Original A/N: Hey all! Another installment of "Hearts" here — I've been making good time on these, and struggling a bit with "Thicker than forget," so hopefully this will tide you over. This one is more Sloan than Don, and I'm worried the ending is a little too rushed/artsy, so I'd love to hear your feedback! As per usual, I don't own the characters (minus the wonderful Topher), or the lyrics. Also, there is definitely some post-PG-13 allusions here.
Well, I've always had a wild imagination
And you see through the heart
Which I know can be a wild combination
Like a flame formed from a spark
But don't be shy, be brave, little champion
It's better to live than to hide
-Noah and the Whale, "Just Before We Met"
March
One of the many things Sloan appreciates about Don is that their definitions of 'dates' are usually equally as lame. Which is why, at midnight and after a 14-hour day at work, they're at Harry's Diner as she grades and he blocks out tomorrow's show. They're comfortably slanted toward each other, her head on his shoulder, a plate of lobster mac'n'cheese and a tomato soup with two spoons between them. She's got a decaf coffee, he has a beer, and she's in what he's dubbed her 'incognito' outfit: ACN hat, glasses, jeans, no makeup and an oversized hoodie zipped over a T-shirt. It's nice.
"So how significant is the unemployment in the Euro zone? Not in a Sloan Sabbith, 'every economics story is incredibly important way,' in a practical way."
"Incredibly important, especially in a practical way," she says, underlining a sentence in an essay and correcting the grammar. "Why?" She lifts her head to look at him.
"Trying to figure out if we want it in the B-block or the C-block."
"How about the A-block?" she smiles.
"Sloan?" a shadow crosses in front of their booth, and she looks up. Holy God.
"Topher," she says, pressing her feet into the floor to straighten into a seated position — she'd been slouched down far in order to rest her feet on the opposite booth. "Hey."
"Hi," her ex-fiance replies, smiling a little awkwardly. "I thought that was you. But you know, the cap…" he gestures. He's still Harvard handsome, wearing a Burberry coat and (she guesses) Prada shoes.
"Right. Yeah. Long day, lots of hairspray … you know," she smiles, then remembers her manners, though she doesn't stand up. "Topher, this is Don, my boyfriend. Don, this is Topher," she introduces, no-label-necessary.
Don actually knows all about Topher, has known about the broken engagement for years. He had been the first person at ACN to find out the impetus behind her leaving finance — she'd drunkenly told him after knowing him for all of ten hours ("fast friends" was kind of an understatement). Over the years, they'd talked about him, fairly frequently, as she'd entered and exited the dating pool. But even though he knows about Topher, it has only been in oblique bits and incomplete pieces, has only been what she'd felt comfortable telling him in the moment. Conversations stopped and started on her terms, in a way they couldn't — wouldn't — if they broached it now. Now that they are sleeping together. Now that they are together.
A woman, super put-together for midnight on a Tuesday, appears next to Topher as Don extends his hand for a shake. Sloan knows she's objectively prettier than this woman — not that it matters, Sloan, be less shallow, she scolds herself — but it's intimidating to see someone with a perfect blowout and unwrinkled $500 pants after a 15-hour day.
"Uh, Sloan, this is Amanda Alexander," there's no identifier attached, but it's clear they're at least sleeping together. "Amy, this is Sloan Sabbith. We, uh, we …"
"Dated," Sloan supplies. "A long time ago," she emphasizes, because she does not want to get into the whole broken-engagement-because-he's-a-cheating-bastard side of things. Don gives her a side-eye. He's predisposed not to like Topher, which means he'll get overprotective, which means he'll get arrogant, which means he'll get snarky, which means that he'll run his fat stupid Don Keefer mouth and try and handle it. Which will come from a sweet place but he'll take it too far and absolutely make her livid. She squeezes his thigh in warning.
"Hi," Amanda — Amy — says, then does a double-take. "You look familiar, sorry."
"Sloan worked at Goldman too, a while back. She left … almost four years ago," Topher supplies.
"Oh, really? I've been in risk management there since 2006. What department?" Amy smiles.
"I was a managing director of forecasting and research," she smiles awkwardly. Amy connects her age to her title, and nods with respect. Yeah, bitch.
"She's on TV now, maybe that's it?" Don suggests, clearly trying to toe a line between supportive boyfriend and possessive asshole. She side-eyes him back a bit, because she has this. Mostly.
