The Connection

He never knew the sky was so big.

Sure, he’s not been fooled into thinking that only the tiny patch of night sky outside his bedroom window is the only night sky there is. But never before did he know that the city lights, even ones as small as Franklin’s, could make a difference. Somehow in the country, the stars shine brighter. Bright white pinpricks on a stretch of inky canvas, with a smooth white moon right in the center. They’re beautiful in their simplicity. And Avery tries to memorize everything; the glare of the moon on the icy-still lake, the indigo clouds, the clusters of stars and the ones that seems to stand alone. He’ll try to commit all this to his sketchbook in the morning; probably in his AP Lit class, where he sits in the back and already has his dad’s heavily annotated copy of A Death of a Salesman.

The air is freezing. November has come with none of the fickle heat and chilly drizzles that October had. No, November has come with vengeance, all whipping winds, thirty something temperatures and even a dusting of snow last week. Avery can feel the hairs in his nose freezing and he’s lost feeling in his toes despite having them tucked underneath his butt. He wants to keep staring at the moon and the stars, but his eyes are tearing up from the cold and the wind. He relents finally, nuzzling his frigid face in the blissfully warm skin of Max’s neck.

“We can always go, if you want.” Max chuckles, wrapping his arm tighter around Avery’s shoulders. Avery shakes his head. He likes it here, despite the chill. Max sighs, and pulls the thick fleece blanket tighter around their shoulders. Avery huddles into his boyfriend’s unreal warmth, practically sitting in the older boy’s lap. He actually would sit on Max’s lap, but the hood of the Chevelle is slippery and Max’s worn jeans can hardly grip the surface itself, let alone the weight of Avery as well.

“You’re gonna catch a cold.” Max chides softly into Avery’s hair. Avery snorts. If anyone is going to get sick, it most certainly isn’t him. Avery is swaddled in his winter coat, with a hoodie underneath. There’s a purple beanie on his mop of unruly hair and a gray scarf wrapped around his neck. Max, on the other hand, is wearing just his Letterman jacket and a thick Henley; his freckled cheeks a violent shade of pink.

“Doubt it,” Avery huffs, “You’re hardly wearing anything…”

“I didn’t dress for a blizzard, you mean.” Max guffaws, tugging gently on Avery’s scarf. Avery hisses like a cat and bats Max’s hand away. He would scoot away for the annoying quarterback, but he’s warm under the blanket and under Max’s arm. Max laughs loudly, the booming sound bouncing off the lake and slicing the chilled air around them. The quarterback drops his hand obediently, but kisses Avery’s chilled nose smugly.

“’S cool, y’know. You look adorable.” He mumbles, peppering Avery’s chilled face with little kisses.
“I’m not adorable.” Avery complains. However, the compliant lacks any real venom. Max’s kisses are warm on his chilled skin and bring a pleasant flush of heat into his cheeks. Max finally turns away, staring up at the sky and tugging Avery’s lithe body impossibly closer. Avery nuzzles his chilled face shamelessly into Max’s shoulder. They sit in silence for a while, their toes freezing and their breath misting out of their open mouths in foggy little clouds.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Avery asks quietly. Under his cheek, Max’s shoulder shrugs.

“I dunno. Probably get Chinese for me ‘n Allie. Mike’ll be at the bar ‘til close and Mom’ll be workin’ at the hospital.” Max says, his voice carrying no bitterness. Avery cringes at the casual inflection; Max probably hasn’t ever had a traditional Thanksgiving. Granted, Avery and his family don’t either. Its only Quinn and his parents (His mother’s family is scattered all around and his father’s family is far too busy being surgeons and lawyers to eat at a simple country Thanksgiving). But they have all the staples and then some. Turkey and stuffing, green bean casserole and homemade cranberry sauce, and three different kinds of pie and ice cream; certainly better than lukewarm lo Mein out of cardboard containers.

“You want to come over? Mom wanted me to ask you… Allie would be more than welcome, too.” Avery asks softly.

