Silence stretches between us, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s going to turn around and walk right back into the elevator. Then, a grin stretches over his face, and he claps a hand on my shoulder, saying, “This issodope, man!”
There are a few other people in the lobby with us, and I glance side to side, worried that being seen with him might be another way for people to connect me to the person I used to be.
But nobody even looks in our direction.
Pete and I have both changed since the time he was my assistant at Chromeo Co. We’re both seven years older, and Pete has grown into himself, showing the sort of confidence I remember feeling after starting the company with Elliot. Pete isn’t a scrawny intern anymore, but the leader of a company where people look up to him, turn to him for guidance and advice.
As we walk toward the elevator, Pete informs me that I won’t have to worry about bumping into Hannah or Elliot, since they no longer live in Seattle.
According to Pete, the people who matter around here knew the truth of what happened, as much as it was covered up. Public opinion of Elliot and Hannah soured, and they didn’t know how to act when they were no longer welcome at clubs and parties around the city. When business deals fell through, they were forced to try and turn to greener pastures.
“Well. That’s nice,” I grumble in response. In the midst of everything — and with the press on my back — it was hard to feel like anyone was on my side back then. And it’s not like I don’t enjoy the idea of Elliot being refused entry to a club; I know exactly how much he would hate that.
Pete gives me an almost pitying look. “Yeah, man. People would be very glad to have you back, you know.”
“Well, I mean, I’m notcoming back,” I clarify, as the elevator chimes and we exit into a hallway. “I have something I need to do in the city. And I was hoping you might be able to help me out with it.”
And after everything Pete has done for me, I thought it would only be right to stop and see him.
“Whatever you need,” Pete says, pushing open a door that saysXCAL GAMING. “And look, you’re finally getting to see the office!”
So far, everything about this glass and steel building has been exactly like every other modern tech office, but when we step into the actual suite, it’s much, much different.
Rather than the cool, exacting interior of a tech universe, Pete’s little gaming company is all cozy. There’s a mural on the far wall featuring every video game character I’ve ever seen, as well asmanyI don’t recognize. The desks are all different sizes and materials, clustered together haphazardly. Bean bags and retro consoles are in one corner. A hallway leads to what I assume is a break room and kitchen, based on the smell of popcorn that drifts from that direction.
And the far wall is all whiteboard, with scribbles and drawings, and graphs. A mock-up of a character, their traits and strengths,takes up a huge section. Then, in the corner, so small I almost miss it, is a tic-tac-toe game.
“Yeah,” Pete says, ruffling a hand through his ginger hair, his cheeks turning pink when he sees me noticing it. “Thought I’d carry over the tradition.”
When Pete worked for me, I’d keep a tic-tac-toe game going with him on my whiteboard. A little bit of fun in the life that was growing increasingly dark for me.
Once again — just like with Belle — I’m confronted with how much people actuallydomiss me. I thought I could disappear to the mountains and it have no effect, but Pete has kept me here in small ways, showing how I affected him professionally.
Pete takes me around the office, introducing me to the game designers and developers, two of whom are arguing over pink or purple hair for a particular villain in a game. They ask my opinion, then completely discard it when I say she would be scarier if she were bald.
At the end of the tour, Pete strides into his office, which is no less cozy than the rest of the place. “All right,” he says, hitting the space bar on his keyboard, bracing his hands on the desk, and looking up at me. “So, you need an address?”
“Nothing sketchy,” I say, holding up my hands. I hope Lola doesn’t have her address online, that she’s smart enough to keep those details out of her content. But I also know that Pete should be able to find it pretty easily either way.
I’m the first to know that privacy is non-existent when you live even a semi-public life.
“You got it,” Pete says, flashing me a smile and sitting down at his computer. Five minutes later, I have her address scrawled on the back of a printed map, which I’ll use to find her place since I still don’t have a phone.
“Thanks,” I say, turning to him at the door to his office.
“Any time.”
I start to turn, to leave, but something has me turning back at the last moment, taking in this man in his suit, the guy who was once eighteen years old and trying to find his place in the world, same as me. I could let this moment fall like I have so many times before, but I don’t.
“I want to say,” I force out, clearing my throat and looking at the floor, realizing that Pete is probably my best friend, “that I’m really proud of you, man.”
When I look back up, he’s smiling at me, and I stick my hand out for him to shake. He shakes his head, knocks it to the side, and embraces me for a few seconds before pulling back and saying, “The hell are you waiting around for? Don’t you have a whole running through the airport scene to do?”
He’s right, and an hour later, I’m stepping into the lobby of her apartment building.
It’s buried in the city, not too far from downtown, but not one of the high-rises like Hannah and I lived in. Those buildings have condos; Lola’s has flats.
The lobby isn’t so much a lobby as a hallway, and it’s lined with small metal mailboxes. I scan it until I findLola Kennedyscribbled along with a roommate’s name in apartment twelve.
