Gabby gasps, deep and dramatic like a silver-screen ingénue, clasping her hands together. There are practically hearts in her eyes. “Really?! Oh my god, how romantic... And we’re invited?! Oh my word, this is so exciting I can’t stand it. Wait, is that your ring? Here, here, let me see!” She reaches right across Michael, beckoning with small, flapping fingers. She’s so giddy you’d think she was the one who’d been proposed to.
Michael leans closer to Lee, both so Gabby can have some room and because he’s already feeling restless. It’s always hard to keep him focused when they go out like this, but having so much attention zeroed in on him—no, on their relationship—right off the bat is making him antsy. It had been different with Stan and Peggy; he’s worked with them for years now, sees them almost every day of his life. He’d been proud to tell them, defiant even. This, here and now, all the loud strange enthusiasm, is something he has no idea how to navigate.
One person, at least, isn’t adding to the spectacle. Sinclair has straightened in his chair, and his expression has turned from lazy to—something like surprise? But not the delighted sort of surprise Gabby is wearing or Tzipporah’s comical shock; it’s muted, and muddled by other things Michael can’t read. His lips are slightly parted but he doesn’t say a word, just takes the beer from the server when it comes and downs enough to keep himself busy.