by TJ Klune
Josy shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re—oh! Because of the cookie, dude. You ate a sticker cookie!”
Quincy frowned. “What’s the big deal? Were those being saved for—”
“They have marijuana in them.”
“Oh no,” Quincy whispered. He spun around and bent over the sink, sticking his entire fist into his mouth. It did not help Josy’s newfound appreciation for all things Quincy. Especially when Quincy barely even choked on his hand.
“Ipecac!” Josy cried. “You need to drink ipecac to throw up!”
Quincy coughed as he pulled his hand from his mouth. “They haven’t made ipecac in years.”
“Really? That’s weird. Remember when we were kids and our parents sometimes gave it to us when we swallowed magnets because we wanted to see if it would give us superpowers?”
“No one did that, Josy.”
Josy’s gaze shifted side to side. “Riiiight. No one. That would just be… stupid. Okay, there has to be a way to make you throw up. Think, Josy. Think. What if—I know! Whenever I see someone throw up, it always makes me throw up.”
“And?”
“I’ll vomit for you,” Josy said seriously. “I swear, I will vomit so much for you.”
Quincy grimaced. “That doesn’t sound as helpful as you think it does.”
“What’s with all the shouting, man?” Casey said, coming back into the kitchen. “Is something on fire? Gus is going to kill me if that happened again.”
Josy whirled around. “Quincy ate one of your pot cookies!”
Casey squinted at them. “Okay. Is that, like, against his religion or something?”
“I’m not religious,” Quincy said, sounding slightly offended.
Casey shrugged. “Cool. I mean, whatever floats your boat. It shouldn’t be too bad, I don’t think. And it shouldn’t have any harmful interaction with your SSRIs.”
Josy put his face in his hands and groaned. “I totally forgot about those! We need to get him to the hospital so he can have his stomach pumped!”
“Hey,” Casey said, coming to stand in front of them. He pulled Josy’s hands away from his face. “He’s going to be fine. Quincy, have you ever consumed an edible before?”
Quincy shook his head. He looked a little pale.
“That’s okay. They weren’t strong by any stretch of the imagination, but edibles do affect people differently. It’ll take about an hour or so to kick in. It’s sativa, so it’s a head high. Happy, man. It’ll make you feel happy. I promise it’s not going to be bad. How much of the cookie did you eat?”
“Almost all of it,” Josy said frantically. “I was going to stick my fingers in his mouth to make him throw up, but he doesn’t have a gag reflex.”
Casey stared at him. “That’s… huh. All right. Well, first and foremost, Josy, calm down. You’ve consumed a hell of a lot more than is in a single cookie. You freaking out isn’t going to help, man.”
Josy nodded tightly. “Right. I have. And look at me! I’m just fine.”
“You’re wearing a tweed jacket over a shirt that says you survived the 1997 Whittemore family reunion,” Quincy pointed out.
Josy grinned. “Do you like it? I found it at a thrift store. It cost a quarter.”
Quincy mumbled how he thought it fit Josy well.
Casey sighed. “If you’re going to be stoned for the first time, then you couldn’t ask for better people to be around. We know what we’re doing. I promise. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Then his eyes widened. “Oh crap. Josy, I’m so sorry. You were going to tell him about—mmph!”
Josy kept his hand firmly on his mouth. “Casey? Can I talk to you? In the living room. Now? Like, right now?” He started dragging Casey from the kitchen. He looked back at Quincy over his shoulder. “Be right back! Don’t eat any more cookies!”
“Shit,” Casey said once they were out of earshot. “Dude, I didn’t even think. Oh man, I’m so sorry.”
Josy shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not… it’s not a big deal.”
Casey squeezed his hand. “It is, Josy. It’s a big deal for you, so it’s a big deal for all of us. You might have to wait a few more hours, but it can still happen today.”
“You don’t think it’s a sign or something?”
“Nah, man. I don’t. You guys are so meant to be. Lottie told me this morning that your auras complement each other. They, like, glow together.”
“She said that?”
Casey nodded. “Yep. And she said the same thing about me and Gus. Look how that turned out.”
