Talk Turkey (2 page)

“Depends on your definition of ridiculous. But me? I’d go at least ten. Maybe even twelve. I mean, turkey Manhattans, turkey soup, turkey tacos, barbecued turkey—the options are endless. Turkey is a very versatile and healthy source of protein.”

Carson’s stomach gave a weak grumble at the mention of food. He’d happily eat any of those things right now. Especially if Tom was the one cooking it. If the food he made tasted half as delicious as his voice sounded, Carson would be in heaven.

“I’m not much of a cook,” Carson admitted, regretful about that for the first time ever. Maybe if he knew how to cook, he’d have a reason to keep Tom on the line. Carson didn’t mind eating take-out, and when he did tire of it, he had the cookbook full of easy-to-prepare meals his mom had given him when he’d moved out and started college. Not the kind of things he could talk to Tom about, though.

Tom sucked in a breath. “A turkey’s fairly easy, but it’s not where I’d have a newbie cook start. Maybe a turkey breast is a better choice. A lot of them even come precooked. You just have to warm them up.”

That sounded much more up Carson’s alley, but he’d made his mother a promise and he was sticking with it. “I’m invested in the whole turkey. Can’t stuff pats of butter and herbs under the skin of a breast, right?”

Tom laughed. “No, I suppose not. I’ll send you our booklet of tips, then. Don’t hesitate to call again if you run into trouble.”

Carson knew a brush-off when he heard one, and he reluctantly let himself be herded off the phone. “Thanks. You’ve been a big help.”

“How would you rate my service on a scale of one to ten, with ten being excellent?”

Carson usually hated customer service surveys, but any excuse to keep Tom and his honeyed voice on the line longer was fine with him. “Ten.”

“Aw, thank you. Using the same scale, please rate my ability to answer your question.”

“Ten,” Carson said again, feeling a little self-conscious.

“And last one. How likely are you to call the Talk Turkey hotline again, based on your experience today?”

“Ten.”

“Thank you for your feedback. I’m glad I was able to help today.”

Carson bit back a sigh. There was no question that the call was ending now. “I’ll definitely call again. Thanks.”

“Hey,” Tom said right as Carson was about to hang up. “Let me give you my direct number. For those future questions, you know. We Northern Cali boys have to stick together.”

Carson flushed, a grin spreading across his face.

T
HE
OFFICE
looked like it had been decorated by a deranged elf. Tinsel hung off all the cubicle walls, and the small space that used to be an employee break room was now full of holiday ephemera, like a gaudy silver Christmas tree covered in stock symbol ornaments and a lopsided Menorah that looked like it had seen better days. There were even felt stockings with their names spelled out in glitter glue hanging across the top of the doorway.

Other departments had gotten to have swanky dinners out in tastefully decorated, expensive restaurants for their holiday parties. Carson had heard someone from marketing talking about a special Christmas tasting menu at what he recognized as one of the city’s trendiest restaurants.

But his department? Nope.

They got stockings filled with chocolate coins and a Secret Santa exchange that had been pure agony for Carson, since they’d handed out names in November, before he’d started working there. No one had seemed to notice until half of the gifts had been given out, with Carson sitting there red-faced because he’d realized right away. There had been awkward apologies from his boss and half-assed ones from his colleagues, and Carson had wished a hole would open up and just swallow him and the ridiculous Santa hat he’d been forced to wear.

And now it was snowing, because of course it was. So he was both wet and freezing as he trudged home from the L, the sick feeling of mortification gone but replaced with a gnawing homesickness that was so strong, he was tempted to just hop on a plane and damn the consequences.

His mom had texted him a recipe for brine this morning. Apparently some people dunked their turkey in a vat of salty water before cooking it. He laughed humorlessly as he thought about his tiny kitchen. The only place he’d be able to brine a turkey would be his rusty bathtub, where he’d be more likely to infuse it with tetanus than salt.

But she’d been so excited to share recipes, with pictures, with him and so confident that he’d be able to make Christmas dinner on his own. Which was why he was headed to Safeway, even though he ought to be at home with a pair of flannel pajamas and dry socks.

