Page 585 of End Game

There is also a paper bag of cinnamon-sugar dough knots beside his place.

That part is technically less routine, but only because I usually order one serving for the table instead of two. Micah likes them more than everyone else does, and this week seems like a particularly poor time to make him fight Dex for dessert.

Three days ago, Micah told his parents the truth about his life and lost most of his biological family in the span of a few hours.

Today is Thursday.

We play Dungeons & Dragons on Thursdays.

Those facts do not cancel each other out.

There are several ways I could handle tonight badly. I could ask Micah whether he feels up to playing, which would require him to decide whether his grief has made him sufficiently inconvenient to alter everyone else's plans. I could offer to cancel, which would do essentially the same thing while pretending to be generous. I could tell everyone else to be careful with him, which would guarantee that four people who are already watching him too closely become unbearable.

I could also rewrite the entire session into some painfully obvious allegory about belonging, loyalty, chosen family, or wicked relatives who fail a morality check.

Micah would recognize what I was doing within five minutes.

He might kill me.

I would deserve it.

Instead, I made three minor changes to an encounter I planned six days ago, shortened one section that was likely to drag, and added an alternate route through the aqueduct because Micah generally prefers having more than one way to solve a problem.

Then I ordered pizza.

That is the extent of my therapeutic intervention.

Dex opens the first box and immediately announces, “Wild card,” with the reverence of someone revealing a sacred artifact.

Griffin looks over from the counter, where he is distributing drinks. “Did you expect something else?”

“No. I just appreciate consistency.”

“You weren’t this excited the first time Ronan ordered it.”

“The first time, I had not yet grown as a person.”

“You called it a crime against crust,” Micah says.

His voice is quieter than usual, although quiet is a relative measurement with Micah. Most people probably would not notice the difference. I do.

So does Dex.

He points across the table. “And now I defend it with my life. Character development.”

Micah's mouth moves slightly.

Not a smile exactly, but the beginning of one.

Cami notices too, because she has spent most of the last three days finding reasons to be physically attached to him. She reaches around his shoulder for a slice of pizza even though there is an entire box closer to her, then leaves her hand resting briefly against his back as she sits down.

It is not subtle.

Cami rarely is.

Micah has not objected.

That is probably the only reason the rest of us have resisted telling her to stop hovering.