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Pembroke clutched her plastic bag. “I probably overthought them,” she mumbled.
He wanted to keep prying, but it was clear he wasn’t getting anywhere with her. Besides, anything he said might get back to Brielle. If he wanted to know, he should really just ask the woman herself. He focused on finishing his drawing, trying not to think about Brielle and how much he wanted to ask this girl.
“Um, she was really worried she’d been rude to you,” said Pembroke, unbidden. “That first day.”
He winced. It was like a punch to his gut. He suspected—he basically knew—that first day hadn’t gone well, but he’d tried to move past it with Brielle. It hurt to have it confirmed again. He blew on the drawing and pushed the book toward her. “Well, we, uh, talked about it.”
“Oh, good.” Pembroke smiled, flustered. “That’s… good. Um, thanks.” She scooped the books up and cradled them against her chest.
“Thankyou,” he said. She stared a bit longer—she may have shared that look he’d seen in Gini’s eyes—before nodding and turning to leave.
“Hey, babe.” A guy sidled up to Pembroke from somewhere in the crowd. “You see your… comic guy? Ready to go?”
George said something to Archer, but he was, wrongly he knew, too intrigued by the couple next to him to fully pay attention. They were just a few steps away, so it was hard not to hear them, even with the buzz of the crowd in the store.
Pembroke spoke so quietly, even her boyfriend didn’t seem to hear her. He hunched over. Archer found his khakis and polo shirt a little at odds with his surroundings, although there was something about that ever-present smirk on his face that helped it make more sense. “What?”
“…go,” hissed Pembroke, more loudly. “We have to go. Like this second.”
Now Archer was really intrigued.
“…Is that okay? Archer?”
Archer snapped his head back toward George, noticing for the first time that his mother was no longer seated in the front row. “What? Sorry?”
George stepped around the table, moving several piles of books closer to him. “Can you sign these to keep in the store for selling later?”
“Oh, sure.” He picked up a Sharpie again.
“Thanks, man.” George left, heading toward where groups were already setting up several tabletop games.
“Okay, okay, chill.” The guy next to Pembroke looked disgusted. He scanned the crowd and put an arm around Pembroke’s shoulder absentmindedly.
“Stop. Not here.” Pembroke shrugged her way out of the guy’s half-embrace, going so far as to shove his arm away.
He looked down at her like she’d slapped him. “What? So you’re going to pretend we’re not dating whenever we’re in public? I don’t care if you saw her.Lether see us.” He put his hand back around her.
“Stop,” said Pembroke, shrugging herself out of his reach, moving farther away this time.
The guy looked like he wanted to slapher.
“Hey,” said Archer before even realizing he’d been outright staring at them. He wheeled around the table to get closer to them. “She said to stop.”
The guy stared down at Archer and then laughed. “You’re serious? You think you can take me or something?”
“Not every conversation needs to be a pissing contest,” snapped Archer. He looked at Pembroke. “You okay?”
Pembroke adjusted her glasses. “Yeah, I just… I want to get out of here.”
“Why don’t I call someone over—”
“Mind your own business!” said the guy, stepping between Archer and Pembroke. He sized the man in the wheelchair up and down, one hand clenched, almost like he wished he could hit Archer but knew he could never get away with hitting a man with a disability. It was the old “would you hit a man with glasses?” to the nth degree. “This is my girlfriend, and I wasn’t doing anything to hurt her—”
“No, you were just making her extremely uncomfortable. And she told you so. And you went ahead and did it again anyway.”
The guy opened his mouth.
“Daniel?”