His shoes squeaked against the linoleum as he made his way back to the turkeys. They were significantly more picked over than they had been last week, and Carson kicked himself for not going back right after he’d talked to Tom and getting one. All the small ones were gone, leaving Carson to choose between large and gargantuan.

He took out his phone and dialed Tom’s direct number for the third time since he’d gotten it. They’d talked about recipes, ethical turkey farming, the dangers of antibiotics in bird feed, and anything else Carson could come up with as a thin excuse to call. Tom was the longest relationship he’d had in months. How pathetic was that?

Still, it didn’t stop him from calling.

“Why, hello, good sir,” Tom answered. “How are you on this lovely, snowy night?”

Carson balked a little at the greeting, looking outside. Was it just a coincidence, or had Tom known it was snowing? Carson swallowed. Tom probably didn’t have any idea it was snowing in Chicago. He’d looked up the area code Tom had given him after their last call, and it was a Minnesota number. It was a fair bet that if it was snowing in Chicago, it was snowing up there. It was probably
always
snowing up there. Carson shivered, unwilling to fathom a place colder than the hell on Earth that was currently Chicago.

“Carson?” Tom sounded unsure.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. I’m at the grocery store and I’m a little overwhelmed by all my turkey choices,” Carson babbled. It was true, it just wasn’t the reason he was so out of whack.

“Ah, I see. Well, how can I help?” Tom sounded more professional now, less at ease. Carson winced. Had he offended Tom by going straight to business?

“I put off getting my turkey….”

“And now only unsuitable ones are left,” Tom said knowingly. “Did you get the pamphlets I sent?”

He had. It had been the first piece of mail that wasn’t a bill that Carson had received at his new address, but admitting how excited he’d been to open the envelope seemed silly. “Yeah.
How to Thaw
was riveting.”

Tom snorted. “Personally I find
Basting Basics
to be the gem of that lot, but tastes differ.”

The hard pit that had been in Carson’s stomach since the horrendous office Christmas party eased a bit at Tom’s comfortable cajolery. Why couldn’t he talk this easily with the people in his department at work?

“I’m saving
Trussing Techniques
for later. It sounded a bit racy,” he said, grinning when Tom started laughing.

“Oh God. Bedtime reading for sure,” he said, taking a gasping breath. “You make it sound like
Fifty Shades of Grey
for turkeys.”

“Could be,” Carson said, still smiling. “I’ve never read either, so how would I know?”

“Clearly you need to read both now. For science,” Tom said, still sounding a bit choked.

“I think it would be for literature, not for science. Besides, turkeys don’t have hands. I don’t see how they’d be able to tie a decent knot, let alone wield a paddle.”

Tom made a wheezing sound. “You’re killing me.”

“Done in by turkey porn. What a way to go,” Carson murmured, lowering his voice since his last comment had earned him a few curious stares from shoppers.

Tom made a pained hiccupping sound that had Carson wincing on his behalf. A muted voice in the background asked if Tom was okay.

“Oh shit. I’m not getting you in trouble, am I?” Carson asked, suddenly remembering Tom was at work. For all he knew, there was a gaggle of coworkers crowded around Tom’s desk watching him right now. Maybe even his boss.

Tom devolved into another gale of laughter, but Carson didn’t hear anyone in the background again, so he figured it must be all right. “No, no, it’s fine,” Tom finally said, gasping a bit for breath as his giggles subsided. “I’m sorry. It’s just, turkey porn,” he managed before letting out another soft laugh.

Carson bit his lip to keep from laughing himself. One of the stock clerks was already giving him a strange look for being in the turkey aisle for so long—if he devolved into the kind of hysterical laughter Tom had, he’d probably get thrown out.

“Okay, okay,” Tom said lowly, and Carson wondered if he’d been meant to hear that or if Tom was just talking to himself, trying to regain his composure. Carson also wondered what he looked like. He sounded handsome, but that didn’t mean anything. “So what sizes are left? And are they fresh or frozen? At this stage, you might not have enough time to refrigerator-thaw if the bird is too big, and I doubt you have the time to babysit a frozen turkey in a cooler.”

Carson had actually read the
How to Thaw
pamphlet in a fit of boredom. Tom was right. The cooler method was definitely more work than he could handle. “Uh, frozen. And the smallest one is—” Carson opened the freezer door and plucked at the tag of what looked like the most likely candidate. “—seventeen pounds.”

