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Elliot was buying, a bid to wash away that screw up in the twenties with sweet, sweet liquor. Kim was letting him.
"Here's the thing," Will started to say, waving his glass in front of him like a poor woman's Casey McCall. "You've got to be in it to win it."
Kim considered this point. "I'm pretty sure you've also got to be, I don't know, good."
"Yeah, no," Will said. He scrunched his face up, thinking as hard as a thirteen hour working day and Elliot's liberal application of booze would allow. "Take Jeremy."
Kim looked over to where Dan, Casey and Jeremy were arguing with, respectively, Casey, Dan and Dan's shoulder. They were kind of cute, if you liked sloppy drunks who, oh yes, what was it? totally owned the airwaves.
"And," Will continued as Elliot deftly took the empty glass from halfway through his gesticulation and replaced it with a full one, "take Natalie."
Kim looked over to where Natalie and Dana were high-fiving like aging cheerleaders who, oh yes, what was it? totally owned the studio. She felt the corners of her mouth twitch upwards, fonder than she expected to be for two women who made her life hell on a regular basis. Or, no, maybe exactly as fond as she expected to be. One of the two.
"He's a dork and she's neurotic, but they make it work. They don't need to walk away with a trophy as big as their heads and a deal with Nike, they just need to beat the spread, you know?"
And Kim, who wasn't so far drunk she couldn't spot where Will had just contradicted himself, took in Jeremy's drunken slump and Dan's one-handed flail, Casey's proud grin and Dana's eighth vodka, Natalie's half smile and Will's scrunched face and Elliot's broad grin, and she laughed with the sheer joy of it.
"Yes," she said, surrounded by her people. "Yes."
