@spencer-kuntz
It wasn’t a party; it was a benefit. Everyone there had paid for their seat at the table, and every seat went towards the Pacific Science Center, and that meant he was doing good just by agreeing to speak. Nathan knew that. It was an honor to be asked, and Nathan knew that, too. He just preferred the elementary schools, that’s all. A hundred second-graders sitting cross-legged in a gymnasium with their hands stretched up to the ceiling so he’d call on them, every question like was it pretty? and did you float outside? and what did you do if you had to pee?
It was easier to be interesting when kids supplied the enthusiasm.
At least his speech was over now, and there were just the next couple of hours to fill. And there was an open bar included in admission. Nate had never been invisible, though he’d always kind of tried -- even on the nights he didn’t take center-stage, he was still tall and sturdy and noticeable. Severe, Winnie had told him once. She said it was something about his face. So maybe he wasn’t going to successfully sneak away a little early, tonight. He could still step out into the hallway for a second, between handshakes and head-nods. Quiet when the door clicked shut. Nate looked at his reflection, faint in the glass of a framed portrait, and swirled his vodka soda in its glass.
The door opened and shut again, and he turned towards the sound. It took a second. Maybe two. Nate would’ve kept to himself, smiled that straight-line smile and said nothing at all, except something about her was familiar; he lingered until he figured it out, and then he blinked. “Oh,” he said. “You’re the--you worked on my suit, right? This suit?”