"Oh really? What kind of TV?"
"News. I'm the chief financial correspondent for ACN and anchor two market shows," her smile is frozen. She actively wants to disappear; she actively wants them to disappear.
"Oh, maybe that's it. Toph, do you think that's it?" she nudges Topher.
"Uh … maybe? I don't know," he says. "I … didn't know you were still doing TV, honestly."
"Yup. Every day. Not that hard to verify. You just have to turn on the television to find out. Two and four o'clock. And then eight and sometimes ten," Don verbally eye-rolls, and she really, really wants to stomp on his foot, but that might be obvious.
"Yeah, no, I guess I just figured you'd go back to a bank or, you know, real economics eventually … Anyways," he smiles, "that's great."
"Yeah, it is," she says. "What about you? Are you still in M&A?"
"Arbitrage, actually, now," he says. "At BlackRock."
"Ah haha, that's awesome," she wheezes, because of course he is in arbitrage. It's the douchiest of all the jobs. "Have you seen Delaney lately? I haven't kept up with the Goldman crowd at all."
"Oh, Delaney Yancy? Did you know her?" Amy smiles.
"We did. She was closer to Topher, though." She considers saying tell her I say hi, but wonders if that's too far.
Topher pales a little, and she smiles. Good. "I haven't, no. Not since I left Goldman. Anyways, it looks like you guys are busy," — he gestures toward their paper-strewn table — "and it's getting pretty late. So, Sloan, it was nice to see you. And, uh, Don — good to meet you. Take care of her."
Don shakes his head suddenly, like he's been overcome by a tic. "Yeah, don't worry about that, bud."
"We do both have some work to do," Sloan smiles tightly. "Good to see you."
She nudges her elbow in Don's side discreetly, and he obliges. "Nice to meet you," he sighs, and Topher steers Amy out by the elbow.
Sloan stares at the nonsensical essay until they're far away. Don waits patiently. "So we're never coming back here again," she finally says, still staring at the essay. She grips her pen tighter.
"Come on. We come here like twice a week, and you love this macaroni," he complains, then nudges her gently with his elbow. "So. That was Topher?"
"Yup. That was Topher," she says, returning her eyes to the paper in front of her. "Which was pretty obvious from my introduction." She gathers her papers and scoots out of the booth. "I'm going home."
"One sec," he says, flipping the cover across his iPad and rifling through his wallet for a few twenties as she heads for the door. "Jesus, slow down." She doesn't want to shout, so she just purses her lips and waits. She could insist that she's going home alone, but he would argue with her; plus, it's sixty-odd blocks to his apartment and it's past midnight. That would be mean.
They're just two blocks from her apartment, though, so they walk through the silent, wet streets, her leading, him just a tense half-step behind, until they reach her place. She opens the door, letting him walk in behind her, and he says, "So, I know you're probably going to be pissed at me for making the offer, but I just want to state for the record that I —"
She doesn't let him finish, though, deciding in a split second to propel him backwards with a kiss, using his body to shut the door. She winds a hand up to latch the door. "Don't talk," she commands. "Just — let me." He stares at her for a second, but she bites her lip, so he kisses her back, hard. This is one of the things she appreciates most about Don.
He lets her take the lead, yanking off his henley, raking her nails down his chest, snapping his belt off. He's aggressive, which is what she needs. He grounds her She pushes him onto the bed, kissing him bumpily as she pulls off his pants, and he manages to work the zipper of her jeans down and worm his fingers in, massaging her. It calms her but also turns her on, and she moans as she pulls down his boxers. He stops her for a second, kissing a line down her forehead, over the ridge of her nose, dots a kiss on her chin before going over her clavicle and down her sternum. She loses herself for a minute before yanking him back up and sliding herself onto him.
Later, after they're both done, she gets up and slides his discarded shirt on, feeling his eyes on her the entire time. She pads out to the kitchen, puts on some water to boil. She leans on the counter as the water begins to percolate, twisting her big toe into the ground.
A few minutes later, she hears Don's footsteps. "Hey," she says when he appears in his boxers. She scratches at the nape of her neck, mindlessly scraping at some old scab. "You want hot chocolate?"
He stares at her. "Sure," he finally decides. "That'd be great." She nods quickly, as he pulls a package of Oreos down from her top shelf. He twists one, offers her the cream side.
