Hog approached next, Biscuit trotting at his heels. The dog immediately investigated my shoes, tail wagging. Hog didn't look at me directly, just watched the room while scratching Biscuit's ears.
"Film's good," Hog said. "Fair."
"That was the goal."
"Hard thing, being fair." He straightened and made eye contact. "You hurt him again, I don't care how good your intentions are."
"I understand."
"Good." He paused. "But you're not going to."
Statement of fact. "No. I'm not."
"Then we're good." He bent down and scooped up Biscuit. "Come on, disaster."
I looked back at Pickle. Someone had handed him a beer he wasn't drinking. He held it while he spoke, hands moving through the air to illustrate a play.
I'd spent my career trying to find interesting people and make them matter to strangers. Trying to prove I could see things other people missed.
With Pickle, all I had to do was pay attention.
He extracted himself from the conversation and made his way toward me. When he got close enough, he handed me the untouched beer.
"Didn't want it. You look thirsty."
"I'm fine," but I took it anyway.
He leaned against the wall beside me. Our shoulders touched. "Lot of feelings. Processing. You know how I am with feelings."
"Loud."
"Exactly." He was quiet for a moment, watching the room. "Thank you for making this. For doing it right."
"You're welcome."
He smiled. "Wanna get out of here?"
"Yeah. Let's go home."
Pickle smiled. "Home. Listen to you."
"Shut up."
"Make me."
I kissed him. Right there against the wall, in front of everyone.
He kissed back, laughing into my mouth.
When we pulled apart, Jake was making gagging noises from across the room. Evan elbowed him. Coach Rusk was very deliberately looking anywhere else.
Biscuit barked once, either offended by the public display or just wanting attention.
"Come on," Pickle said, grabbing my hand. "Before Jake makes it weird."
"Too late," Jake called.
We left The Drop together, stepping out into the January cold that bit at my face. Pickle's hand was warm in mine.
