Tess pads around the kitchen, getting plates and two forks –– two forks from the same set, no less! –– while the food heats up, the congealed fat and water snapping and bubbling long before the chunks of turkey heat through. She rolls her eyes to herself when her back is to him, but it's with a vague smile. Even if there was a show to go to, he would gripe the whole way through. Typical. But she won't take Con Air.

She gestures towards him with their cracked wooden spatula.

"If you ever make me watch a Nick Cage movie, I am making you sit through Save the Last Dance or something."

Not that they've had a working TV for the last couple years, but if they somehow did, they've got an old DVD player in the closet. Tess thinks about the cold nights through the earlier winters of this apartment, sometimes, when they'd while away the season with the TV set up at the foot of the bed and every blanket they owned piled up on top of them. What else was there to do?

There's a long winter ahead of them. The turkey continues to fry.