And it’s not a lie, either. Mrs. Reeves has never asked Avery outright (and Avery would lie if she did), but she’s seen Max’s frayed clothes, the way he responds to a simple plate of leftover lasagna with wide eyes and thankfulness so genuine that it makes her wonder if he’s ever had anything remotely kind thrown his way. She also seen the cuts across his cheekbones, small and swollen; probably from a chunky ring; she’s seen the black eyes Max sports, fading yellow, but still to fresh to be from practice or a game.

And Mrs. Reeves knows about Mike Reynolds; a drunk, who can’t hold down a job, and with a police record and a list of bar fights a mile long.

“I don’t wanna—“

“Shut up. I want you to come, mom wants you to come. Everyone wants you and Allie to come.” Avery snips, pouting at Max. The quarterback smirks widely, leaning down to press freezing lips to Avery’s ear. He huffs a laugh, warm air puffing against Avery’s normally sensitive ears. He can’t suppress the shiver running up his spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

“I know you want me to come. But at Thanksgiving?” Max husks into his ear. Avery shoves at his boyfriend’s shoulder, scowling.

“Quit being gross, for like, five minutes and answer me.” He scowls, and with a hint of pink in his cheeks, “It’s too cold for that anyway.”

“Not in the car.” Max quips back smiling. His face sobers greatly under Avery’s withering look. He runs his free hand through his hair; nervous and thinking. Avery can hear it; the gear under Max’s ever-so-slightly shaggy mop of hair spinning with uncertainties and insecurities. He can see the synapses; firing and weighing. He wants Allie to have at least one Thanksgiving with turkey, rather than questionable chicken. And he wants to bask in the warmth exuded from most of the Reeves’, Quinn’s teasing and Annie’s kindness. And Avery’s tender scrape of knuckles against his cheekbone, his snorting laughter at Quinn, his good-natured annoyance at his father.

But oh, Mr. Reeves.

The intimidating professor has not warmed to him as much as he’s wanted. Yes, the outright distain of their first meeting has faded considerably. But there’s something itching at the back of Max’s brain when he catches the serious brown eyed man watching him. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing. Whether his picking on Quinn, or thanking Annie for his third helping of food, or tenderly wiping tomato sauce off of Avery’s cheek during dinner. The look is always the same; unreadable and slightly upset. The man hates him. Him and his dirty job, his too loud car, his imperfect speech, his—

“Stop it.” Avery pouts, poking Max’s side sharply, “You’re thinking about dad. And you need to quit.”

“He hates me, Av.” Max says tiredly, not bothering to wonder about the uncanny mind reading. Max doesn’t know if it’s a side effect of The Connection, or Avery’s just perceptive. Or maybe because they’ve had this conversation before. Over and over again; like a sad song on repeat. Avery sighs angrily, poking Max’s freckled cheek.

“No he doesn’t. That’s just him. But whatever, I don’t care about him or your insecurities.” The shorter boy says coolly. And Max, not for the first time and definitely not for the last, is impressed (and oddly aroused) at the fact that Avery is so coldly aggressive. He’s small and wiry and nearly blind without the thick glasses perched on his nose; but passionate and loyal and strong. Stubborn and so achingly caring. The shorter boy pulls at Max’s chin until their chilled foreheads rest together; their breath misting over one another’s faces.

“I want you to come. I love you and I love Allie. Mom and Quinn love you and they’ll love Allie too. Who cares what my dad thinks? I don’t. And for Christ’s sake, you and Allie shouldn’t have to eat take out on Thanksgiving.” Avery rages, fingers gripping Max’s chin. The quarterback smiles softly, his hand coming to rest upon his boyfriend’s frigid face.

“You’re freezin’.” Max says softly against Avery’s rant. The shorter boy squawks indignantly, like Max wasn’t listening at all. And that’s never been true. Max has always listened, always cared. Always ached for Avery and the sense of family that (most) of the Reeves’ radiate.

“Are you even—“

Avery’s complaint is smothered by a passionate kiss. He growls into it, but kisses back just a ferociously; all tongues and nipping teeth and soft moaning. Max pulls away, smiling at running his thumb against Avery’s cheekbone.

“If I say yes, then will ya let me take you home? You’re gonna freeze to death.”

