1997 - 19 years - Lima, OH

Toby didn't want to be nervous, but meeting your secret boyfriend's family for the first time in ten years was more than a little jitter-inducing. And Toby could tell, from the way he was cursing at the intermittent stop-and-go traffic, that Will was feeling the same way. Toby was just glad that their classes got out later than Terri's had; she'd hitched a ride back to Lima with a friend, and Andi and Laurie were riding with Brad. At least he and Will had the car to themselves. It wasn't much, but the opportunity to share the same space in silence for a few hours was good where Toby was concerned.

They held hands for the better part of the drive, and the darker it got and the closer they got to Lima, the closer Toby shifted towards Will and the quieter Will got.

"You okay, darlin'?" Toby looked past Will, at the cars heading west on the highway.

"I should probably prepare you for meeting my mother," he said, turning on the windshield wipers against the grey November rain. "She's... an experience."

"What can I do to get her to like me?" Toby said, only half-joking. Will glanced at him, then back at the road. His face was grim.

"I don't think that's very likely," he said. "She's a... kind of judgmental."

"Will, I've been dealin' with judgement since I was in diapers. I think I can handle your mother."

Will's laugh was bleak. "I hope you're right. I wasn't sure about this to begin with, Toby, but... I guess we have to get it over with someday. I mean," he amended, reaching for Toby's hand again, "you're important to me. I want her to know that."

"But we're going in as friends, right? I know you're not ready to be out to your family." Toby caught his breath, and let it out when Will's soft, predictable reply echoed in the dark of the car.

"I'm not gay."

"Will . . ." Toby was gentle. There was never going to be a solution there. "I just need to know what is and isn't okay for this trip." He shook his head. "I mean, even if we weren't . . . "

"Weren't what, Toby?" Will's voice was dangerous.

Toby let out a sharp laugh. "Fucking, Will. Even if we weren't fucking," he let his voice go deep and rough, "I still wouldn't be able to stop looking at you."

Will fumbled for the gear shift and popped the car into neutral, swearing as the engine revved high. "Christ, Toby, don't do that to me while I'm driving!" he cried, almost hysterical. With an angry grinding sound, he jammed the car back into gear. "That?Not okay for this trip."

Toby leaned back against the seat with a sigh. "Understood. No touching, no looking. And definitely no fucking."

Will's mouth twitched, and his eyes flickered to Toby's knee. "Well. I didn't say that." He tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile at Toby's sound of disbelief. "My parents are heavy sleepers."

Toby shook his head. "You are unbelievable," he said. "I'm not sure how I feel about that. Terri's dorm room is one thing, but your parents'house?"

Will's eyebrows went up. "For that matter, how about the parking garage, huh? Or the men's john at the club in Dayton? How did you feel about those?"

"But this is different. Your parents are welcoming me as a guest, and I don't know how I feel about debauchingtheir son in his childhood bedroom." But it was more than that; Toby was long gone from Goose Creek, but some of his parents' and churches' lessons were hard to get rid of.

Will sighed. "I don't want to fight about this, okay? We don't have to do anythingif you don't want to." He poked Toby's knee, closer than ever to his own. "Debauching. Jeez."

Toby just moved closer and let the remainder of the miles rush past, content in his closeness to Will. He had a feeling that these moments were going to be the last peaceful ones of the whole weekend.

The minute Will pulled the car up in front of the house, the peace was shattered; the cracked asphalt driveway held a muted silvery sedan and a station wagon that was a newer model than what Will was driving. Toby hadn't gotten a foot out of the car before the front door flew open and Terri tumbled out onto the small front porch, Will's mother at her heels.

"Will!" Terri was bouncing and waving at Will, even as she threw a stony look Toby's way.

Will shot Terri a tired, patient smile. "Hey, Ter," he waved. "Mom. Happy Thanksgiving."

"Will," she exclaimed, with annoyance, "I thought I told you to wear the olive sweater. This one completely clashes with the dress I'm going to wear tonight." She looked Toby up and down. "At least hehas some taste."

