'Have you seen my sweater?'
Quinto's eye-roll is of epic proportions. 'Pine.'
'The one my mom made me,' Chris clarifies.
'Oh, the nubby brown one?' Zach busies himself with his phone. 'No idea.'
Chris looks at him, eyes narrowed, but then shrugs. 'I mean, winter's nearly over, so whatever, but if I've lost it I will feel like the worst son in the history of the world.'
'I'll buy you a trophy.'
'Katie,' Chris says into his phone a few days later, 'how bad should I feel that I've lost that sweater Mom made me for my 30th birthday?'
'Are you kidding? That thing was ugly.'
'Well. Fair. But.'
'Pretty bad. You should feel pretty bad.'
He forgets about it for a while, because it becomes March and then April and his life is just that kind of a merry-go-round.
But then he gets an email from Zach, with just one line--'Do I get a finder's fee?'--and a photo attached.
A photo that is a pap shot of Karl in a very familiar-looking brown sweater.
'Son of a bitch,' Chris swears into the air. His face is a little hot. He's one swipe away from a phone call when he thinks to check the time, and swears again.
He sends a text, instead. I can have my mother make you a sweater of your very own, you know.
He gets the reply weeks later. I'm rather partial to this one, thanks.
He can feel his teeth in his smile.