” Matt whispers back.
“You got it.” It’s almost time to eat and Matt can hear how hungry Foggy is, but Foggy immediately pushes his chair back and murmurs “Excuse us” to the person on the other side of him before leading Matt out of the dining room and up the stairs. It’s not until they’re back in Foggy’s room that Matt feels a little bit like he can breathe again.
“I’m sorry, bud,” Foggy says, shutting the door and turning to Matt. “I should have warned Dad - should have known that that would be a lot for you, with...I don’t know, memories and stuff. You want to hang out up here for a while?”
“No,” Matt says.
“You want to go back to the dorm?” Foggy asks it without any hesitation, no indication whatsoever that he’ll resent Matt if he bails on Foggy’s family celebration, or makes Foggy do the same.
“No.” Matt doesn’t want to do anything but kiss Foggy right now, but he doesn’t know how to say that. “You...you said you were thankful for me.”
“Of course I did, buddy,” Foggy says. His voice is very soft and a little surprised. “You’re my best friend.”
“But you’re mad at me.”
“I’m…” Foggy huffs out air. “I mean, a little. Not really.”
“I’m making you pretend to date me. You’ve been upset since we got here. You don’t like the idea.”
Foggy lets out a sharp bark of a laugh. “Believe me, that is not the problem.” Matt freezes. “Um.”
There’s a heart racing in the room, but this time it’s Matt’s. This time, he’s the one who reaches out and snags Foggy’s hand. Maybe...maybe…
“Foggy,” he says, and feels the way the air moves when Foggy swallows. “I have good news.”
“Yeah?” Foggy asks, a little breathlessly.
“You can tell your parents that thing about me and your many charms after all.”
“...Yeah?” Foggy says, a little softer, and Matt decides that kissing him is answer enough.
By the time they get back downstairs, the family is almost done with the salad course - peppery greens brightened by dried cranberries and walnuts - and too busy collecting salad plates and loading up dinner ones with turkey and gravy, potatoes and stuffing and Brussels sprouts to care that Matt and Foggy have been missing for an embarrassingly obvious length of time, or to come back to Matt for his turn at gratitude.
It’s almost a shame, Matt thinks, as he fumbles through eating his salad with his left hand, his right firmly clasped in Foggy’s, listening to the happy beat of Foggy’s heart threading through the din and thinking about what Foggy will taste like later, when Matt chases pecan pie and pumpkin cheesecake from his lips. The Nelsons are good at thankfulness, but right now, Matt’s pretty sure he’s got them all beat.