“These are slacks.”
“But youconsideredjeans, didn’t you?”
“Briefly.”
“BRIEFLY!” Fitz clutched his chest. “He considered jeans! Someone call cardiology. I’m having a heart attack!”
“You’re not having a heart attack,” Hayden said.
“I’m havingsomething! A stroke? An aneurysm? A complete psychotic break?”
“You’re having a dramatic reaction,” I said.
“BECAUSE YOU’RE WEARING SNEAKERS!”
Nathan was circling me like a shark. “What brand are they?”
“Does it matter?”
“YES! Are they at least expensive sneakers? Limited edition? Handcrafted Italian leather?”
“They’reNew Balance.”
Nathan sat down heavily. “New Balance. He’s wearingNew Balance.”
“The dad shoe,” Gabriel whispered.
“Theultimatedad shoe,” Fitz agreed.
“I’m not a dad.”
“You’re wearing the shoes of a man who’s given up!” Nathan said. “The shoes of a man who prioritizes arch support over aesthetics!”
“They have excellent arch support.”
Fitz made the dying walrus sound again.
Hayden was studying me with the clinical precision of a man who’d spent forty years diagnosing the impossible. “Julien. I’m going to ask you a series of questions, and I need you to answer honestly.”
“Of course.”
“Did you hit your head?”
“No.”
“Are you on any medications?”
“No.”
“Have you been replaced by a pod person? Recreational drugs?”
“No, and not to my knowledge.”
“Are you having a stroke right now?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Can you smile for me?”
