Page 21 of Comfort Read

Kit’s half-convinced that tonight’s going to be a real shitshow, especially when they walk into the backyard and absolutely everyone is there. Usually, it’s a random selection of invitees who actually manage to make it, but tonight every seat in Mitch and Maggie’s ample yard is taken, with several people standing to boot. They all turn to stare at them—at Sage, really—as Kit closes the gate. Kit can almost see Sage’s face shuttering, like an iron gate is descending behind his eyes. Kit takes a deep breath, bracing himself for an incredibly uncomfortable evening he could have avoided by simply keeping his big mouth shut.

But then Mitch steps up to them, reaching out to shake Sage’s hand warmly in both of his, the same way he does with new clients at his practice, or new volunteers at the rescue. The same way he had the first time he met Kit, Maggie glowing and beaming beside him.

Mitch’s mellow, grounded energy has always been a nice balance for Maggie’s, and Sage must not be immune to it, either. Kit actually sees the muscles in his neck relax as Mitch pumps his hand and says, “So nice to meet you, man, I’m Mitch. I think I’ve probably got you to thank for the turnout, huh? It’ll make next week a lot easier to have so much help tonight. I owe you one!”

“I very literally did nothing,” Sage says, bemused, “but it’s nice to meet you, too. Thanks for having me.” Turning to Maggie, who has stepped up next to her husband, he adds, “And you’re Maggie, right? Kit’s sister?”

“So you’ve heard of me,” Maggie says, raising an eyebrow. “Which is fascinating, because I haven’t heard a peep about you until today.”

Kit opens his mouth to either apologize again or squawk at her to shut up—he hasn’t quite decided which—when Sage puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. Abruptly, Kit forgets how to talk, too busy wondering if Sage can tell the muscles beneath his strong fingers are actively turning to Jell-O.

“That’s my fault,” Sage tells Maggie smoothly. “I asked Kit to keep it quiet for a bit, until we were sure it was going somewhere. The way my life is, you know, it’s just easier.” He waves his free hand, then tucks it up to rub against the back of his neck. “It’s nothing personal, you understand. It’s just, once word gets out, it really gets out. Hard to get close to someone under a spotlight.” For some reason, he squeezes Kit’s shoulder again as he says this.

Said squeeze obliterates Kit’s ability to focus, but he’s still sure a normal person would respond to this bleak glimpse into Sage’s reality and politely change the subject. Instead, his sister says, “Hmm,” and then, “So you’re serious about my brother, then?”

“Maggie, Jesus Christ,” Kit snaps, at the same moment Mitch, laughing, groans, “Mags! You literally just met him. Let the man have a beer. He needs marination before he’s grilled.”

Kit’s surprised when Sage laughs at the joke, but even more surprised when Maggie smiles and says, “Fine, you’re right. Sage, it is nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Sage says, and gives Kit one last shoulder squeeze before letting his hand drop.

Why? Kit wonders, as they both get a drink from one of the sweating metal ice buckets near the fenceline. Grabbing his shoulder in the first place, fine; it had been an effective tactic for shutting Kit up before he could make a hash of things. Sage’s not dropping his hand sooner could have been to help sell the story, so that, too, Kit could understand. But why squeeze his shoulder? Nobody could be looking that closely, could they?

Maybe, Kit decides, Sage is method acting their fake relationship. Or maybe he lost his balance… just standing there. Somehow.

He puts it out of his mind as he makes introductions. It’s a bit like being in a receiving line at a wedding, Kit thinks. All his friends are trying hard (and failing harder) to pretend not to be lining up to meet the movie star.

They’re a somewhat unlikely crew of people, the only thread truly connecting them being shared appreciation of longstanding friendship. Alena and Maggie, best friends since before either of them could count past ten, had started out as the center of their little social circle, but that was more than a decade ago. Since then, that circle has grown the way a puddle becomes a pond—the shape becoming less definable, more organic, as it expands. Some of the people he introduces Sage to went to high school with him; some were brought into the group originally as someone else’s partner, coworker, or family member; some are neighbors they’ve ended up getting close to. Steve is just a guy they met on a group trip to a haunted house last year and hit it off with.