"Hi, Terri," Toby said sweetly, with a smile and a little finger wave. She ignored him.

"Your mother seems to think she's going to direct our activities this afternoon," she said, through gritted teeth.

Will just ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "She hasn't seen me since August, Ter. Give her some slack. Please."

His mother sighed from somewhere behind them. "Thanksgiving isa family holiday, Terri."

Terri didn't look anywhere but at Will. "I am family. If Toby," she shifted her angry glaze briefly in his direction, "is family enough to stay here, then I'm family enough to get some say in what we do this afternoon."

"Don't forget Brad and Andi and Laurie," said Toby airily. "They're on their way; I invited them for my famous pecan pie. They can be family, too, right?"

Will stared helplessly at Toby, while Terri stormed off to the house. "What was that for?" he hissed at Toby, who shrugged and waved him off.

"She's just being pissy," he said. "Trust me, it'll be better this way, with them here. Like a buffer." Toby grabbed his bag from the back seat, and headed up the walk and into the house.

It was bigger than his home in Goose Creek, but not by much. Even so, everything was neat and clean and exactly what Toby had expected. He was especially tickled by the "Gallery of Will" snaking its way, from newborn to high school, up the wall by the stairs. He lingered over the pictures, and thought that the Will on that wall was nothing like hisWill, but that didn't make the pictures any less important. All of it, the pictures, the house, Will's mother, was a part of him, and they were all pieces of things that would only help Toby learn more about Will.

Will showed him to the guest room, and then crossed the hall to his own room. Toby busied himself with unpacking his overnight bag over the muted noise of Terri railing about something in the kitchen. He was just finishing up when Will knocked softly on the door frame.

"I don't want to abandon you with my parents right away, but I think maybe it's best if I get Terri out of the house for a little while." He looked sheepish, like he'd failed at something.

Toby nodded gently. "That might be for the best. I know she and I will likely strangle each other. But Will?"

"Yeah?"

"Terri and your mama don't seem to like each other very much." He saw something defiant flash across Will's eyes before it gave way to openness.

"No, they don't. They're both too . . . strong . . . to get along really well." Will looked down at his shoes. "Besides, I think my mom is still convinced that Terri is using me for my popularity."

"But-" Toby began. Will put up a hand to stop him.

"I know. You and I both know I was never popular. Even dating Terri didn't help. But my mother doesn't understand that, so I just let her go on believing that I was McKinley's golden boy." Will shrugged in a what are you gonna do?gesture. "So, yeah. I think I'm going to take Terri for coffee. Will you be okay?"

Toby nodded. "I think I'm gonna see if your mama needs any help. Or maybe," he grinned at Will, "I'll make my pie." He let the word dribble off his tongue, slow like molasses, in the way that turned Will to Jell-O. He waited a second, and watched as Will slid down against the door. Toby thought his smile looked a little forced, and he could hear a faint groan float across the distance between them. Sweet, Toby thought, with relish. Score one for me.

Toby knew from his childhood that you could tell a lot about a person, and their family, by their kitchen. Will's mother kept hers clean, but not pristine. It was a kitchen that was used and loved, and he felt a little funny intruding. Will's mom was at the stove, her back to the door.

"Mrs. Schuester?" She turned, a wooden spoon in her hand.

"Yes. Toby." Her eyes were cautious, passing over his slender frame, on the edge of judgemental.

He kept his voice as gentle and unassuming as possible. "I wanted to offer to help in any way I could," he said, smiling disarmingly. "At my house, my grandma and me, we would be makin' her pecan pie 'right about now. I thought, maybe, it might be a good addition to the table, if that's not presumin' too much."

Her face relaxed a fraction, and she smiled at him in a reserved way that was so much like Will. "That would be lovely. I love pie, especially pecan, but I've stuck with cakes all these years since my mother passed." She shook her head. "I just can't get the pie crust right. She always used lard."

Toby moved slowly over to the table. "No need for lard. Just enough fat, and really cold water. And," he looked at her and let his eyes twinkle, "the secret ingredient."