She stares at him, and the Oreo. "I shouldn't." She needs to brush her teeth.
"Come on. You had a sucky day," he cajoles.
She takes it, finishes it in two bites. "Ok," she says. "Why do I feel like I'm doing something wrong here? I don't think I'm in the wrong so I don't know why I should be feeling this."
He shrugs as she grabs two mugs and begins to prep their drinks. "I don't know why you're feeling this. You could tell me, but that's entirely your choice." His voice is open, suggestive, not passive-aggressive.
But she's annoyed anyways. "You know, when I said that you were a nice guy, I didn't mean that you were a pushover. If you have something you want to say, say it."
He sucks in a breath, and chooses his words carefully. "I don't know, Sloan. If you want to talk about why running into your asshole ex has put you in this mood, sure, I will listen and I will talk and I will be supportive. I have a few questions. But this? It's your thing. I'm not …," he looks down, pursing his lips. "Do I have a lot of questions? Yes. Am I worried by how this is affecting you? Yes. But yeah, I am trying not to be an asshole. He treated you like shit, Sloan, he did, like absolute shit. And you don't deserve that. You just don't. So the way I see it? The least I can do is not force you to talk about it. To not be like him and … make you feel bad. Would I … like to go and punch him, or … I don't know, run a story accusing him of fraud and malpractice —"
"He's in finance, it's all malpractice," she smirks, handing him his cocoa.
"Whatever," he says, blowing on the liquid. "My point is, if I thought it would make you feel any better without being totally disrespectful and douchey, I'd do it. But I honestly can't think of what I can or should say that wouldn't be a complete misogynistic dick move, and I'm trying not to be that guy, so I'm going to wait until you say something."
She's struck then, by just how deeply he cares for her. And how different he is than Topher or Scott or Riley or any of the guys she's dated in the past. His hair is rumpled, his body is red with marks she left, he looks like he's a little worried he's offended her, and she can honestly say she's never felt this way about anyone, ever.
So she grabs the package of Oreos — even though she shouldn't be eating this crap so late — and picks up her mug. She tilts her head toward the bedroom. "Come on. It's cold." Once they settle back in bed — he's leaning against the pillows, she's wrapped in the extra blanket but sitting Indian style — she commands, "Ask away."
"I … Whatever you want—"
"No, ask," she says, finally explaining, "I don't know where to start so it would — help — if you ask."
"Alright," he says carefully. "Are you — are you ok?"
"Yeah," she says immediately. "Of course I am. I — it was a shock, to see him." She gnaws on her lip. "I always — you know when you go through a breakup, and you're the breakupee, and you just have these … revenge fantasies? Where you imagine saying the perfect thing and putting them exactly in their place and making them feel how humiliated they made you feel? Only you can't get that in real life, you can barely get an approximation." He nods, and she continues. "So for years, I had these … imaginings, of how running into him again might go. And that was … not it."
"Ok," he says. "So what was different?"
"You know, you might want to consider a career in journalism one day," she jokes. "It would suit you."
"I'll take it under advisement," he says, and otherwise waits for her to continue. After a beat she keeps going.
"I don't know. At first I imagined I would be better dressed, for one. Probably wearing heels. And I thought … that I would tell him that he's a grade-A asshole. And that I would thank him, but in that ah-ha-ha petty way, because my life … everything … is so much better now. Job, friends, you … it's all so much better. So I would tell him what an asshole he was, then make him feel like he lost the best thing that ever came his way, and then make him feel like he's really just the scum of the earth."
"Well, for what it's worth, I do think he lost the best thing that came his way," he says. "And for what it's worth, I'm glad you didn't marry him."
"That's pretty selfish," she points out, because the jerk did break her heart along the way.
"I know. But you're being honest so I thought I would ... repay you with honesty. It's a thin, thin line between what he was doing and how I acted when I was dating Maggie—" she takes in a breath, because while she knew that he had slept with other women in the haziest periods of that relationship, she wasn't expecting him to draw a connection here — "and so I recognize that it's incredibly hurtful. And I ... wanted to say that I know that. And I'm incredibly sorry he put you through that. Selfishly glad you're not married to him but also very, very sorry."
She rearranges those interlocking, analogous pieces of their current relationship and their past relationships. "It's actually a lot different than what was going on with you and Maggie, for the record," she says.