Josy thought of Gus standing above a sleeping Casey, speaking of rings and love. “Yeah. I guess that turned out okay.”
“See?” Casey smiled. “It’s going to be just fine. Hell, we’ll all be able to look back at this and laugh our asses off at your fiftieth-anniversary party.”
“Oh man, we’ll be so old then.”
“Right? Still be best friends, though. I just know it. And Xander and Serge think so too. About you and Quincy, that is.”
Josy’s heart ached sweetly. “They do?”
“Yeah. I was just talking to them while getting dressed. They were asking about you. Xander told me to tell you not to fuck this up. And coming from him, that’s the biggest compliment.”
“He said we were cute because our names ended in y.”
Casey’s smile widened. “Super cute. They’re rooting for you. So are me and Gus and Lottie and the We Three Queens. And I bet Roger and Dee are too. You’ve got all of us, man. Right here behind you.”
Josy hugged him.
“Oh yeah,” Casey whispered. “Hugs are the best.” He held on tight.
“All right,” Josy said when he finally let go. “So I’ll have to wait a little bit. That’s okay. I’ll like him just as much later today as I do right now.”
Casey waggled his eyebrows. “Maybe even a little more. What’s this about not having a gag reflex?”
“You’re the worst asexual,” Josy grumbled.
“I’M NOT feeling anything,” Quincy announced as they came back into the kitchen. “I feel perfectly fine.”
“It won’t hit you yet,” Casey said. “Give it some time. You might even be one of those people that isn’t affected at all.”
“Really?” Quincy asked hopefully.
Casey shrugged. “Maybe. It happens. I mean, I think that sucks, but to each their own.”
“I won’t… hallucinate? Or something?”
“No, man. You won’t hallucinate. There isn’t a whole lot of THC in it. You’ll just feel really… good. Floaty. Like you’re a little drunk, but without having to worry about a hangover.”
Quincy gnawed on his bottom lip. His glasses were crooked, and Josy wanted to fix them. He somehow managed to keep his hands to himself. “I can deal with that.”
“I know you can,” Casey said, patting Quincy on the shoulder. “And you’ll have Josy next to you the whole time. Isn’t that right, Josy?”
“Yep!” Josy said. “Every minute. Unless you have to go to the bathroom. I’ll let you do that by yourself if you want.”
Quincy snorted. “Thanks. I think.” He looked at Josy. “Maybe it won’t be so bad. It might even be fun.”
Josy grinned. “That’s the spirit. Maybe I should eat a couple too and—”
“Nope,” Casey said, starting to pack the baked goods in Tupperware. “Today you get to be sober. Just like we talked about before. Remember?”
Right. Because of the whole I-want-to-be-your-boyfriend-forever thing. Goddammit. “I can do that,” Josy said morosely.
“I know you can. Now help me pack these up so we can load them into the car. Lottie will kill me if we’re late.”
ABBY, OREGON, was a quaint little town. Nestled high in the Cascades, it was picturesque, with big trees and rollicking streams. It had an old-fashioned charm, the buildings along Main Street made of brick with large awnings that hung over the sidewalks. The people were friendly, if a
little eccentric. People that came to visit Abby always left with a sense of happiness, promising themselves they would return as soon as they were able.
Now, it should be said that Abby, Oregon, prided itself on many things. It had two working payphones in booths that only had a little graffiti on them (and it wasn’t even offensive graffiti; one message, spray-painted in bright orange, told people that the end of days was approaching, which was nice to be warned about). Abby also had a coffee shop that made the best fruit smoothies and a video store where people could rent seminal films such as Weekend at Bernie’s II (where two men desecrated a corpse for a second time for monetary gain) and Robo Vampire (a rip-off of a still somewhat awful film about a man-turned–super robot who has to rescue a beautiful woman from the Vampire Beast). It also had a well-run library, an antique store that sold what were most likely haunted porcelain dolls, and gift shops that sold art and knickknacks created by the townspeople.
One could say that Abby, Oregon, was a near-perfect place.
But there was one thing one absolutely could not say.