“Don’t want to go home.” Avery pouts like a child, tugging on the lapels of Max’s jacket; trying to get back to kissing the chill away. Max chuckles, pulling back further.

“Okay fine, you baby. We’ll fuck around in the car and then I’ll take you home. I don’t wanna date a fuckin’ popsicle.”

“And you’ll come to Thanksgiving?” Avery prompts, already sliding off the hood to stand in between the quarterback’s thighs. Max follows, like he’ll always do, slipping off the hood to stand close to Avery. He wraps the thick plaid blanket around their shoulders, their chests pressed together and their hips tightly locked.

“Yes. Now get in the backseat.” Max laughs. Avery smiles softly, reaches up to place a soft, lingering kiss on Max’s lips.

“Thank you.” He whispers, his voice soft, like Max is the most important thing in the world. Max forgets about the stirring in his jeans and the heat between their chests.

“Welcome.” He says softly, kissing Avery’s forehead sweetly, and then quietly, still so afraid, “Y’know I love you.”

Avery huffs a laugh, and then pulls the blanket, suddenly off of Max’s shoulders. The quarterback hisses at the sudden cold and glares at Avery. The shorter boy is opening the creaking backdoor of the Chevelle and getting ready to slide in. But before he does he tosses over his shoulder, bold and uncaring.

“I love you, too. But I’d love you even more if you’d let me suck you off.”

Max follows, closing the door behind them and wasting no time in crowding Avery against the opposite door.

“Who says you’re gonna be the only one sucking anyone off?” The quarterback rasps, his lips hot on
Avery’s cold neck.

The younger boy says nothing, just squirms happily underneath him.
________

Thursday morning rises with chaos, screaming from room to room and the smells of sage and onions.

“Avery! Did mom put my jeans in your closet again?”

“Quinn, honey. Does this need more salt? And please tell me you’re not wearing that.”

”God damnit! Annie! How the hell am I supposed know if the turkey is done? It looks brown—what the hell do you mean I should just know?”

“Avery! Go get the door!”

Avery swings off the counter he and Quinn are sitting on. Both siblings were pushed out of the kitchen by their mother and then scolded by their father hours ago; be regardless they both make their way back. Swinging their legs and stealing bites of cooling food; pie crusts and turkey skin and the dark brown edges of dressing. They’ve done this since they were little. At first in order to keep their grabby hands and curious questions at bay, their mother would sit them on the glossy surface and let them watch her cook. And their father sometimes recruited to tell them stories (which were really just sanitized versions of whatever his lecture was reading that month).

At eighteen and seventeen, both are far too old to be sitting on the counter. But that doesn’t stop them.

Avery twists around to avoid his mother, rushing around with a rubber spatula in one hand and oven mitts on the other. His father shoots him a dark look over the island, where he has been sent away to carry completed dishes to the table and lay out flatware.

“Hello.” Avery smiles as he opens the front door.
Allie smiles glowingly, all bright white teeth and dimples. She’s still timid, but she’s a far cry from the soft spoken, scared girl at the bookstore. She throws her arms around Avery’s neck, engulfing him in the clean scent of Dove soap and sweet, flowery vanilla. Avery snorts, but wraps an arm around her willowy frame, anyway.

“Hi.” She says happily, giddy with the promise of a traditional Thanksgiving. It makes something twist in Avery’s stomach. But he pushes it down. Allie is going to have a great time. And when she goes to live with Jim, she’ll have more. And Avery would bet everything that when Max and he finally get that apartment they’ve been dreaming of, Allie will never have a Chinese take-out Thanksgiving ever again.

“I brought cupcakes.” Allie says proudly after Avery greets her.

“I told you not bring anything.” Avery frowns. Allie, in a gesture of true sisterly affection, rolls her bright green eyes.