"Which is?" She set her spoon back into the pot of potatoes and watched him, less wary now.

"Lemon juice. Any acid will do, really, but I like lemon juice because it smells better than vinegar." He wrinkled his nose, and got an actual smile in response.

"Would it bother you if I . . . ?" her voice trailed off, but he followed her gaze to the tabletop.

"Would you like to watch?"

"Yes. Please?"

Toby nodded. "I've missed havin' my grandma to bake with." He busied himself with the the flour canister, being careful not to get it all over the table as he measured swiftly into a plastic mixing bowl.

"Is she . . . gone?" Mrs. Schuester moved over to the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of lemonade.

"No, ma'am." Toby wasn't sure what, if anything, Will had told his parents about his lack of a home situation. "I mean, she might be, now. I ain't lived with my family in a long time."

"Why not?"

"Butter?" he said, not looking at her. Mrs. Schuester pulled a pound out of the fridge and held it up.

"How much?"

"Half a stick for half the dough. Unless we're making more than one pie?" He reached his hand out for the stick she held out.

She shook her head. "No. I'm planning a pineapple upside down cake, too, and it's only the four of us for dinner. It's Will's favorite." She smiled, and Toby could almost see the image of Will, like a beacon in her head. "Will said that Brad and his... friends might come for dessert?"

Toby nodded as he cut the butter into tiny squares. "I'll call them later and find out for sure, but that should still be plenty." He looked over at her again. "Do you have Crisco?"

"Yes. I use it for my fried chicken."

Toby sighed and closed his eyes for a moment before whispering his reply. "So did my mama."

"If you'd like," Mrs. Schuester's voice was gentle, "I could make some, on Saturday. And then you could take some leftovers back to school."

Toby blinked back unexpected tears. "Thank you, Ma'am. I'd like that."

"Call me Deborah, dear." Her kindness settled over Toby, but he still smiled sadly and shook his head.

"I'll try, but it's not so easy to take the Kentucky outta this boy. My mama raised me right. Ma'am." He scooped two tablespoons of Crisco on top of the butter, and stuck his hands into the mixing bowl. Will's mom frowned at him, and offered up her pastry cutter, but Toby shook his head. "My grandma always told me that God gave her hands for a reason."

Will's mother regarded Toby with speculative eyes. "You know, you're not what I expected, Toby."

Toby looked at her sideways as he rubbed the butter and shortening into the flour, sugar, and salt. "Pardon me, ma'am, but what did you expect?"

"Well. You're, um . . . I thought you were . . ."

"A homosexual?" He watched her eyes carefully, but she only looked away for a moment before nodding and returning his gaze. He nodded, too. "Yes, ma'am, I am."

"Is that why you don't see your family?" Toby held back his startled expression. Will had told him lots of things about his mother; Toby had been expecting the domineering, controlling woman he'd heard so much about, not this reserved but still friendly woman who was watching him make pie dough.

"Partly." Toby shook his head at the memory. "I didn't have a lot of fans as a kid. Goose Creek, Kentucky is a damn sight smaller than Lima, Ohio. Good people, but they don't hold much for difference."

Now her eyes were pained. "You... they hurt you?"

"I had a few too many encounters with fists and boots, and too little bravery, for my daddy's likin'. And then he and mama - well, let's just leave it that it was easier and safer for me to move on than to make everyone else change for me."

Deborah's eyes were wide. "Where did you go?"

Toby rinsed his hands in the sink and filled a measuring cup with the coldest tap water he could get. He crossed to the freezer and tossed a handful of ice cubes into the cup, and then paused for a moment.

"Lemon juice is in the fridge, Toby." Deborah's voice cut through the silence and his own echoing thoughts.

"Thank you." He moved back to the table and added a tablespoon of juice to the bowl. He dripped the cold water slowly with his left hand, and worked the dough with his right. "I went down to Louisville, lived in a shelter there. When I was old enough, I got my GED, and some work with the opera company there, and a regional ballet company. I have a scholarship, for school. I get on fine." He poked at the dough, judged it ready, and glanced around the kitchen. "Plastic wrap? And a rolling pin?"