And that was how Abby, Oregon, didn’t know how to throw a festival.
Because it did.
“HOLY FREAKING crap,” Josy said, sounding awed. They’d parked Gustavo’s 1995 Ford Taurus (“He lets you drive this? Man, you’re so lucky!”) behind the coffee shop. They’d filled their arms with Tupperware and walked through the back door to Lottie’s Lattes, passing through the kitchen before reaching the front dining room. And through the entryway, they could see Main Street was filled with people milling about, a couple dozen booths lining each sidewalk, the most crowded of which was for the Native American Rights Fund and another that seemed to be selling something mysterious known as Cup O’Quiche.
Streamers hung from the streetlights, and Mrs. Von Patterson had filled the windows of every business with paper turkeys and autumn leaves and cutouts of what appeared to have once been strawberries, but now had been fashioned to potentially be yams. There was a stage set up near Pastor Tommy’s Video Rental Emporium where live music would be played at some point and, for the brave soul with stones of steel, the chance to get up in front of everyone and tell them why they were thankful for No-Thanks Giving.
It was all very festive.
Except—
“Is that person dressed like a unicorn?” Josy asked. “Where have I seen that before?”
Sure enough, a man was walking down the street in rainbow tights, a white tail hanging from the back, and a horn sticking out of his head.
Quincy frowned. “That looks like the character from one of my books. Weird.”
Lottie was out in front of her store at a booth the We Three Queens had helped her build with a sign that proclaimed LOTTIE’S LATTES, WHERE WE LIKE YOU A LOTTIE. Next to her stood Gustavo, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.
Lottie glanced behind her into the store, throwing up her hands at the sight of them. She pushed open the door to the shop. “Finally! You’re late! People are craving my pastries, and I shan’t disappoint them.”
“Sorry,” Casey said. “We had a bit of an emergency.”
Lottie looked worried. “Is everything okay?”
“Uh, yeah,” Casey said. “Should be. Just… Quincy ate a pot cookie.”
Lottie blinked. “O… kay? Is that not good?”
“I’ve never tried marijuana,” Quincy said. He wasn’t as pale as he’d been before.
“Huh. Odd. I thought everyone in California smoked weed. It’s why they’re not evil and don’t vote Republican for the most part. You’ll be fine, Quincy. You’ve got some pros by your side. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” She frowned. “Although….”
That didn’t sound good. “Although what?” Josy asked.
She glanced over her shoulder. “So, here’s the thing. Do you know what geotagging is?”
Josy was so good at trivia. “It’s where things like photos posted on social media let people know where you’re at by listing your location.”
“Right,” Lottie said. “You should have a cookie.”
“No,” Casey said.
“Aw, man, but—”
“So apparently pretty much everyone in town has been posting photos from the movie,” Lottie said. “Of the cameras and the crew and the actors. And of our Quincy here.”
“Oh no,” Quincy whispered.
“Yeah,” Lottie said sympathetically. “You have very… loyal fans. So loyal, in fact, that many of them looked at the geotags, discovered where you were, went online to learn about Abby, and found out about No-Thanks Giving on the town’s website. It must have appealed to their… sense of adventure, because many decided to make the trek up the mountain to our little town. What fun! Well, I think so, anyway. Gus was told this by a man dressed as what appeared to be a sexy anthropomorphic sugar container. The man said it was from your novel Pour Some Sugar on Me: Sexy Diner Adventures. Apparently it’s a series? Good for you. I like interconnected stories.”
“Oh no,” Quincy said a little louder.
“It’s fine!” Josy said, trying to stave off Quincy’s panic attack. “They like you so much they came uninvited to a public event that’s open to everyone!”
“I can’t see them,” Quincy hissed. “I’m about to be high!”
“I like talking to people when I’m high,” Josy said. “It makes for interesting conversations. The first time I talked to you, I was high.”
Quincy looked slightly horrified. “You were high? At a library?”
Josy shrugged. “Yeah, I told you that, remember? And it’s not the weirdest place I’ve been stoned. That would probably be the time I was—”
Casey coughed pointedly.