“Well, I did.” She says, “Pumpkin and apple cider, with cream cheese icing.” Allie says snottily. And while he’s slightly annoyed that Allie took it upon herself (and Max had to provide the money for ingredients) to make cupcakes; he can’t deny he’s not all too upset with the prospect of Allie’s baking.
The too-big sweater wearing girl is actually a wonderful baker, providing Avery with cookies and homemade fudge, as well as some of the best lemon bars he’s ever had. She, like her brother, shrugs off any praise with a blush and a scowl. But ever since Avery moaned around her peanut butter cookies, she’s given Max tray after tray of different pastries for Avery to devour (and Max’s grabby hands to swipe). And Avery would never admit it, but Allie might even be a better baker than his mother.

“Move, Betty Crocker. ‘M freezing my ass off.” Max’s gruff baritone sounds from the doorway. Allie wrinkles her button nose.

“You shoulda worn something warmer, jerk.” But she moves anyway.
The quarterback is pink cheeked and scowling good naturedly to Allie, toting a huge carrying container of cinnamon-nutmeg spiced happiness. He nudges Allie with the corner of the box, frown deepening.

“Take this. I wanna hug my boyfriend.” He demands, making Avery’s heart skip, just like it always does with Max. Allie rolls her eyes, muttering darkly, but takes the box anyway. Free from the covering of a large plastic container and with a full view of his boyfriend’s semi-formal attire, Avery’s breathe catches in his throat.

It’s amazing what a button down with rolled sleeves does to Avery. The shirt itself is a dark crimson with gray cuffs and collar. And with a few buttons at the top undone, Avery can make out the slightly less frayed collar and less faded print of a (what else) Led Zeppelin shirt. Avery quirks a small smile when he remembers that this particular Led Zeppelin shirt is Max’s lucky shirt. His jeans are weathered, but hole-less and his sneakers look cleaner than usual. Avery grins, standing on his tiptoes to circle his arms around Max’s neck.

The taller boy waste no time in engulfing Avery into his clove scented chest, and as always, picks Avery up slightly; his toes barely touching the floor.

“You look hot.” Avery mumbles into Max’s cheek. The quarterback hums in thought, before he whispers in Avery’s ear.

“So do you. That sweater is makin’ me think less than family appropriate thoughts.” He smirks against Avery’s ear. His hand trails down the curve of his spine to play with the back pocket of his skinny jeans, and to kiss his ear lobe once, making a shiver bolt up Avery’s spine.

“Gosh, quit it. You two are gross.” Allie frowns from the corner, totally forgotten in their embrace. Max chuckles, letting Avery down and flicking Allie’s freckled nose. She squawks, rubbing her freckled nose with one palm and planting the other on Max’s shoulder to give him a harsh shove.

“So ‘m not allowed to tell me boyfriend I wanna—“

And at that, Allie shoves the cupcake box back into Max’s arms and asks Avery stiffly to meet his parents.
________

Dinner passes with an ease that Avery’s never seen with Max and his father in the same room.

Mrs. Reeves swallows a shyly smiling Allie in a hug the minute Avery introduces them. She holds the girl at arm’s length, giving her a long look.

“You’re the one giving Avy all those cookies, huh?” She asks seriously. Allie turns pink and looks down at the hardwood floor.

“Um… yeah. I’m really sorry if I over stepped my boundaries Mrs. Reeves—“

“It’s Annie,” Mrs. Reeves grins, cutting the girl’s apology off. “And honey, I might hire you as a baker at the shop, once you’re old enough. Even Will liked the salted caramel cupcakes Avery left on the counter.”

(“Those were mine.” Avery mumbles angrily at his father. Mr. Reeves rolls his eyes.)

“I… um… I made more. Not caramel, but apple cider and pumpkin spice…If that’s okay?” She trails off, looking carefully up at Mr. Reeves. Avery can almost hear his dad’s ears perk up at the mention of cupcakes.

Needless to say, Mr. Reeves swipes a few cupcakes while his wife finishes up the meal.

It’s warm and cozy in the kitchen. Quinn has resumed her place atop the free counter, chatting with Allie and Mrs. Reeves simultaneously and as easy as breathing. Allie looks slightly pink at the attention. But she’s smiling and nodding, answering questions in a slightly less frightened rabbit tone. Mrs. Reeves chats with the girls easily, flowing into relaxed banter with Allie just as easy as she does with her own daughter. She talks over her shoulder, as she fusses with the turkey and the gravy; calling Allie and then Max over in order to taste it (And slapping away her husband’s grabby hands).

