Page 46 of Shroom for Improvement

I nodded my agreement. I guessed it wouldn’t be as embarrassing if we were both farting up a storm all night. “Okay.” I slid under the covers on my side, and nestled my head onto the pillow. “Do you think the house will let me sleep elsewhere tomorrow night?”

Claude shrugged. The movement pulled at the duvet and reminded me we were sharing a bed. Sharing a bed! Forty-eight hours ago I couldn’t even get the man to have coffee with me, and now we would be sleeping next to each other. Would I even be able to sleep? Or would I spend the entire night tossing and turning, fretful and self-conscious?

I realised I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a while. First there was Mash’s party and cute-but-not-the-one Josh, then the train ride where I’d been too awestruck to sleep. And now this.

Essentially, a slumber party with a man I’ve had a three-year-long borderline obsession with.

“Are you okay if I turn the light off?” he asked.

“Sure.” I rearranged my limbs into a more comfortable position, but one that would leave them very firmly on my half of the bed. “Good night.”

Claude clicked the lamp off, throwing us into darkness. The mattress bounced as he slid down to lie on his side, facing away from me. I thought about all the sprouts Claude had eaten and also turned to my other side.

We were quiet for a few minutes. My mind raced. Claude’s snuffly, shallow breaths told me he was still awake, probably pondering everything that went wrong in his life that had led to this moment.

“Hey, Claude?” My voice sounded like a gunshot in the stillness of the room.

“Yeah.”

“Does the house ever talk back to you?”

The bed wobbled again as he turned to face me. I turned to face him too, not that I saw much in the lack of light. “No. It doesn’t. But it definitely understands me when I talk. It’s... the reason you’re here. I asked for a mycologist to help with the ritual and it threw—literally threw—your business card into my face.”

“Oh. Wow, that’s fascinating.”

Claude sighed deeply, and we were quiet for a few more moments.

“Sonny?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. About everything that happened before. About what I said. Accusing you of... stuff. I mean, I was right, but I dunno, I feel guilty.”

“Don’t think on it anymore. I’m sorry I wasn’t upfront with you from the beginning. But I’m glad I’m here, glad the house yeeted my business card in your face.”

He made a confirmational hum-chuckle. My heart did a funny little quickstep.

I shut my eyes, gave myself three seconds to attempt sleep, then opened them again. “Doesn’t this feel a bit like a sleepover? You know, the ones you had when you were a kid, where you’d stay up all night with your friends talking about just any old shit, eating snacks, getting crumbs and sweetie wrappers in the bed?”

He laughed. I didn’t know the guy, not really, but his smiles and laughter felt rare. Like each one should be treasured. “Yeah, it does a bit.”

He didn’t have dimples, I realised, but that didn’t matter.

I threw caution to the wind. “Truth or dare?”

Claude made a strangled sound which may have been a laugh or a choke, or a combo of the two. “I’m five hundred and ten years old. You’re three hundred and sixty-six-ish. We’re a little too old to be playing truth or dare.” A cry of indignation, I guessed.

“Oh, okay. Night, then.”

The sheets rustled. There was a pause. Another rustle. “Truth.”

A jolt of victory speared my stomach. “Who was your first crush?” He could probably hear the smile in my voice.

I heard the smile in his. “When you were a kid, did you ever watchThe Agnes and Tristan Show? Do you remember Rocko, the bonkers old man?”

“The incubus? Wasn’t he the lead singer from Hell in a Hand Basket?” I hadn’t pegged Claude for a grunge-metal fan.

“Yes, but specifically him as the bananas doctor-scientist guy in A&T. I don’t know, something about the spectacles and the spiky grey wig. It... did things to me. It was an awakening.”

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