Page 43 of Second Alarm
"Terrence is thirty-eight." Beck sets his glass down. "He lives with his mother because she can't get up the stairs, which means she's physically dependent on him, which means Terrence also sleeps on the couch. I know because I've been to that house on a welfare check, Derek."
"Noted." Derek crosses Terrence off the clipboard. "Candidate number three. Brody, from the sporting goods store. He knows everything about crampons."
"Why is that a selling point," Gemma says.
"Hanna is an outdoorsy woman."
"She's a former Portland paramedic who likes throw pillows and true crime podcasts. She told me yesterday she hates hiking."
"She's from Copper Ridge, Gemma. She's genetically outdoorsy."
"Derek."
"She can be both."
"She specifically cannot be both. She said, and I quote, 'I would rather do literally any other physical activity than hike.'"
"Ugh." Derek crosses off Brody with visible grief. "Candidate number four. Daniel Park, works with my cousin at the city. He's — "
Cal, to my right, has been very quiet for the last four minutes. Unusual. Cal is never quiet for four minutes at the Watershed. He's in a hoodie and a backwards Mariners cap, slowly destroying a coaster by peeling the layers with his thumb — the cardboard is down to its innermost layer — watching Derek run his list with an expression I can't quite read. With no warning, he says, loudly, to the entire bar, "Why is nobody asking what Hanna wants."
The bar goes still.
"I mean, actually," Cal says. "Has anybody asked her?"
Derek, on his chair, clipboard in hand, opens and closes his mouth.
"I'm asking," Cal says, "because I was just at dinner at my mother's, and I tried to make a list, and my mother kicked me under the table, and my sister looked at me like I was an idiot. I left that dinner thinking, I'll go ask Derek, because Derek is running a committee — but maybe Derek and I and the whole committee should — "
"Calvin."
" — ask her."
"You could also just leave it alone," Gemma says, gently, from behind the bar.
"I could also leave it alone. Yes. That's also — "
" — the thing a respectful brother might do — "
" — an option — "
" — given that she's a twenty-nine-year-old woman with a career — "
" — I hear you, Gemma, I'm not — I'm not pushing — "
Deluca, who's been at the end of the booths with his usual neon drink and his usual expression of a man one grade below understanding what's happening at any given moment, lifts his hand.
"Yes, Deluca," Derek says, because Derek will always call on Deluca.
"I have a candidate," Deluca says.
"Proceed."
Deluca straightens up, beams, and says, with the bright innocent confidence of a man who truly doesn't know what a room is carrying:
"What about Ty?"
The Watershed stops.
