Another pause. Elliot is practically vibrating with suppressed glee.
“People,” Dex says finally. “Stories about people.”
“That’s very specific,” I observe dryly.
“Historical people,” he clarifies, then immediately looks like he regrets it. “And... contemporary people. All kinds of people, really.”
Brody finally takes mercy on him. “Maybe we should order some food. I’m starving.”
“Great idea,” Dex says with obvious relief.
But Elliot isn’t done. “Oh, before we order—Golda, what’s your favorite type of story to narrate? I’m sure Dex would love to hear about your... process.”
The way she says ‘process’ makes it sound vaguely scandalous.
“My process is pretty standard,” I say slowly, still trying to figure out why this feels like I’m being set up for something. “Read the script, understand the characters, bring them to life.”
“And the romantic scenes?” Elliot presses. “Those must require a special... technique.”
Dex chokes on his water.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
“Fine,” he gasps. “Just... went down wrong.”
“He’s been having trouble with liquids lately,” Elliot observes. “Very strange.”
I’m definitely being punked. I just can’t figure out how or why.
“Anyway,” Brody says firmly, “let’s talk about something else. Like hockey. Safe topic.”
“Perfect,” Dex croaks out. “Hockey is great. Love hockey.”
“You should bring the kids to one of the home games,” Brody continues. “Maybe against Vancouver. Good matchup, and there’s a family section if you want to avoid the hardcore fans.”
“Oh, I don’t know?—”
“And I can show you where everything is,” Elliot offers, apparently back to being helpful instead of chaotic. “The family section is actually pretty relaxed. Good view, and it’s very kid-friendly.”
“What time do they start?” I hear myself ask, thinking about Tyson’s face when he talks about professional games.
“Three o’clock start,” Dex says, and his smile is different now—less practiced, more genuine. “But if you want, we could meet beforehand. Show the kids around the locker room area, let them see behind the scenes.”
“They’d love that,” I admit.
“Then it’s settled,” Elliot declares. “We’ll plan on the next Vancouver game.”
The conversation flows easily after that. Dex tells me about Tyson’s progress with genuine pride, and I find myself relaxing despite the earlier weirdness. Whatever that was about, it seems to be over.
My phone chimes with a school pickup reminder, and I realize how long we’ve been here.
“I have to go,” I say, gathering my things. “Kids expect me to actually show up for them.”
“The nerve,” Brody grins, already signaling for the check.
“Let me walk you out,” Dex offers, standing as I gather my bag. “It’s pouring.”
He’s right—Seattle’s perpetual drizzle has escalated to a proper downpour. Before I can protest, he’s somehow procured an umbrella from the hostess station.
