Page 24 of Small Sacrifices

"What, and TikTok your way into easily accessible abortions?

" Now that sounds like mockery. But with the way Everett is smiling at him, his whole body still turned towards Reid on the bench, it helps him believe that it's not malicious.

Also: He's the son of Raymond Mackenzie.

If anyone understands this, it's going to be him, right?

"And gender affirming care for minors, better healthcare overall, yes. If TikTok is what works, then we should use TikTok. As long as I don't have to do the dances myself."

He expects Everett to laugh. Briana laughed when he said it in a conversation with her, and she's not one to pretend anyone's funny to preserve their feelings.

Normally, Everett laughs easily. But not today, it seems. No, he's just sitting there with wide eyes, hand frozen on its way to pick another donut out of the box.

"Is everything alright?" Reid asks. Did he say something wrong? Going back over what he just said doesn't turn up a reason for Everett to freeze up this way.

A car horn blares from beyond the hedge, and that seems to shake Everett out of his stupor. The change comes quickly. At first, there's just the rapid blinking, but then he shakes himself and packs up his donuts. Reid just sits there and watches, observing until the excuses start.

"Yeah, sure." Everett wipes at his hoodie, where there’s still powdered sugar adorning the dark fabric. "But I just remembered that one of my professors moved a lecture, so I really need to… go."

"Oh, okay," Reid says on autopilot as Everett briefly looks around, opens his mouth to speak again, and then just swings his legs over the back of the bench to get up that way. Reid can only wince in sympathy when he slides across the metal with way too much force. That can't be comfortable.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," Everett says.

And Reid has to hand it to him: He actually looks sorry.

Is he sorry? "It was really nice to talk to you like this.

Would you be up for a repeat?" He's already at the door, hurried in a way that makes no sense to Reid, but he stops and looks back, waiting for an answer.

This is quite sudden, so all Reid can do is nod.

But it seems to be enough because it gets him a wide grin.

"See ya!" Everett shouts over his shoulder as he leaves.

Wordlessly, Reid stares after him, until he feels something wet run down his finger.

Oh, that's right, his sandwich. He licks the mayo off his finger, pausing a moment to savor the taste.

Worrying about this interaction will have to wait for later. Now, it's lunchtime.

When Reid returns to his desk later, there are way too many eyes on him. Some of his colleagues aren't even trying to hide that they're staring at him.

He tries to get back to figuring out the best order for the itinerary next week, but Marisol's elbow is so sharp in his side that it robs him of his breath.

"Spill!" she hisses, which he has learned by now means that she wants an itemized list of everything that happened, down to even the most minute detail.

He shrugs. "We just had lunch."

Marisol makes a noise like an angry cat. "You don't just have lunch with Everett Mackenzie. Especially not here."

Reid doesn't know what that means, and he's not sure that he wants to.

It doesn't sound too good. Which is confusing, because he's pretty sure that he remembers her telling him that Everett is "cool".

Was that a lie? Given that it's Marisol, probably not.

But Reid doesn't have the patience for nuance right now.

He needs to work. The break he took was already too long to properly fit into his plan for what he wants to achieve today.

The problem with that is that this is Marisol, and Marisol doesn't give up. He has to give her something if he wants to get any work done in the near future. And also: It's Marisol. She won't laugh at him. He can tell her the truth. Or at least part of it.

He sighs. "I ran into him after work on Friday. Literally ran into him and crushed a box of donuts he had. I brought him a substitute today as an apology. He insisted on sharing." There. That's good, isn't it?

"But you don't eat donuts." Marisol furrows her brows before her eyes go wide. "Wait, did you eat donuts? Did you—"

"No, I ate my own lunch that I brought. I told him I didn't want any." Reid should've known that she'd remember the donut thing. She'd tried to give him one on his first day, as a sort of welcome gift. He'd felt so bad saying no, but she just took it in stride.

"Aw. You didn't eat donuts for him?" There's mirth twinkling in her eyes, and Reid feels like he's missing something.

"I don't eat donuts for anybody. That doesn't make sense."

"Of course it doesn't. Don't mind me." She flicks at an imperceptible piece of lint on her burgundy blazer. "I thought you hated him."

There's something off about the way she's not making eye contact with Reid.

Ordinarily, he'd feel relieved. It's not like he wants her to look into his eyes constantly.

But she's now inspecting her perfect manicure for chips that aren't there.

She's doing something, and he doesn't know what it is. He doesn't like it.

"I thought he was rude," he says weakly. She's still not looking at him. What is he supposed to do with that?

"And now you know he isn't?"

