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“It’s just so soothing,” Henry says. “Everything’s all pastel-colored and the music is so relaxing and everyone’s so lovely to one another. And you learn so much about different types of biscuits, Alex. So much. When the world seems awful, such as when you’re trapped in a Great Turkey Calamity, you can put it on and vanish into biscuit land.”
“American cooking competition shows are nothing like that. They’re all sweaty and, like, dramatic death music and intense camera cuts,” Alex says. “Bake OffmakesChoppedlook like the fucking Manson tapes.”
“I feel like this explains loads about our differences,” Henry says, and Alex gives a small laugh.
“You know,” Alex says. “You’re kind of surprising.”
Henry pauses. “In what way?”
“In that you’re not a totally boring asshole.”
“Wow,” Henry says with a laugh. “I’m honored.”
“I guess you have your depths.”
“You thought I was a dumb blond, didn’t you?”
“Not exactly, just,boring,” Alex says. “I mean, your dog is named David, which is pretty boring.”
“After Bowie.”
“I—” Alex’s head spins, recalibrating. “Are you serious? What the hell? Why not call him Bowie, then?”
“Bit on the nose, isn’t it?” Henry says. “A man should have some element of mystery.”
“I guess,” Alex says. Then, because he can’t stop it in time, lets out a tremendous yawn. He’s been up since seven for a run before class. If these turkeys don’t end him, exhaustion will.
“Alex,” Henry says firmly.
“What?”
“The turkeys are not going toJurassic Parkyou,” he says. “You’re not the bloke fromSeinfeld.You’re Jeff Goldblum. Go to sleep.”
Alex bites down a smile that feels bigger than the sentence has truly earned. “You go to sleep.”
“I will,” Henry says, and Alex thinks he hears the weirdsmile returned in Henry’s voice, and honestly, this whole night is really, really weird, “as soon as you get off the phone, won’t I?”
“Okay,” Alex says, “but, like, what if they gobble again?”
“Go sleep in June’s room, you numpty.”
“Okay,” Alex says.
“Okay,” Henry agrees.
“Okay,” Alex says again. He’s suddenly very aware they’ve never spoken on the phone before, and so he’s never had to figure out how to hang up the phone with Henry before. He’s at a loss. But he’s still smiling. Cornbread is staring at him like he doesn’t get it.Me fuckin’ too, buddy.
“Okay,” Henry repeats. “So. Good night.”
“Cool,” Alex says lamely. “Good night.”
He hangs up and stares at the phone in his hand, as if it should explain the static electricity in the air around him.
He shakes it off, gathers up his pillow and a bundle of clothes, and crosses the hall to June’s room, climbing up into her tall bed. But he can’t stop thinking there’s some end left loose.
He takes his phone back out.i sent pics of turkeys so i deserve pics of your animals too.
A minute and a half later: Henry, in a massive, palatial, hideous bed of white and gold linens, his face looking slightly pink and recently scrubbed, with a beagle’s head on one side of his pillow and an obese Siamese cat curled up on the other around a Jaffa Cake wrapper. He’s got faint circles under his eyes, but his face is soft and amused, one hand resting above his head on the pillow while the other holds up the phone for the selfie.
