James hangs up the phone and sighs, running one hand distractedly through his hair and reaching for his cup of coffee.
From across the apartment's small kitchen Camille lifts an eye brow at him; she must have been eavesdropping from behind her newspaper.
James shrugs, because he doesn't have an answer for her unspoken question. She certainly heard enough of the conversation to piece together the rest. Kendall and Logan invited them to Thanksgiving dinner, promising a loud, messy affair with all Kendall's kids and the band and Katie and Mrs. Knight and Mrs. Knight's new husband and who knows who else.
James should be excited, should be eager to spend Thanksgiving with them. He should be happy for them. But he isn't, and that is the question he can't answer.
He settles into a chair across from Camille and stares despondently at the kitchen table, trying to sort out his thoughts.
Obviously, he should be thrilled that Kendall and Logan are finally together, finally happy, but instead he's unnerved by it, and worse, he knows from Kendall's almost tentative tone over the phone that they know he's uncomfortable.
Worst of all, James can't understand why he cares; he never did before.
He hadn't cared when they were kids and Logan stared at Kendall with puppy dog eyes. He hadn't cared when a teenage Logan quietly came out of the closet and even more quietly admitted he was in love with Kendall. James certainly hadn't minded when he realized Kendall, on some level, felt the same way and just didn't know it yet. James hadn't even blinked when he realized that they were screwing around behind Jo's back, for all the trouble it might cause.
But now, now that they're happy, now that they have a life together, they bother James.
He sighs again.
"They're a family now," he muses out loud, "they're settling down. They're raising kids and celebrating holidays. They're a family."
"And?" Camille prompts.
"They're reaching all kinds of milestones in life, careers, family and all that. They're growing up," he breaks off before adding quietly, "they'll leave me behind."
"Maybe," Camille says as she stands and begins clearing the table of the breakfast dishes, "maybe you need to grow up too. Maybe," she continues cocking an eyebrow, "you need to admit that we're a family."
James feigns horror as he stands.
"You just want to keep me barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen," he accuses wrapping his arms around Camille, "and I'm too young to get pregnant; I'd lose my girlish figure."
Camille laughs and returns his hug before pulling away to continue with the dishes.
James reaches for his phone, ignoring Camille's questioning look, and hits a number on his speed dial.
"Hey Logan," he says when he hears his friend's greeting on the other end, "it's me, James."
"No, no, nothing is wrong. I just realized that I forgot to ask what I could bring to Thanksgiving."
This sends Logan in to a rush of happy plans and details, to which James only half listens. He feels the tension slide away, and thinks maybe growing up won't be that bad.