Jamie's omelette came and it was not, sadly, transformed into a burger on its way between the kitchen and the counter. It was limp. Or at least, it was limper than an omelette was meant to be and he prodded it with the flat of his knife as if a good prodding was all you needed to make something not-limp. Which was a joke Patrick and Daniel definitely wouldn't have found funny, and Jamie lifted his head from his own eggs, to Sid.
At least someone found him funny. "Hi, Sid. I was ...two letters out but the syllable was right. That's closer than I ever got in family-night games." Which would have been ironic, if it had been ironic. It wasn't, Jamie remembered family night games.
But Sid had missed the wide, wide open door and was looking at it like it had a handle and a hinge, and Jamie scratched the back of his neck with two fingers and a wide, wide shameless grin.
"You're perfect. Obviously." Sid was pausing and the eggs looked like they were going to slide from fork to plate, and Jamie sliced into his omelette with way less relish than Sid was tackling his own meal.
"I would murder someone for a burger. Okay, not anyone. But an important someone. A senator? Can I say that? Is someone going to shoot me?"