Afterward, I text him: When you said vchat, I thought you meant just us.
My phone immediately vibrates with a request to chat. I pop my headphones back in.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“What’s good?”
“Not much.” Seeing you. “The game was fun. Do you always do that on holidays?”
Matt shrugs with his lips. “When we can. If we feel like it.”
“How’s your Thanksgiving?” I ask.
He raises a finger. “Turkey coma, party of one.”
We laugh. He’s at his grandparents’ house in Michigan. The decor looks ripped out of the eighties.
Matt sips from a large mug shaped like a turkey. The beak and its beady little eyes rise up in the camera view, with a hint of tail feathers in the back.
“Wow, that’s … a piece of drinkware.” It feels like I’m grinning like a fool.
“Just a little holiday cheer.” He raises the mug to me, turning it around so I can get the full effect. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I echo. “How did we not mock you for that mug in the group chat? That should’ve been a dominant thread.”
Matt grins. “I was careful to hide it. I know how y’all get.”
“Clever boy.” I do the voice as best I can. Maybe he gets the Jurassic Park reference, maybe he doesn’t.
“When are you home?” he asks, a yawn slipping in. “Sorry, I’m wiped.”
“Tomorrow. You?”
“Saturday night.” He drains the mug and rests his head against the plaid-striped cushion behind him. “Can’t come soon enough.”
“So … see you Monday?”
Matt yawns and winks. “If not sooner.”