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Since we obviously wouldn’t be lighting a menorah with Seth’s friends tonight at the Christmas festival, we made sure to light the candles with Seth’s parents before leaving. They had their menorah all set up in their window the way you were supposed to, so that it beamed its light to everybody else on the street. A major part of Hanukkah was being loud and proud about your Jewishness, paying tribute to the Maccabees who’d died fighting against assimilation by defiantly sharing your menorah in a world full of Christmas lights.

We were on the seventh floor, so probably nobody could see ours from the street, but it was the thought that counted.

“Bring home one or two of Kylie’s ornaments for me,” Bev said to us from the couch, where she and Benjamin were sitting on opposite ends, Bev focused intently on some streaming romantic drama while Benjamin was just as intently focused on the thick hardcover in his lap. Bev seemed to be the kind of person who didn’t put on pajamas until she was actually in her bed, but she had changed out of her day wear into what had to be expensive fuzzy lounge pants and a sweatshirt. Benjamin seemed to be the kind of person who slept in pressed pants and a button-down, so he wasn’t in pajamas, either. “I like to give them as gifts to those who celebrate Christmas.”

Seth promised we would, and then we were out into the chill of the night. I’d dressed up a little bit in a burgundy sweater dress, black boots, and a matching scarf, while Seth was in his usual jeans and flannel. But maybe because I was looking fancy, Seth declared we’d be taking a cab instead of the subway.

I wasn’t going to lie: I felt a little bit like I was starring in a Christmas rom-com, sitting in the back of a yellow cab as the bright lights of the city whizzed past me, Times Square billboards shouting out holiday specials of TV shows and sidewalk trees strung with twinkling lights, packs of tourists roaming with Santa hats on and glimpses of tall, stately Christmas trees strung with glowing white orbs standing proudly in the lobbies of fancy doorman buildings.

Of course, it ruined the effect a little bit when Seth gallantly opened the cab door for me and I stepped right into an ankle-deep puddle of murky gray slush. RIP, nice leather boots.

I shook it off as Seth helped me up the curb, thanking the cabdriver before he sped away, splashing my boots with more murky gray water. Why did I even bother?

This Christmas market was all the way downtown, smaller than the big, more commercial one in Union Square but just as cheery and festive. A perfectly conical Christmas tree peaked above the booths from the center, garlanded in red ribbons and covered in so many loops of twinkling multicolored lights that I could hardly see the green boughs. The booths themselves weren’t much more than tents over rickety wooden tables, but the smells floating out from them were warm and welcoming: spicy gingerbread; oozy melted chocolate; mulled wine warm with cinnamon and cloves. The laughs of children and cheerful calls of vendors echoed from the aisles, too. The whole effect was warm and cozy, exactly what I wanted for my own festival.

I turned to Seth to tell him this, but he was distracted, eyes sweeping the crowd in search of the friend group. His mouth opened in a silent hail as he raised his arm, and just like that, we were getting hugged by a bunch of wool-wrapped arms and squeezed by fleecy fingers. “So glad you could come!” Dan said to Seth, slapping him on the back.

Someone else hugged me lightly from the side. “So glad you could come, too,” Freya said to me, her smile a flash of frost pink and blinding white.

I was surprised to feel genuinely happy to see her. It had been so long since I’d had a real friend who was a girl. Not that one night of being nice to each other in a bathroom made us friends. But I’d seen friendships founded on less.

Before I could respond, the Mikes were all on me, and they were introducing their various dates and other friends they’d brought along, who blended into one amorphous mass of sparkling earrings and crisp wool pea coats and boots that were somehow not gritty with dirt and slush. I smiled and said, “Nice to meet you,” so many times that the words lost all meaning, making sure to keep by Seth’s side so that he couldn’t disappear and leave me all alone with these people. Not that he would. And not that it would be so bad if he did.

I just felt more secure having him there by my side.

As if he were reading my mind, he grabbed my hand. I looked over to find him smiling at me, and before I could help it, my lips curved themselves up at him. Of course he hadn’t read my mind. He was just remembering that we had to put on a show for his friends.

Christmas music jingled cheerfully over loudspeakers as we made our way into the maze of booths and tents, sleigh bells and bright trumpets. We passed a potpourri seller, the smell of dried flowers and pine making me a little dizzy, then a waffle stand. I didn’t know what loaded waffles had to do with Christmas, but, my god, I suddenly realized I’d never wanted anything more than a hot cinnamon waffle filled with cookie butter and drizzled with salted caramel.

“Your eyes are gooey,” Seth said. “Like a bride’s on her wedding day.”

“Only if that bride is walking down the aisle to a hot cinnamon waffle filled with cookie butter and drizzled with salted caramel.”

Seth’s hand, still in mine, pulled me toward the stand. “Come on.”

“Won’t we lose your friends?”

“We’ll catch up.”

The line was long, but it moved quickly. My insides were melting like that warm salted caramel I was dreaming about. Seth glanced down at me, his smile deepening. “You know, you’re kind of looking at me like…”

“Like what?”

He shook his head. “Never mind.” He stepped up to the counter to place our order.

He’d better not have been about to say I was looking at him with those gooey eyes. Because I definitely wasn’t. That look was reserved for waffles and waffles only.

And it was fully deserved, by the way: that waffle was delicious. I chewed slowly, hoping I hadn’t gotten caramel all over my face. “So good.”

“Do I get a bite?” Seth asked, giving me puppy dog eyes.

My initial reaction was to say no, because other people’s dirty mouths on my food equaled gross, but I hesitated before the word could come out. He had just bought the waffle for me. And somehow I didn’t think of Seth’s mouth as dirty. Also, more importantly, we had to put on a good show for his friends. His friends who were off somewhere ahead of us.

“Oh my god,” Seth said, mouth full. “I, too, would marry this waffle and have little waffle babies.”

“You didn’t think this through,” I told him. “Because the way that ends is with me eating your wife and children.”

“A sacrifice I am willing to make. As long as I get a bite.”