"Now I know he can try not to be." When he wants to.

The question is why would he want to? Absolutely nothing depends on Reid having a good impression of him.

He could've just taken the donuts and pretended to forget about Friday.

Maybe Reid would've even preferred that, who knows.

His stomach does something weird when he remembers the careful smile Everett aimed at him.

Marisol snorts. "Sounds like him. God, he must've been a holy terror when he was a teen. Can you imagine? He's a snack, and he knows it. Unless he was one of the really awkward ones."

Reid can't picture Everett being awkward. But after witnessing his interaction with Officer McNaulty, he can easily imagine the chaos a young Everett might have caused if he'd wanted to. He nods in agreement.

That's all it takes for Marisol to pounce. Reid didn't even know she was looking at him again—but he certainly does when she says, "Oh, so you agree that he's attractive?"

"By the parameters that I know of, yes." What kind of question is that?

How is it relevant? He has a strong feeling that this has nothing to do with work.

Should they even be talking about it here, then?

A furtive glance around the office shows him that most of their colleagues have their heads down over their work again.

"And what parameters would those be?" There's a syrupy sort of amusement coating her voice, and he doesn't know what to do with that. So he just thinks and answers the question.

"Well, he's reasonably symmetrical, and he's tall and muscular." He's also got a very nice smile that makes his eyes crinkle, but that's more subjective. Reid doesn't know if other people would perceive it the same.

Marisol's mouth curls into a grin. She silently mouths "Reasonably symmetrical?" as a colleague passes by.

Frowning at Marisol, Reid waits until everyone is out of earshot before asking, "Isn't symmetry a thing? I thought people liked symmetrical faces."

"I mean, we probably do." Marisol rubs her forehead. "But I was expecting you to say something more like he's really hot and he's got a spectacular ass."

Reid doesn't think he's ever looked at Everett's butt. "That doesn't sound like me."

She sighs. "No, you're right. Sorry." There's a moment of hesitation. "He does have a spectacular ass, though, if you don't mind me saying."

Reid's face is burning. "By all means."

How did he end up in this conversation? He doesn't know how to navigate it—especially when Marisol gives a satisfied nod and returns to her pie chart-laden report. Has she dismissed him? Or does she think the conversation is over? He's not sure.

He wishes Marisol hadn't mentioned that last bit.

It's hard to focus on drafting a response to an angry parent about their sick child while trying to remember if he's ever seen Everett's backside.

What makes a butt spectacular, anyway? And why are people contacting him now about the healthcare fund? He isn't even responsible for that.

The rest of Reid's workday passes uneventfully.

Without a new task of his own, he continues summarizing materials for Marisol.

This time, though, he doesn't uncover anything significant.

When he finally heads home—punctually, thank you very much—he notices that Mr. Wright still hasn't reached out about the profiles.

Reid hopes this is a good sign, perhaps indicating that everything is in order.

At home, he makes himself a nice soup with plenty of fresh vegetables in it. Briana usually calls it Asian fusion when he cooks like this, but Reid prefers to think of it as cooking whatever he wants, and this time, it has glass noodles and soy sauce in it. There isn't even a recipe.

If Everett can cook, then maybe what he cooks is Asian fusion.

And couldn't one say that Everett is—Reid abandons the thought before it makes him feel too stupid.

Who even says that if Everett has in fact learned how to cook, he knows how to cook traditional Japanese dishes?

It seems that his mother is constantly busy with her charities and speaking engagements.

Reid isn't too sure that she'd have had the time to teach her children to cook in the last few years.

He wraps himself into a blanket cocoon on his sofa and eats the soup folded in half, with his thighs almost touching his chest and the bowl balanced between his knees. Enjoying the crunch of vegetables, he tries his best not to wonder what he did wrong to make Everett run off like that.

Eventually, Reid's calm gets interrupted by the scheduled call with his parents.

But his day was relaxed enough that the challenge is easy to master.

Reid wastes as much time as he can with easy chatter.

About Marisol, about his squeaky office chair, about the swanky patio furniture he ate his lunch on today.

It's a deliberate decision not to mention Everett, even though his parents would probably love to hear that he ate lunch with someone. As long as he doesn't mention Everett, Reid won't accidentally say anything about Friday. That's the worst thing he could do in this scenario.

When Reid's mom asks him if he took it easy this week, Reid takes a deep breath, sits on his hands to prevent himself from fidgeting, and tells her he helped Marisol with her research.

His heart is beating like a jackhammer as he waits for her to scold him, call him out on the lie.

But she doesn't. It's surprising that he doesn't feel more guilty about that.