Whitman welcomed Aunt Lucinda into Travis and Caitlyn’s home wearing a sheet.

Well, it was a toga that he had sewn from a sheet and added embroidered gold trim to the edges and pulled together with a braided leather tie. He had made one just like it for Travis, too.

Aunt Lucinda had gone the easier route and bought a tunic online. She pulled off her long overcoat to reveal a red tunic tied with gold rope with tasseled ends. Her sandals strapped all the way to her knees.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she said and leaned in to give Whitman a kiss on his cheek.

Mr. Wigglesworth plodded to the door to see who had arrived, but he wasn’t a very good guard dog despite his gold Roman helmet with red plumes. He was too busy trying to shake the damn thing off.

“Mr. Wigglesworth, you look so dashing,” Lucinda exclaimed and reached down to give him pets.

“You can take the helmet off him. He hates it. We left it on so you could see, but I think he’d be ever so grateful to have it gone.”

Aunt Lucinda complied and Mr. Wigglesworth ran off, his upper body almost sliding onto the floor he was shaking his head so hard.

“Did you at least get pictures?” she asked, waving the helmet around and batting Whitman with the red brush on top.

“Have you met Caitlyn?”

As if conjured by the sound of her name, Caitlyn poked her head out of the kitchen. “Hi Aunt Lucinda. Sorry, salve!”

Every book on Roman feasts had been pulled from the library after Whitman had gifted Travis with a copy of Apicius, a modern version of the old Roman cookbook. Caitlyn had been so excited that they declared Thanksgiving to be in the style of a Roman feast in honor of their mother. Whitman was happy to help out with sewing and researching, although Caitlyn had really taken to sewing since they made the slipcover together. She created her dress herself, without Whitman’s help. It was covered by an apron at the moment, but underneath was a pink gown with gold accents and a burgundy shawl that wrapped around her waist and over her left shoulder.

“Caitlyn, come back,” Travis’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “My hands are oily and I need the cookie sheet.”

“I got it,” Whitman said. “Show your aunt the dining room.”

He could hear Caitlyn complaining that Travis hadn’t allowed them to move the couch into the dining room, even though, according to their research, they were supposed to lay down while they feasted. Travis had quickly put the kibosh on that idea, and Whitman couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t imagine it would have been very comfortable anyway, but Caitlyn had wanted the true experience. Travis had pointed out that as a female, she wouldn’t have been allowed at the table, if they were really going to be authentic, and she quickly gave in.

Travis held his oily hands in the air and motioned for the cookie sheet on the opposite countertop. Whitman set it in front of him and Travis quickly arranged a pastry rolled onto wax paper onto the cookie sheet.

“Did you pick the most difficult recipe?” Whitman asked, taking in the bowls and pans scattered all over the kitchen. Travis, and more vocally Caitlyn, had claimed he couldn’t cook, yet when presented with the challenge of continuing their mother’s cookbook tradition, he insisted he be the one to do it.

“No, this one actually seemed the easiest. Can you grab the ham from the fridge? It’s been marinating.”

Whitman brought the bowl over and watched as Travis lay the ham on one side, covered it with more oil and spices, and then wrapped the entire thing in the pastry.

“Pop that sucker in the oven.”

Whitman did as he was told. Travis was in charge of the cooking today, although Whitman had prepared honey fritters and peaches in cumin sauce for dessert at home the night before. He felt he had to contribute something, and Travis had stopped by to “help.” It had been a fun evening, cooking together, sneaking kisses, trying to stay on track under the constant distraction of Travis’s wandering hands, and cuddling in front of the TV when everything was finished.

Travis never stayed the night, because he had to get home to Caitlyn, but date nights were becoming so frequent as to be just regular nights, and Whitman was grateful for it. Travis never seemed to have a desire to go out for the sake of going out. Quiet evenings at home, or game nights with Caitlyn, were more their speed, and Whitman finally felt settled in a relationship, instead of tugged this way and that. Settled in a family.

After Travis had the ham in the oven, they worked on the side dishes, peeling parsnips that would be covered in a honey glaze, and chopping vegetables. After working side by side and listening to Caitlyn and Lucinda watch the parade in the next room, their feast was finally ready. If this was Travis not being able to cook, Whitman had nothing to complain about.

“Before we begin,” Whitman said, holding a wrapped package and standing at the end of the table, “I wanted to present you with something.”