Deborah nodded, and busied herself opening drawers and cupboards. When she turned back to him, her arms were full with the roll of plastic wrap, a heavy wood rolling pin, and a cobalt blue glass pie plate.

Toby ran his finger lightly over the fluted edge of the plate. "It's beautiful."

Deborah nodded. "It was my mother's." She set it down and put her hand on his arm. Toby looked at her, startled, and waited while she collected her thoughts. It was like watching Will, and it was hard not to be moved by their similarities.

"You two... you and Will. You've been friends a long time now."

Toby nodded. "Since those days at music camp. Almost ten years, now."

"Will's not... well, he'snot...?" She looked up at him, clearly afraid of his answer. Toby made himself smile and shook his head.

"He's gonna marry Terri someday, you just wait." Toby held his breath a moment, hoping that Deborah didn't catch his deflection.

"Oh. Honestly, I'm not sure what would be worse." She let her hand fall to the table and shook her head. "That girl, she's nothing close to good enough for Will. And the way she walks all over him -"

Toby swallowed back a laugh, because really? Deborah wasn't one to talk about walking all over people, but Toby knew how to be a good house guest so he just worked on settling the pie dough in between two layers of plastic wrap and rolling it out to fit the pie plate. He was just about to peel the plastic off and flip the dough into the plate when the back door opened and Will pushed into the quiet of the kitchen. His eyes were wide and color was high in his cheeks. Toby could almost feel him shaking through the distance.

Toby kept on, losing himself for a moment in the motions of trimming the edges and rolling them under. If he really focused, he could almost feel his grandmother's hands ghosting over his, her soft voice in his six year old ear. For a neat edge, roll the dough under in one direction and flute it in the other.

Toby supposed it was all about dominance. His grandmother was left handed, and the first time Toby tried rolling counterclockwise and fluting clockwise, his crust crumbled and broke. He hadn't made a pie in years, but rolling clockwise and fluting counterclockwise settled him. He felt Deborah's eyes on his hands, taking in his practiced movements with a small sigh of contentment. He could feel other eyes, too. Will's, burning into him, all full of heat and the unexpected surprise of Toby's grace taking unseen forms. Toby let the heat wash over him, pushed the pie plate into the middle of the table, and straightened. He wiped his hands on the dish towel Deborah had given him, and smiled.

"What next?" Deborah asked, her voice rich with what Toby thought might be envy.

"Next? Well..." Toby rubbed his hands together and turned to Will, fixing him with his own heated glance and said, "We made the crust... now we have to fill her up."

Andi and Laurie climbed out of the car and immediately descended on Will with hugs. "Is she here?" Laurie wanted to know. "Is she being awful?"

"Who?" Will asked.

Andi gave him a look. "Your horrible girlfriend, Will. Are she and Toby killing each other yet?"

"No - I mean, she's here, and - jeez, Andi." He tried to look hurt, but of course, she was right. "They've been very civil to each other," he added. He didn't mention they hadn't been in the same room together for more than five minutes.

"Where's Toby? I brought him a copy of the DVD of A Chorus Line. Can you believe he's never seen it?" Laurie linked arms with him as they walked up to the porch.

"He and my mom are making a pie."

"And how's that going?" Brad's voice drifted from behind them on the stairs.

Will turned and laughed. "Your ability to move as silently as your voice astounds me. And it's, um, not what I expected."

Brad got closer, and rested a hand on Laurie's shoulder as Will opened the door. "From Toby, or from your mom?"

"Either one," Will admitted, stepping through to the foyer. He dropped his voice down to a whisper. "I think she likes him."

"And this is a badthing?" Andi piped up from inside of the fleece she was pulling off over her head.

"Will? What's going on out there?" Terri's caustic voice wafted in from the family room, and Will sighed in defeat. Laurie held up her hand.

"Let me see what I can do for her," she murmured, grinning. "You guys stay here." She ducked into the family room, and they could hear Laurie's placating alto tempering Terri's shrill soprano.

