Harv wonders if Lightning pities him. If Lightning makes a habit of making Thanksgiving plans with the solo flyers of the world, who've got their trunks full of hard cash and roomfuls of lonely ladies waiting to share it with them. And he snorts, because he knows that's a big hell no. Lightning's no saint to the solitary bachelor, dispensing favors. And Lightning knows Harv well enough to know that Harv's happy--this is his style, and he's blitzed to be living it.
This is personal. He'd just wanted to meet Harv. Just for a night.
"Sorry I never got a chance to meet your old man," says Harv, because he knows that's gotta be part of all this. It just is.
He says, "He sounded like one of the real ones."
"Yeah, he was," Lightning agrees, and he gets that look again--extreme fulfillment. Jesus, it's like Harv's never shown him basic decency before.
But then, maybe he hadn't. It's easy to forget about that part. Harv never makes calls unless he's multi-tasking something else, and he's always on the clock.
"You want dessert?" Harv asks. Harv's not much of a dessert man--if he's not licking it off the hood of a sports coupe, he's not sure he sees the point--but he's got a feeling Lightning is.
They talk for another hour, over a confection that involves rum cherries, latticed chocolate, and cream. It's difficult to eat.
For the first time, Harv wishes he and Lightning were buddies. But not really.