Whitman handed the package to Caitlyn, who tore the wrapping off and snorted.

“Bumbles?”

She held up the painting of the clown with a confused look.

“I know you originally wanted him gone, but since you created your shrine, I thought he deserved a special place.”

“You just didn’t want him watching you pee,” Travis said and Mr. Wigglesworth barked at the following laughter.

“Exactly.”

Caitlyn got up from the table and placed Bumbles at the back of the knick-knack shelf. It looked right, Bumbles overseeing the other belongings that had been so special to Rachel and her children.

Travis picked up the long knife he had brought to the table to carve the ham, but Caitlyn stopped him.

“Aren’t we going to go around the table and say what we’re thankful for?”

Whitman must have visibly lit up at the idea, because Travis shook his head and said, “She’s kidding. She says that every year to be sarcastic.”

“Well then, I guess I’ll be the only one to do it,” Whitman said, undeterred. “I am thankful that I made the hair-brained decision to move to a small town I had never heard of and met my soul-family and my soulmate. Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your lives.”

“Salutaria!” Caitlyn cheered and raised her glass of grape juice and the others followed suit.

“Fine,” Caitlyn said, setting down her glass with a fake sigh. “I guess I’ll go too. I’m thankful for having the best butthead of a brother, ever, and that he has really good taste in men.” She tossed a wink at Whitman and Travis had to knock his knee under the table to keep him from laughing. “I’m also thankful that said brother allowed me to go out with Scott Patterson, and will continue to let me date seeing as how I’m seventeen years old and I know he doesn’t want me to be a complete social pariah.”

“I do not want you getting serious with Scott Patterson. He’s too old for you.”

“I didn’t say I planned to keep dating Scott, just that I wanted to keep dating. Scott was kind of boring, actually. Nice enough, as a friend I guess. But when he held my hand I just kept thinking it was all sweaty and gross. No thank you.”

No amount of under-table nudging could keep Whitman from laughing at that.

“Then I’m pleased to announce that I’m thankful that Scott Patterson has sweaty palms,” Travis said, raising his grape juice high and meeting Aunt Lucinda’s for a clink.

Travis reclined on the sofa and propped his feet across Caitlyn’s lap. She shoved them onto the floor in one swift motion.

Whitman was in the kitchen, warming up his peaches, which made Travis giggle because it sounded dirty. Travis had offered to help, but Whitman had insisted that he had done enough.

His mom’s crazy cookbook dinners had been hit or miss, though always a blast, but today’s feast had been actually, surprisingly delicious. He still needed to clear the table and work on dishes, but he had been ordered to stay put. And Travis didn’t want to disobey Whitman.

The doorbell rang, and Travis popped his head up.

“Were you expecting anyone?” he asked Caitlyn, but she looked as surprised as he felt.

He rolled off the couch and made his way to the door, Caitlyn following behind him and Mr. Wigglesworth running ahead.

Travis opened the door to find Jeremy, Ricky Chelate’s son, shivering on the front porch. It was dark now, but not cold enough to warrant shivering. At the hearing, Jeremy had been perfectly put together. His hair neatly combed and cut to look like Mr. All-American boy-next-door. Now, he wore only jeans and a hoodie, ratty sneakers on his feet, and his hair stood up like he couldn’t stop running his fingers through it.

“Jeremy?” Caitlyn said, since no one else was talking. “What are you doing here?”

“Do you mind if I come in?” Jeremy asked, his hands ruffling his hair and confirming Travis’s suspicions. Travis stepped to the side, and Jeremy entered, his hunched shoulders making him smaller than he had appeared at the hearing.

“Are you hungry?” Whitman asked from the doorway to the kitchen. “We have plenty of leftovers.”

“No, thanks.” Jeremy stuffed his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.

“Dessert’s ready,” Whitman called. “Let’s eat while it’s warm, and then Jeremy, you can put us out of our misery.” Jeremy’s forehead wrinkled at Whitman’s expression, so he clarified. “We’re dying to know why you’re here.”

Jeremy nodded and although he didn’t raise his eyes to meet anyone else’s, he was obviously looking around, taking in Lucinda and Caitlyn and the remnants of Thanksgiving still on the dining table.

“Um, what are you guys wearing?”

“It a tradition in our family,” Travis said, putting an arm around Jeremy’s shoulder and leading him into the kitchen with the others. “Making a full meal from a strange cookbook and dressing up and decorating to match. My mom started it. We, well Whitman, decided it was time to keep the tradition going.”