Mr. Reeves, in between picking at the cooling food and licking cream cheese frosting from the corners of his mouth, asks Max about football. He’s being polite, having no interest (or knowledge) about any sports other than tennis. Max responds carefully, still scared to death of the scrutinizing brown stare of the patriarch of the Reeves family. Avery watches with amusement as his normally tactful father struggles with a topic of conversation. It’s hilarious watching two grow men tread carefully around each other, desperately trying to find common ground other than the boy currently playing with Max’s fingers.

Finally they decide to cut their losses, and pig out on Allie’s cupcakes together, not speaking at all.
(All while Avery resists the urge to kiss away cake crumbs on Max’s bottom lip. Damn his family.)
When Mrs. Reeves, with bangs wilted, but a prideful smile declares its dinner time, Max and Mr. Reeves scrabble to the table. Mrs. Reeves rolls her eyes and Quinn laughs.

As soon as the turkey is set down, Avery, Quinn, and Mr. Reeves descend like starved lions. Mrs. Reeves rolls her eyes, and bats her kids’ and husband’s grabby hands way.

“We have guests! I raised you two better than this! And you wait your turn, William Reeves!”
Allie looks to Max, questioning. The quarterback shrugs, picking up slices of turkey and piling dressing, cranberries, mashed potatoes and a little of everything else on the good china and handing it to Allie. He does the same for his own plate, filling it with nearly two cups of everything. He shrugs at Avery and Quinn’s looks and blushes at Mrs. Reeves beaming smile.

And with that out of the way, they dig in.

Quinn and Avery have a fork sword fight over the thickest slice of the white meat, much to Mrs. Reeves’ displeasure. Mr. Reeves reaches across and swipes it, simply to irritate his children (he likes dark meat, anyway.) Max finds that he really enjoys cornbread dressing and gladly accepts when Mrs. Reeves piles a fourth helping on his plate. Allie and Quinn talk about Photography club, and Quinn urges her to join.

Mr. Reeves smiles begrudgingly and wipes the smear of cranberry sauce off his wife’s bottom lip with his thumb. She blushes to the roots of her pale red hair, and then smudged a little of the tart-sweet sauce on her husband’s nose, laughing when he glares. Avery steals a forkful of mashed potatoes off Max’s plate when he’s talking to Quinn, and when he looks away and then back to his plate, he finds all of Max’s potatoes on his own plate; the quarterback studiously looking away, his ears pink.

They all eat more than they should. And then they eat Allie’s cupcakes, Mrs. Reeves raining praise on the freckled girl. Allie glows scarlet, a shy smile tugging at the corners of her full lips. It’s only when the Reeves and the two Matthews siblings stow away the leftovers in Tupperware containers, and Mrs. Reeves sets aside full to the brim containers of leftovers for Max and Allie, that they retire to the living room.

Mr. Reeves sits in his leather armchair, pulling his slender wife to sit on the arm. Allie and Quinn sit cross legged on the floor, scrolling through their phones and showing each other things often. Max sits carefully on the couch, glancing at Avery quickly. The younger boy understands, and goes to sit next to him; their thighs pressed together and Avery’s head pillowed by Max’s shoulder. The quarterback relaxes, and throws an arm around Avery’s shoulders.

Mrs. Reeves smiles, settling against the back of the chair, her husband’s hand woven with her’s.

“Ready?” She asks, causing Avery and Quinn to groan and Mr. Reeves’ lips to twitch into a barely there smile. Allie and Max just look confused. Mrs. Reeves bristles, casting her kids a haughty look.

“It’s tradition, you ungrateful things.” She says to her kids, and then with a much kinder expression.

“After dinner, we go around and say what we’re thankful for. I’ve done it since I was little and so have they.” She adds with a thumb in her kids’ direction.

“I’ll start, shall I?” Mr. Reeves says finally; always ready to please his wife, if no one else.

