The phone had appeared on his nightstand the first night he and Dustin had returned to the apartment. A gift from his new boss, apparently. The contacts list contained exactly three entries.
Dustin.
Noah.
Valerie, who had immediately begun abusing the privilege.
Valerie:So how does living together work?
Greg:We tend to occupy the same space a lot.
Valerie:I know that. Is it DOMESTIC? Do you cook? Does he cook? Who does the dishes?
Greg:A lot of meals only need heating. I’m learning to use the oven. We do the dishes together.
Valerie:Adorable. Disgusting. I love it.
Greg frowned at the message, then looked around the apartment.
It was much cleaner than it had been when they arrived. Dustin had objected to the wordsystem, but Greg had created one anyway. Mail in the tray by the door. Keys in the bowl. Shoes lined up neatly beneath the coat hooks. Energy drink cans no longer reproducing on the coffee table.
On the windowsill, the nearly dead houseplant had been repotted, watered, and placed in what Dustin called “plant hospice.”
Beside it sat Greg’s Xtreme Doug keychain.
The duck wore black sunglasses and a tiny backwards cap. It was cheap, plastic, and badly painted.
And Greg loved it.
Dustin did not.
Greg picked it up now, rubbing his thumb over the little duck’s head.
“Traitor,” Dustin had said when Greg first rescued it from one of the Apex Energy merch boxes. “That duck tried to kill me.”
“This duck brought us together,” Greg had replied.
“That duck flattened me.”
“But it didn't kill you. That seems meaningful.”
Dustin had stared at him for a long time, then said, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Greg still wasn’t certain whether that meant he could keep the duck, but Dustin had not taken it away.
His phone buzzed again.
Valerie:Have you named the duck yet?
Greg looked at the keychain.
Greg:It already has a name. Xtreme Doug.
Valerie:Absolutely not. That’s a corporate name. You need a PERSONAL name.
Greg considered this seriously.
Greg:Norbert.