“I just wanted to find a way to make him show off his legs,” Whitman said with a shrug and Lucinda smothered a laugh.

“So, Roman?”

“It was that or the testicle cookbook I found at another yard sale. But I couldn’t figure out a way to make the décor family friendly, so Roman it was.”

Jeremy pinched his lips together, but finally gave up and laughed with the rest of them. Travis was glad to see it. Too many times he’d seen Caitlyn try to stay sad or mad and resist any attempt to make her feel better. It seemed she’d finally learned to give in to all the feelings, good and bad, and to accept them as they came. It was the only way for things to get better, and he didn’t want to have to worry about Jeremy in the same way he’d worried about Caitlyn for so long.

Whitman passed out small plates and everyone scooped warm peaches and grabbed a honey fritter or two. They were sticky but smelled divine. They shoved the old plates to the center and sat at the dining table, because Lucinda insisted she wasn’t coordinated enough to keep from dumping dessert in her lap and she had to return the costume in one piece, sauce-free.

“What brings you here?” she asked as she forked a bite of peach into her mouth and moaned.

Travis had tasted the sauce last night, and although he kept his appreciative noises to himself, he totally agreed.

“I know I don’t have a right to ask this, but I was wondering if I could crash on your couch for the night?” Jeremy had been given dessert whether he wanted it or not, because that’s how Whitman rolled, but he picked at the peaches with his fork, shifting them across the plate instead of eating them. “I’m heading back to OSU in the morning.”

“Of course, but why?” Travis asked, licking honey from his fingers and avoiding Whitman’s too-hot gaze. This hardly seemed the time.

“Dad’s brother and his family always come for Thanksgiving. Mom makes a pretty big deal of it. Anyway, during the prayer before we sat down to eat, Dad started railing against the corrupt forces bringing down the country. Asked God to give us all strength to keep fighting against the whores and the gays.”

“Oh God,” Lucinda whispered, and Caitlyn choked on a peach.

“Sorry,” Jeremy looked up, finally, and made sure Caitlyn was okay before he continued. She took a sip of what was probably her old grape juice, or Travis’s since things had gotten moved around. “Anyway, it made me so angry, I came out, then and there.”

Travis’s eyes bulged and he would have choked too if he had been eating at that moment.

“He kicked me out. Made me change out of my Sunday suit because I didn’t deserve it or some shit. Took my phone and my keys. I had to take the bus here.”

“You’re staying,” Caitlyn said, slamming down her palm to make the table rattle. “And anything else you need, we’ve got you covered, right Trav?”

Travis nodded, still too dumbfounded to talk.

“Whatever you need,” Caitlyn said again, a fierceness in her voice Travis hadn’t heard before. “We’re your family now.”

Later that evening, after cleaning up and getting Jeremy situated on the couch, Travis crawled into his bed next to a waiting Whitman.

“Looks like your family is growing,” Whitman said, pulling Travis into his side, and Travis’s face into the crook of his neck.

“Hell of a surprising day.”

Whitman’s fingers carded through Travis’s hair, sending sparks across his skin, and making him snuggle in closer. Whitman still smelled like honey and Travis reached out his tongue for a quick taste.

“That someone would want to be close to you? To be a part of the family that you have nurtured and created for yourself? Not surprising at all. The love and care you have for your family, it runs deep. And it’s a very, very attractive quality.”

“I’m glad you’re here, part of the family now,” Travis said, swiveling his head from side to side, letting his breath paint the length of Whitman’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you let me in.”

His fingertips dragged from Travis’s scalp, down his neck, and cupped his boxer-covered ass.

“Still not having sex in the room next to my sister,” Travis panted into Whitman’s skin.

“Then I think we need to have a serious discussion about moving your bedroom.”

He tickled Travis’s side, who squirmed, then groaned when his cock rubbed against Whitman’s bare thigh.

“We can’t be loud.” It was too much, and Travis was only human.

Whitman rolled them so that he was looking down at Travis with a triumphant grin.

“I’ll go slow,” he promised. “Feast quietly on every inch of you.”

Travis groaned and pulled a pillow over his head as Whitman made good on his promise. Tomorrow they would deal with Jeremy and their ever-expanding family. But tonight, Travis amended his earlier statement of thanks to include his boyfriend’s ability to be very quiet. And very focused.