“I’m, as always, thankful for you and my children.” He says, ever serious as he tucks a piece of reddish blonde hair behind Mrs. Reeves’ ear.

“I am too.” Mrs. Reeves smiles softly, “And… I’m thankful that we had two wonderful guests here to share with us.” She adds smiling brightly at Max and Allie, and then adds, “You two are always welcome here.”

Quinn and Avery have a stare down for going next. And finally rock-paper-scissors for the honor; Avery wins, smirking triumphantly.

“I’m thankful for the basics; family, friends, health, you know.” Quinn starts, “And I’m also thankful for passing calculus.”

Avery snickers as his parents roll their eyes together, as if they’re both on being of parental disappointment. Quinn glares at Avery, pulling a tasseled pillow wedged in the corner of the couch, and smacking him with it.

“Your turn, butthole.”

“Do I have to? Mom don’t make—“Avery starts to plead with his mother. Her eyes turn icy and she opens her mouth to deliver the killing blow. But a timid clearing of a throat makes them stop. Allie looks bright pink, her gaze flicking between the Reeves’ and then finally settling on Max.

“Um… I… I can go. I don’t mind.” She says, her eyes wide. Mrs. Reeves smiles gently, and nods.

“Go ahead, sweetie.”

Allie clears her throat again and glancing at Max.

“I’m… I’m really thankful for your hospitality, the food was delicious and you guys are so kind.” She says, her voice shaking slightly with pure gratitude and sincerity. She then looks down, fiddling with a rip in her jeans.

“I’m also thankful for my brother.” She says softly, not daring to look up at the shocked still boy next to Avery.

“He’s done so much for me. More than he’s had to, and I’m… I’m thankful. For him. I guess.”

Everyone is still for a while. And Avery, despite hating this more than anything, steps up. He won’t make Allie’s heartfelt thankfulness be an awkward moment.

“I’m thankful for the basics as well,” He starts, and then hesitates.

“I’m also thankful that I gave people chances this year.” He says carefully, hoping that the message won’t be lost to anyone in this room. Max’s fingers tighten around his, griping tightly, squashed in between their thighs. Avery swallows, everyone is watching him carefully, but for some reason he sees his father the clearest. His brown eyes are as disinterested as usual, but when he sees Avery looking at him, he nods slightly urging Avery to finish.

“I’m just… really thankful. For the chances I gave this year.”

His mother is smiling softly, her eyes shining brightly in the orange light of the fireplace. Quinn and Allie are both smiling, both so happy for their older brothers.
Max clears his throat next to him, takes a deep breath Avery can feel contracting and then expand in a shaky breath.

“I’m thankful for the food and the hospitality, also.” Max starts, nodding to Avery’s parents as they watch him carefully. His hand tightens in Avery’s.

“And… ‘m thankful for acceptin’ things.” He says, his words careful and heavy.

“It’s probably the best decision I made my whole life. And I thankful for the kindness I got this year. I don’t deserve it, but ‘m so glad I got it. “He adds softly, his thumb rubbing across Avery’s knuckles. Its then that he’s able to name the feeling he’s had all day. The warm and cozy feeling wrapped around his whole body like a thick sweater on a cold winter’s day.

It’s a bone deep feeling of home. A safe place filled with laughter and annoyance at other’s table manners. He feels complete in a way. His parents are here, being disgustingly adorable and still so in love with each other. Quinn is sitting across from him, fighting over food and flicking crumbs at him, laughing and sticking her tongue out. Allie is here, creeping out of her carefully constructed shell in order to be loved and cared for by people other than her brother.

And Max. Max is finally here. The missing piece to Avery’s very soul. Gruff and mean, but achingly tender and fiercely protective. Every bruise and every homophobic slur, wiped away by a kiss, a soft stroke to the curve of his spine, a turkey club and an ear to listen when Avery can’t handle things anymore; when the world seems to big, too cold. Max is the warm spot in his life, and it’s with a rush of love that Avery knows, Max will always be there. Warmth and safety when the world’s too big, and light and life when the world’s a wonderful, happy place.

Avery ignores his family in that moment, as he leans up to capture Max’s lips in a soft thankful kiss.