“Right,” Josy said hastily. “Doesn’t even matter. It’s going to be fine, okay? I promise. You don’t even have to talk to them if you don’t want to. And hey! If you want to leave, you and me can go back to the B and B and play Stoner Scrabble or something.”
“It’s the best game in the world,” Casey agreed. “Might even learn a thing or two about stuff.”
Quincy shook his head. “No, it’s—it’s fine. I can do this. It’s just… it’s just people, right?”
“Right,” Josy said.
Quincy looked at him shyly. “And you’ll be there?”
Oh man, Josy wanted to kiss him so hard. “I promise, man. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Aw,” Lottie said. “You two are so—Gustavo! Stop shaking your fists at that mermaid! You’ll scare away potential customers!” She rushed out of the front of the store.
“Here,” Casey said, shuffling the Tupperware in his arms so he could take the ones from Quincy. “Stay in here for a minute. Take some deep breaths and then come out when you’re ready. It’s gonna be fine, dude. You’ll see. Josy won’t let anything bad happen to you.” He followed his aunt to the booth.
Quincy stared after him. Then, “I’m not fragile.”
“I know,” Josy said easily. “No one thinks that.”
“It’s just… a lot.”
“Yeah, man. I get it. The world is a big place, and sometimes you just want to feel small. Doesn’t mean you break easy.”
Quincy glanced at him. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Say the right thing all the time.”
Josy laughed. “Oh man, just you wait. That doesn’t happen as often as you think.”
“Seems like it does to me.”
“Oh. Well, I guess that’s okay, then. As long as it makes you feel better, I can dig it.”
Quincy squared his shoulders. “This is going to be fun.”
“I think so.”
“And we’re going to have a good day.”
“The best, even,” Josy said, sending up a little prayer to god, hoping she was listening.
“And I’m going to be stoned.”
“Hell yeah!”
Quincy nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
“Rock and roll!” Josy c
rowed.
ON THIS most holy of holidays, No-Thanks Giving, in the year of our Lord 2015, it took approximately sixty-seven minutes from the moment Quincy Moore first consumed one of Casey’s sativa cookies before he began to feel the effects.
At first it was barely noticeable to those who didn’t know what they were looking for. But since Josiah Erickson was an expert in such matters—having been under the influence of sativa many times before, though he would always prefer indica strains—he was able to pinpoint the exact moment it started.
Quincy was standing at his side—his smile slightly forced but still engaged—as fans flocked around him, waiting for their turn to take a picture with their literary hero. They came to this small mountain town for their idol, not necessarily knowing Abby was in the throes of a celebration first thought up by a man named Pastor Tommy Tiberius. Pastor Tommy, who, in all his infinite wisdom, wanted a way to bring his town together in rejecting a traditional Thanksgiving, but to also give his young and cripplingly shy son a reason to go out and see the world wasn’t always a scary place.
One moment Quincy was posing for a picture with a man dressed as a deer and a woman with a very large septum piercing, his smile more a grimace, and the next his shoulders began to loosen and Josy thought he saw the hint of teeth through the smile.
Now, it could be said that Quincy was just getting comfortable with his surroundings, but Josy knew better. He watched as the rigidness left Quincy’s spine, and how his eyes drooped a little. And he definitely knew something was happening when Quincy let out a loud bray of laughter when a man dressed as Sassy the Sasquatch (which seemed to be a repurposed Chewbacca costume) told him that rhyming bipedal ape creatures were the greatest thing ever created.
He didn’t think he’d ever heard Quincy laugh so freely.
It was lovely to hear.
Quincy must have thought otherwise, as he immediately slammed his hands over his mouth. But he was still unable to keep from squeaking, his eyes crinkled and leaking slightly. His forehead turned red and he was shaking, but he looked… happy.
Josy could barely breathe. He liked this Quincy, but then he liked all the Quincys he’d ever seen. The serious one. The director one. The author one, the normal one, the abnormal one. The sad one and the happy one, and the one who had told him that he sometimes felt a black dog still biting at his heels, but he no longer felt like letting it catch up with him.