"If you say so," he says.
"It is so," she says. "You two weren't engaged; you were on breaks."
"He treated you like shit. I treated Maggie like shit. And you know that. I just ... wanted that acknowledged."
"Acknowledged and differentiated. I don't think the two of you are the same at all, you know that, right?" she asks, because now she's wondering. "You … were under a lot of stress when you were with Maggie. You were kind-of-seeing someone and trying to keep it low-commitment, but that didn't work the way it normally did because you saw her every day and she's Maggie and she's all earnest and oblivious and charming and quirky. And then suddenly you were promoted to Will's EP and under a ton of stress, and then moved to Elliot's, and you always had an incredibly difficult mandate and Charlie didn't like you much because he thought you were too much of Reese's guy. There was a lot. So you tried to do the right thing by Maggie and ended up doing the wrong thing. You weren't malicious. You kept trying to fix your fuckups, and then fix the fuckups your fixes caused."
"The difference is one of shades and not color," he says. "You know you're rationalizing, right?"
"Contextualizing. It's true. I trust you," she says firmly. She is undeniably right. "I've known you for four years, the good and the bad, and I trust you. Because I know you. I know that you know when you're being hurtful, and you don't like it, and you try and change it. For god's sake you moved in with Maggie to fix an unhealthy relationship. He was intentionally hurtful, he doesn't try to be better, Don, and that's ... that's all the difference."
He's quiet. "Thank you," he says. "Anyways."
She smiles. "When I pictured running into him, I also thought I would warn whoever he was dating," she shrugs. "And clearly that didn't happen."
"Ok, and then what did you imagine after you imagined that?"
"What do you mean?"
"You said, 'at first.' At first you thought you would do that. It implies something changed. So what did you imagine next?"
She pauses. "I don't know. And then I think I thought it would be years later, and I would, I don't know, bump into him when I was rushing out of a super-important meeting, or had just been in the news for something or … even something ordinary. Like, running to the grocery store with a kid, or something. And I could just be so fucking magnanimous, and tell him how genuinely I hoped things had worked out for him, though I secretly knew that I had won. And I wanted to be able to mean it, and not care. Like, to have just moved on so far that I was that graceful that it could actually all be in the past."
"Alright. So I'm guessing you didn't quite feel that?"
Sheshakes her head. "No. I don't think I could feel that for another five or ten years, honestly."
"So how are you feeling now?"
She takes a sip of her tea before setting down the mug. "It … caught me off guard. I … You know I … fuck. You know I love you right?" She'd said the words once, on accident, demanded that he allow her to take it back, hadn't brought it up again. They don't quite capture everything she feels about him — like I like waking up next to you becauseI sleep better next to you and That fucking thing you do with your tongue is amazing and I trust you and You are the person whose opinion matters most to me and I have faith in you and You make me feel confident and I like making you laugh and You have great and interesting taste in music and When I'm with you I feel the most like myself and Thank you for always finding my lost keys and You're the producer who I think has the best news sense and I believe in you — but it's the best shorthand for all those things. She's felt this way for a while. "I do. Fuck. You … That's not to put any pressure on you —"
"No, for what it's worth, I love you too," he says, cutting her off almost off-handedly.
"Oh," she says, because she's not expecting that. "Thank you."
He laughs. "I tell you I love you and you fucking say thank you?" he doesn't sound mad though; in fact, he looks almost … enthralled.
"Shut up," she says, nudging him with her toe. "I'm just … That's a preface, for what I'm about to say. I love you, I do. I love you … differently than I ever loved him. Possibly more, but it's … different, so I can't really quantify it, since it's an imperfect comparison. Anyways," she sighs, as he continues to chuckle, "I wanted to … not care as much, when I saw him again. But I … still cared. And I wasn't … I wasn't able to be magnanimous, or kick-ass. I still … I still cared. More than I wanted to. A lot more than I wanted to, actually."
He's quiet for a minute, then finally says, "I'm sorry."
"Why are you sorry? I should be sorry."
"Why should you be sorry?"
"Because I just told you I loved you, and followed it up with, I still cared way too much about what my dirtbag ex-fiance thought about me? Just a guess, though, I could be wrong." She usually is about these things.
