Porcelain ♡ Frerard

Chapter 10

Hello! Bet you didn't expect for this to be updated today. Please leave comments, even the dumbest thing that comes to your mind while reading a specific sentence, I absolutely love it. 

— 

"Come to me, trust in your dream. Come on and rescue me. Yes I have known, I can be wrong. Maybe I'm too headstrong; our love is madness."

— 'Madness' by Muse. 

Thanksgiving arrived after a surplus of blurred days, inspiring Frank to awaken earlier than normal to begin preparing his recipe for a honeyed ham his mother preferred over turkey and his countless other sides he'd be stirring up that day. To his relief, his mother was an alleged master of mashed potatoes and sautéed veggies, simpler treats that didn't involve such hazardous preparations. Still, as they quietly waltzed around the kitchen going about their precise recipes, Frank kept a careful eye on her to assure she wouldn't run into trouble during her ministrations, finding he was pleasantly surprised by the natural motions of her skill as she skinned the potatoes and seasoned the veggies in a large bowl as she waited for the water to boil. He supposed getting the hang of a singular recipe couldn't have been too difficult even for those who weren't kitchen-savvy. 

They spread out their dishes on the table during the later afternoon, varying from steaming platters of greens to glazed honeyed ham resting at the very center of the table in a specially crafted china plate Linda only brought out for the most extravagant of holidays. Frank proudly rested his yams and vegan mac and cheese beside his mother's contributions, piling their plates as his mouth watered, a consequence of the appetite he built all day long in order to devour as much as he possibly could for dinner, vowing he wouldn't stop until he swore his gut was about to burst. 

Linda's was a tad lenient and misty-eyed at the table to be celebrating a holiday with her son for the first time in too long, filling Frank's glass midway with red wine and only offering a brief warning that she wouldn't tolerate requests for more since she was already being gracious. Frank, ecstatic and ravenous, happily dug into his food beside his mother and savored every mouthful of expensive wine Linda purchased weeks prior since their grocery stores tended to run low on the best brands and most conveniently sized bottles the closer they drifted to Thanksgiving. 

Dining in comfortable quiet accompanied by the comforting sound of Frank Sinatra streaming quietly from the television, Frank's phone which he forgot to silence after laying it on the counter dinged thrice, causing him to pause for a moment just before he shoveled another small pile of fluffy potatoes into his mouth. Color burst over his cheeks and he quickly looked down, taking his mouthful and pretending he hadn't heard the messages. 

"That your dad?" Linda asked curiously, swirling her wine in her glass. 

"Um . . . probably. Maybe he's filling me in on what he's getting up to today." Frank went along with Linda's assumption, the sound of it coming out far squeakier than he intended. He cleared his throat, lightly thumping his chest with a loosely curled fist to act as though the reason for his higher pitch was all physical. 

"What's that blush for then?" Linda teasingly remarked as she caught the infamous Iero flush brightening the color in Frank's face, the revealer of all secrets and masked emotion. 

"It's really nothing, mom. I just— I was just remembering something embarrassing." 

"Hmm . . . you don't think I've noticed how much you've been texting and checking your phone these past few days?" 

Frank nearly choked while swallowing down a clump of veggies. His face was burning unbelievably hot, Frank realized he'd hit a wall in making up sore excuses when his mother was way more observant than he gave her credit for. Much to his despair. Frank was aware of how checking his phone for messages was becoming habitual, as much as he knew the way his heart took off in a stumbling sprint each time an incoming ding alerted him of a new response leaving him frantically reaching for his phone. His elated heart would fall if any message was from someone he hadn't anticipated greatly, only to swallow down a fluttering breath as the person he longed to talk to finally messaged him back as his fingers flew over the screen in response to one of his friends.