I went to the kitchen. The container I'd assembled before practice was in the fridge, labeled. I pulled it out and set it on the counter.
My next steps weren't as clear as usual. I hesitated about putting the container in the microwave and waited, listening.
A woman's voice rose above the rest, building toward something. I caught fragments: and then he saidandI swear to God.Briefly, the room grew quieter to let her finish. The punchline landed, and three people responded at once. Sully's laugh came through cleanest.
"Stayin' Alive" followed, and they all joined in with fractured harmonies on the chorus.
I considered leaving. I could find food in the neighborhood and come back when the noise level had changed.
Or I could knock. I didn't. I stayed at the counter.
While I was still considering my options, the noise ended. It wasn't a subtle fade by degrees. It ended with Sully's door opening and closing three times. The music landed on low, Fleetwood Mac again.
Nine minutes after the last voice, when I had the microwave door open, a knock sounded at my door. It was one sharp rap. I opened it.
Sully stood there with two takeout containers stacked in one hand. He'd pushed his sleeves to the elbow. "Lunch?"
I let him in, and he continued talking. "I know it's a weird time to have people over, but it's my schedule. I should have looped you in. It was a work thing that became a bigger thing. Then, they all had to leave." A brief pause. "I didn't do anything wrong. Did I?"
"No," I said.
He watched me for a beat. "I have the day off," he said, and nudged the containers toward me. "These need heat. It's good Thai. I'm your problem for the day."
"You're not a problem."
"You say that now." He laughed and placed the containers in the microwave that still stood open before pulling out two sets of chopsticks and setting them on the counter.
We ate standing. He'd ordered from a place on Randolph. He said they arrived while he had the people in. The food was good.
We finished. Sully collected the containers and folded the chopsticks inside them without being asked.
"Shedd Aquarium," I said.
He turned. "What about it?"
"Have you been?"
"No." He studied me for a beat. "Have you?"
"A few times. I have a friend—"
Sully interrupted. "Are you asking me to go to the aquarium with you?"
"Yes."
It took him a beat to adjust. "Yeah," he said. "Okay. Let me get my coat."
The drive took twenty minutes. Sully started talking immediately.
"I had a guy last week try to tip me in cryptocurrency," he said. "Not like, offer to. He just did it. He sent me a QR code across the bar, like that was a thing you could do."
"What did you do with it?"
"I screenshotted it and then ignored it until it was someone else's problem." He shifted in the seat. "It was eleven dollars in crypto. It's now either four dollars or forty; I genuinely do not know."
A light on Michigan changed, and I drove forward.
"There was a seagull," he said, "last summer on the lakefront. It followed me for three blocks. I had no food. I told it I had no food, but it didn't care."