"She's an angel," Will said, rubbing his forehead, making Andi laugh. "I just spent thirty minutes listening to her tell me why cheer pyramids can only be three stories high, not four, not two... it was agony, I have to admit."

"So what's wrong with your mom liking Toby, again?" Brad wanted to know.

Will glanced at the kitchen door, as though something horrible was going to come bursting out at any moment, but there was silence. "My mother will inevitably say something embarrassingly awful to him," he said. "And if he thinks she's... nice,he's going to let his guard down." He shook his head, leaning heavily against the wall. "Toby - I don't quite know how, but he seems to think the best of people. Even horrible people."

"Is she really that horrible?" Brad's smile was generous. "She never struck me as all that bad."

Andi looked at him like he was a creature from another planet. "You're an idiot, Brad. She's demon spawn. Just like Terri. Will, you know it's true."

"Thanks," said Will, and this time he did look hurt. "My mother has no idea what to do with someone like Toby."

"Apparently, she makes pie with them," Toby said, stepping through the kitchen door. He looked calm and cheerful, and was holding a plate of dinner samples. "And tells all kindsof stories about her son when he was a boy. The dirt, Will, the dirt..."

Andi cackled and pushed Will into the kitchen, placing a finger on his jaw to shut his mouth, which was hanging open. "Aaaand we'll be in here with the demon spawn."

Toby cleared his throat as he made his way down the basement stairs. "Mr. Schuester?"

"Yeah." Will's dad's voice was gentle. Toby didn't remember much about him from the few times he'd seen Will's parents at camp, aside from the fact that he seemed quiet, and his eyes were kind.

"Mrs.- Deborah- fixed a plate for you. She said you might like to sample the cookin'."

Toby hit the bottom of the stairs and pulled up short. One full wall of the room was a mass of radios and parts. Will's dad was sitting in a rolling office chair in front of some kind of walkie talkie or microphone. Toby could hear scratchy, staticky voices in the air. "Sorry, sir, I don't mean to interrupt."

"Call me Barry, son, and a plate of Deborah's cooking is no interruption." He gestured for Toby to come closer. "You're Will's friend, from camp. He said you were coming this year."

"Yessir." Toby's only real experience with dads had been his own, and he thought that maybe his experiences weren't the best. Even so, it took him a few moments to relax. He waited while Barry took a fork of stuffing, and then a fork of potato, before posing the question that was rolling in his head. "What's all this?"

"You've never seen a ham radio?"

Toby shook his head. "No sir. My daddy was more the huntin' and sports type." He could feel Barry's eyes on him, taking him in and formulating thoughts.

"You don't strike me as either of those things. Like my Will." He shook his head softly. "Deborah, she wanted him in football and all, but he never took to it. But his voice, well. Of course, once it was clear where his talent lay, Deborah . . .." He let out a soft sigh. "She just wants the best for him, I know that."

Toby spoke without really thinking. "Will's a good man. A good friend. He's doin' jus' fine."

Barry set his now-empty plate down and turned his gentle eyes to Toby. There was a fierceness behind them, protective and bright. "But is he happy?"

"I think . . .," Toby paused to gather himself. "I think he's learnin'. Sometimes it takes a while, to find your happiness."

"Will . . . he's, um, happy, with you. Isn't he?"

Toby swallowed into the silence. "I think you'd have to ask Will about that."

Barry sighed. "Will doesn't like to talk about things like that. That's why I'm asking you."

"I can't answer for Will, sir." I won't; I don't believe in outing, and I'd never do that to Will.

Barry looked at Toby like he didn't believe a word of his deflection. "How about for yourself? Have you found your happiness yet?"

Toby fixed Barry with a crooked smile. "I'm still searchin', too, but I get closer all the time."

Barry held up a hand, clicked a few buttons, and spoke into the radio. More crackly voices echoed back. Barry nodded at Toby, and slid a metal folding chair out from against the wall behind him. "Pull up a chair, son. Got some friends who'd like to meet the boy who makes my son so happy. Let me teach you about these radios, here."