Thank God, Maggie’s knife emoji seems to have done the trick, and all of them make it through introductions and small talk without saying anything egregiously weird. It’s Sage, actually, who’s a little stiff at first, but even stiff he’s smooth and pleasant, easily knocking the conversation back to them if they start to fumble. He asks them about their jobs, their passions, and seems genuinely interested in the answers, if from a bit of a remove. Kit thinks there’s almost an air of professionalism to it, until he realizes that there’s no almost: It is professionalism, for Sage. So much of his life must revolve around interacting with strangers who know far more about him than he does about them.

He’s still thinking about it as they run Sage through a brief volunteer orientation, promising him that he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t feel up for. So Kit’s not anticipating the first awkward moment, although Sage seems to; his shoulders tense when Alena brings up Good Fences, but it doesn’t show in his face.

“I’m just curious, that’s all,” Alena says, when Kit gives her a warning look. “Whether it was all—I don’t know, green screen? Or if they really made you learn to do all that horse stuff, the trick riding and jumping and everything?”

“No green screens,” Sage says, and then half smiles. “Not for the barn, at least. All the dock scenes for the last few seasons were done that way, though—production got into a whole thing with the marina. And I did have to learn some of the trick riding at first, but after season three it’s a stunt double, not me.”

“Why the switch?” Alena clearly means it lightly, as an innocent question, but Kit doesn’t miss the way Sage looks briefly stricken before he schools his face into an expression of mild amusement. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, my uncle—he was my manager back then—was always kind of a dick about it. Made me do so many takes of each trick that eventually the producers stepped in. They said the stunt double was to save on costs, but they were probably just sick of watching him yell at me. Awkward, you know.”

“Oof,” Alena says, clearly not picking up from Sage’s falsely light tone how desperately he wants this conversation to be over. Kit could shake her. “I’m sorry. That sounds like it really sucked, to be honest.”

“Well, if we’re being honest, I think I’m not quite marinated enough for that corner of the grill.” With a wry smile, Sage tips his beer at Mitch.

“That’s right!” Mitch approaches Sage and slaps him on the back, leveling a joking glare at Alena. “Leave him alone and let him cook!”

“Mitch, honey,” Maggie says, “I’m so sure that’s not how the kids are saying that⁠—”

“Let him COOOOOOK,” Mitch bellows, tipping his head back, and Maggie laughs, shaking hers.

“Well,” she admits with a sigh, “that’s closer,” and the conversation drifts to the perils and pitfalls of being Very Online, and away from dangerous ground.

Sage is a surprisingly competent animal rescue volunteer, though Kit notices with interest that he gives the horses a wide berth. It wouldn’t have been surprising if he’d found the whole thing a bit much, but Sage doesn’t seem to mind sweating or getting his hands dirty, cleaning and mucking things out with the rest of them. It is surreal to watch him charm the small flock of runner ducks who had ended up at the rescue due to personality issues; more than once, Mitch has compared the ducks to the diabolically clever child in the Home Alone films. But they meekly follow Sage into their coop for the night after it’s been cleaned, acting for all the world as if they, too, were once big fans of Gowanus High.

As the volunteering portion of the evening wraps up and things shift to eating and socializing, Allison arrives. She apologizes profusely for being late, explaining that she got caught up in something, and offers them a cookie cake she purchased on the way over to make up for it. This bribe is a smashing success, but Kit’s curious what kept her; she didn’t text about any issues closing up the bookshop, and she doesn’t look like she recently suffered a Close Encounter of the Jeanette Kind.

He doesn’t get a chance to ask her, though. She comes over briefly to say hi to Sage, but the minute she steps away to get a drink, Dinesh sits down across from them. Alena’s boyfriend in high school—and now, they’re all pretty sure, Steve’s, but nobody’s been able to get confirmation on that—Dinesh is a social worker by day and a stand-up comic by night. This combination has made him impervious to social shame, and he peppers them both with questions, although, in his defense, they are at least interesting questions. Instead of asking Sage about celebrity life, or Kit about how things are going at the bookstore, or for the story of how they met, he wants to know what meal they think best describes their relationship, and about Sage’s least favorite characters to play.