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I wake up the next time to Rex shifting beneath me. I sit up and look around the darkened room.
“Will gone?”
“Yeah, he just left,” Rex says, smoothing my messy hair back from my face. He stands up and reaches out a hand, pulling me up. I rest my forehead on Rex’s chest to stop my head from spinning. I guess I was a little drunk after all. Rex strokes my back gently.
“He’s not so bad, I guess,” I say into Rex’s chest.
“He said the same about you,” Rex says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
Chapter 12
November
ON WEDNESDAY afternoon I’m in my office, trying to get some work done on one of my book chapters, and am more than happy for the interruption of my phone ringing.
“What’s the good news?” Ginger asks. She’s been texting me for days, trying to convince me to come home for Thanksgiving.
“I can’t come for Thanksgiving, Ginge. I’m sorry. There isn’t time to drive and I definitely can’t afford to fly. I’ll come for Christmas, though—sorry, Chanukah.”
“Bummer, babycakes,” she says. “Who will I eat Thanksgiving burritos with?” We usually get these amazing burritos with turkey, sweet potato, stuffing, and cranberry sauce from a weird hole-in-the-wall place near Ginger’s and listen to Elvis (at Ginger’s insistence) on Thanksgiving.
“Maybe I’ll keep the shop open and only give Thanksgiving-themed tattoos. But, like, literal ones. Like, I’ll tattoo turkeys, Thanksgiving foods, the genocide of indigenous peoples, et cetera. Whattaya think?”
“I like it. Maybe you could also tattoo Wednesday Addams as Pocahontas from that Addams Family movie where they go to camp and are tortured by Disney movies.”
“Good one!”
“Sorry, Ginge, really.”
“No worries, pumpkin. I know money’s tight. If I could afford to fly you out, I would. But if you abandon me for Chanukah, I’ll Jewish-guilt you until you’re dead. I need your ass on my couch, eating Chinese food and listening to Christmas music, or our friendship is basically over. And, lucky you, Chanukah goes all the way up until Christmas this year, so your schedule should be fine.”
“I’ll be there,” I tell her. Chanukah at Ginger’s is one of my favorite traditions, even though I hate Christmas music. Ginger thinks it’s cruel and unusual that there is no Chanukah music and she’s not one for klezmer or Adam Sandler, so she’s reclaimed Christmas music. She even rewrote some of the lyrics.
“So, are you having Thanksgiving at Rex’s?”
“I don’t know. It hasn’t come up.”
“Well, is he going to be in town or does he go visit family?”
“He doesn’t have any.”
“Family? What happened?”
“He didn’t know his dad, he’s an only child, and his mom died when he was a teenager. Actually, except for Will, I haven’t even met any of his friends. I’m not sure he has many.”
“That’s sad.” Ginger and I both have fraught relationships with our families, but at least we have them.
“Do you think I should ask him? I mean, I don’t know if I should bring it up. Maybe holidays make him sad, or maybe it would seem like I’m trying to invite myself over, or what if—”
“Um, Daniel. Those are kind of the things you’re supposed to talk about in a relationship.”
“Oh, right. Sure.”
Maybe I’d rather go back to my book after all.
“DANIEL!” LEO exclaims as I walk through the door of Mr. Zoo’s.
“Hey, man,” I say.
“Need more tapes?” Leo asks with a cheeky smile.
“No, but you might want to check your cases. Some Pet Shop Boys fan is going to be surprised by a John Hiatt album. I’m looking for a record.”
“But I thought you didn’t have a record player?”
Jesus, does this kid remember every goddamned thing I say?
“It’s, uh, for Rex.”
“Aw, Rex,” Leo coos.
“Careful there, kiddo. At least I can remain upright in his presence, which is more than I can say for you when Will is around.”
Leo turns a satisfying shade of red.
“Um, the records are over there,” he mutters, pointing.
I flip through them, looking for something special. Something that Rex would love. I can’t quite figure his taste yet. Everything he listens to is old, passed down from his mom, but he likes Tori Amos and he’s seemed to know several other bands I’ve mentioned. I consider getting him a few things I really like, but I’m not sure he’ll like them. I linger over an Etta James album and a Lou Reed, then consider some of the bands I first saw play live, but that seems sappy. I finally decide on an Emmylou Harris record and take it up to Leo.
“So, what’s the occasion?” Leo asks.
“No occasion. He just did something nice and I want to say thank you.” Jesus, it sounds like I’m describing National Secretaries Day or something.
“That’s nice of you. What did he do?”
Leo seems to have no clue that certain things are none of his business, but the kid is growing on me, and it’s not like it’s particularly personal.
