"Henry— no, I'm serious. It gobbled at me like it wanted me dead." Alex whispers into the phone, his eyes glued to the turkey that Alex had somehow— and regretfully— got the White House staff to put into his room, instead of whatever fancy hotel they were going to put it in before.

Cornbread, the turkey the White House was pardoning tomorrow, was freaking Alex out. June and Nora weren't there to comfort him from her beady black murder eyes, so he relented on calling Henry.