But Don doesn't think so, and he considers her words carefully. "I … think that's completely normal," he says. "He treated you like shit, you wanted to prove him wrong. And he caught you off-guard. I think all of those things are normal."
"I don't … I don't have any feelings for him. Or anyone. Well, besides you."
"I know you don't," he says. "For the record, I have no other feelings for anyone else, either."
"Good," she smiles, finally relaxing enough to abandon the blanket and curl into his side. "So … we're good?"
"Of course we are. Can we go back to the diner for lobster mac at some point in the future though?"
"Absolutely," she smiles.
"One thing I didn't get, though," he says, propping himself onto his elbow. "The new girlfriend … or whatever she was … She worked at Goldman when you broke up. How did she not know the reason?"
She's quiet for a second. "It's a big company?"
"But she knew the woman he … was cheating on you with? And didn't know?" She bites her lip. "Oh, my god. Did you … Did you not say anything?" At her guilty look, he goes, "Seriously? How did you not … let people know what a jackass he was?"
"It was four years ago!" she says. "I wasn't … I wasn't … super-assertive." It was true. Up until that point in her life, she had operated under the principle that if she studied more and knew more and understood more, merit would bear out. It was a security-blanket mentality, she knows now.
"So you just let him get away with it?"
"I didn't want to tell anyone!" she says. "I didn't know what to say. And I had just … caught him cheating, four days before the wedding, and I was already going to get tons of pity for calling everything off, and I had to make these terrible phone calls and talk to all these caterers that I just … I couldn't tell people why. These days? Yes. In a heartbeat. But … this was pre-ACN. Pre-Will. Pre-Charlie. Pre-you. I wasn't the best at standing up for myself. Besides, most of them were his friends anyways, so I just … quit. And didn't look back."
He looks at her then, not with pity but with compassion, and kisses her. "I'm really sorry, in a non-dickish, non-misogynistic way, that you went through all of that," he says honestly.
"I know," she says. "And you know what? I dated, I almost married, a total bad guy. That's how I knew you weren't, ok? That's how."
The next day, when Don's in his second rundown, right after she's finished her four o'clock, she gives Topher a call. It's a mostly impulsive choice. He's surprised to hear from her, but readily accepts when she suggests coffee at Bouchon in half an hour. She walks slowly, working out what the hell she could possibly have to say to him.
She's waiting for him, methodically turning an oversized raspberry macaron in a pile of crumbs, when he walks in. She waves him over, slightly unenthusiastically. "Hi," she smiles. "Thanks for meeting me."
"No problem," he says, putting his hands in his pockets. "What's, uh, what's up?"
"Do you want to order anything?" she asks, pointing to the line, and he shakes his head. "Alright then. You can sit down, you know."
He takes a seat nervously. "I was surprised that you called."
"I was surprised to run into you at the diner yesterday," she says frankly.
"Amy — she lives around the corner," he admits.
"It's a good neighborhood — a little far from work, but we like it," she smiles.
"So … you and …"
"Don. His name is Don."
"Right. You're serious?"
"We are," she says, then pushes away the half-eaten macaron. "Anyways. I didn't come here to make nice. Or to threaten to tell Amy, or something, so you don't need to make that face. I can see you were concerned about that, but I'm not going to blackmail your new relationship. Besides, I'm sure you'll fuck it up on your own anyways, though I can hope you have a smidge more respect for her than you ever did for me."
"Hey I really am sorry, like I said when we —"
"And like I said when we broke up, I still think you were mostly sorry you got caught, though if you have changed — which I doubt — I am genuinely happy for you. I still want nothing to do with you, but given that otherwise you're just ruining more people's lives, I would be happy for the world — and you, for karma — if you weren't such a jerk."
"Ok …." he says, a little lost.
She redirects. She's rambling and on tangents that she didn't expect to traverse. She had a mission, when she called him. "Honestly, when I first called you, I was going to tell you everything I didn't tell you when I found you fucking Delaney Yancy in our bed. And then I was going to find a way to tell Amy. I've gotten better at speaking up for myself, and I wanted you to know that. Then I decided, right now actually, that all that sounded a little too much like a country-western song."
"I actually knew that, you know," he interrupts.
"You knew what?"
"That you had gotten better at speaking up for yourself. I do watch your show. Not all the time. Sometimes."
She sits back, a small smile on her face. "Oh yeah? What'd you think?"
"You're not bad, Sabbith."
