“Of course I have,” I snap defensively. “I mean, I’m queer, actually.” I resist the urge to cringe at myself again. “I’m bi. It’s just… you know, Portland is a little different, and I’m still getting used to it.”

She studies me from across the table. “Let me guess: Iowa.”

“Ohio.”

“Ah, yes.” She nods sagely. “Everyone in Portland is originally from Ohio.”

“It’s why I moved here,” I attempt to explain. “I flew out here to visit the city before accepting the job at Laika, and it just felt like… like home. I’ve always felt like I don’t quite fit in, but within five minutes here, I just knew it was right. Like if I could be myself anywhere, it would be here.”

“Are you?” she asks.

“Am I what?”

“Yourself.”

I look up from my napkin sketch and find Jack staring at me again. “For the record, I only listen to pop music,” Jack says. “And Taylor Swift is the greatest lyricist who has ever lived. I’m pretty sure Bob Dylan listened to Folklore and immediately threw his Nobel Prize for literature into the fire. Are you drawing my hand?”

I look down at the napkin in front of me where I’ve sketched out long fingers, shadowed knuckles, square fingernails, a thick callus on the index finger. I attempt to cover the drawing with my elbow. “No, I was just—”

“Honesty game!”

I move my elbow out of the way. “Yes, I guess I am drawing your hand. In my defense, you have very interesting hands. Like, from an artist’s perspective.”

“You drew my hand,” she repeats, sounded awed instead of creeped out. Which is something.

“I’m sorry. It’s bad,” I say, crumpling the napkin.

“Wait! Don’t.” Jack reaches out and puts her hand over mine to stop me. Then she takes the napkin and carefully smooths it out with her callused fingers. “Shit. You are really good.”

“I basically have this ten-year plan,” I explain, because I need some distraction from the serious way she’s studying my napkin drawing. “I was at the top of my class in undergrad, and I earned this prestigious fellowship for grad school, which is how I scored the job at Laika. My job now is working as a character animator, and I’ll probably do that for a few years before I work my way up to lead animator, so that hopefully one day, I can write my own animated movies.”

“Huh.” Jack glances up from the napkin to frown at me. “I thought there was an intense, overachiever smell coming from that side of the table.”

“What does that even smell like?”

She leans forward again, even closer to me, and takes a deep breath through her nose. “Stale coffee and unresolved perfectionism.”