He could hear the click of keys as Tom typed. “You’re good. That will take about four or five days to thaw in the refrigerator, so you’ll be all set by Christmas. You’re making it on Christmas, right?”

Carson’s family always had their big meal on Christmas Eve, but he’d planned to make his on Christmas Day so it didn’t interfere with him Skyping with them during theirs. His mom had been all teary over him starting a new tradition of his own, but really it was just that he didn’t want to be worrying about burning the turkey while he was talking to his family. He hadn’t expected to miss them this much. It was worse than it had been when he’d gone away to college, probably because he was so lonely. At least college had come with ready-made friends, thanks to dorm living.

“Yeah. I don’t want to get up at crazy o’clock to start cooking, so it’ll probably be dinner time.”

Tom laughed. “I get it, man. Waking up at six to put a turkey in the oven is the worst.”

Carson planned to sleep in as late as possible on Christmas Day. That way it would be over sooner, and life could go back to normal without the depressing holiday atmosphere. He’d never noticed how long the Christmas season dragged on before. Of course, he’d never been alone during it before either. He was probably the only one in his office who was viewing the week they had off between Christmas and New Year’s with dread.

“Okay, so I’m fine to get this one, then? And I just put it straight in the refrigerator when I get home?”

Tom hummed in affirmation. “Do you have a roast rack? Put it up on that with the pan under it so any liquid doesn’t pool on the bird.”

Carson bit his lip and paused, half in and half out of the freezer as he reached for the turkey. “Roast rack?”

“You know, something to hold the turkey up out of its juices while it cooks? It probably came with your roasting pan. Most are sold as sets these days.”

Which might be helpful if he actually had a roasting pan. “Er,” he said, torn between admitting his inadequacy and pretending he knew what Tom was talking about. Admitting he didn’t have one felt like it would be letting Tom down.

“Carson,” Tom said slowly. “What were you planning to cook the turkey in?”

Carson hauled the rock-hard turkey out of the freezer and let it drop into the bottom of his cart with a rattling thud. “The oven?”

Carson couldn’t tell if Tom’s gusty sigh was exasperation or a whispered prayer for patience. “And what were you going to do, just stick the turkey on the oven grate?”

In his own defense, his oven was tiny. Carson wasn’t sure how he would fit a pan
and
a turkey in there at once.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Tom muttered.

“Do you talk like that to all your callers?” Carson couldn’t help but ask, a little stung.

“Only the ones who admit they were going to stick a turkey in the oven without a pan. Jesus, Carson, you’ll burn your apartment down! That’s dangerous! Whether you have gas or electric, uncontained turkey fat in the oven means fire. Promise me you’ll get a pan or forget the turkey.” Tom’s tone was steeped in worry, which was a balm to Carson’s hurt pride.

“I’ll get a pan,” he mumbled.

Tom let out a long breath. “Good. It doesn’t have to be super fancy. Whatever grocery store you’re in probably has one that will do. It should be big enough to put the turkey in comfortably, and bonus if it comes with one of those racks we were talking about. If it doesn’t, you can get away with propping the turkey up on an upside down plate while you thaw it and put it on a bed of veggies when you roast it.”

Carson had no intention of letting Tom off the phone until Tom hung up himself, so he kept chatting as he wheeled the cart out of the frozen foods section. “What part of the store would it be in?”

“Usually the baking aisle. Get one that’s sturdy, not one of the disposable aluminum ones. I got a lot of calls at Thanksgiving about those breaking when people were taking turkeys in or out of the oven.”

Carson squinted at the signs hanging from the ceiling and pointed himself toward the one that said baking supplies. “Is this your first season with the turkey hotline?”

Carson could tell Tom’s bark of laughter was derisive. He had a very expressive voice. Carson liked that.

“First and last, I would imagine. But I needed the extra money for the holidays, and it’s convenient.”

Carson’s stomach dipped a bit. He knew the turkey hotline was only around for November and December, but he hadn’t quite thought that through to its natural conclusion—that after next week, he wouldn’t be able to talk to Tom anymore.