"Most viewers and commentators think I'm actually pretty good," she says. "So why'd you not say that?"
"I … don't know."
"Let me hazard a guess: You didn't want to give me that one thing, years later? You didn't want to acknowledge at all that I'd found something new and am actually doing really well for myself. You were rude, last night. 'Banking,' and 'real economics,'" she clucks. "That was rude."
"I'm … sorry?"
"Don't be," she says. "I get it. Why do you think you're here now?"
"I actually still don't know," he says.
"Right," she says, finally landing on what she wants to say. "I was going to say all the things I didn't say. But that's the past, isn't it?" She looks at him, and where she once felt anger, she now just feels … nothing. So she figures out what that emotion is. "No. I just want to say … I forgive you."
"You … forgive me?"
"Yes. For cheating on me. I actually, genuinely do." It's kind of news to her, too. "You were a terrible boyfriend. The worst I've ever had, actually. But … I'm really happy now. And I'm really good at what I do. And just … in the last two minutes, you've made me realize all of that. I'm not going to thank you, but I forgive you," she stares at him. "I've carried that for almost four years. And I think I needed to say that more for me than you needed to hear that, but there you go."
"I'm not … I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say."
"Of course you aren't," she smiles tightly. "Anyways. I need to get back to the studio. I hope … I hope you have a good life, Toph. A genuinely good one. Not one filled with money, or things, or vacations in crazy locations but … a good life. I do."
"You … you too, Sloan," he says, still looking stunned.
She hugs him, because it's the last time she'll ever see him, and he's a significant part of her past. Then she walks out, with a small smiles on her face. Her phone beeps, and she turns it over to see a text message from Don.
Sloan Sabbith does run into Topher once more in her life, on a Saturday far, far in the future (two weeks after she wins her second Peabody). She's in the grocery store, buying last-minute snacks for the soccer team because her genius husband forgot to tell her that Coach Mike had asked them to bring extra juice boxes. She's got one daughter by the hand, the second is ten feet ahead twirling in the aisle, and her son is about to have a meltdown since he's going to be late for his game. Topher is standing alone, perusing Gristedes' wine selection. She checks out his left hand — there's a wedding ring there. Her oblivious twirling daughter twirls into him, and he looks up. Their eyes connect, and she smiles. "Hey, Topher," she says. "How's it going?"
So this piece has my second-favorite line in the whole piece: "I tell you I love you and you fucking say thank you?" he doesn't sound mad though; in fact, he looks almost … enthralled." I think that sums them, and the piece, up so nicely. (I'll get to my favorite sentence later).
I thought this piece was important, given their histories — Sloan was cheated on; Don treated Maggie like shit — for them moving forward. They're both trying to overcome their pasts. At the same time, it offered a good opportunity to expand on Sloan's 'nice guy' theory. They needed to have this talk, and they needed to bump into the ex.
I tried to highlight, in every part of the interaction, how different they were than her previous relationship and his previous relationship with Maggie. There's a lot of trust and learned confidence in the way he knows to let her take the lead here. He lets her get her rocks off, then works her through the breakup. Sloan's not great with nuance (though I think her problems with social interaction are purposefully greatly exaggerated by her since most people let her get away with more with it), and she assumes that what she wants and needs for closure is revenge. And it turns out that's the last thing she needs — she needs to look at him and feel no ill will. It's not what she expected, but (to quote Diane, from 'Cheers') the opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference. And she needs to get to indifference toward him. She realizes that's what she has by the time she's at the bakery.
But I think it's also important for Don to know — and believe — that here, he's not the bad guy. Sloan needs to articulate, convincingly, the differences so he can move forward. And there are so many differences! He just doesn't believe them, I don't think, until now. So he doesn't necessarily think this is something that can last long-term, much as he likes her and wants to meet her mother and everything. He still thinks he can fuck this up. He still thinks she has bad taste and is only attracted to the bad guys, which damns him as much as it means he gets to be with her. So I think this is important for him to know, once and for all, that he's not a 'total bad guy.'
I went back and forth on including the tag. It was mostly a tease to the second piece that I'm still working through, Thicker Than Forget. But I also wanted felt leaving the diner was a bit unfinished. I thought this was a nice kicker — even if she didn't need to have that moment where she runs into Topher and gets to be super-magnanimous, she still gets to have that moment.