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Leo cleared his throat. “Go light the candles. You threw the whole freaking party, the least you can do is enjoy it.”

And with that, he turned and left the room. She followed him out to the living room, where clusters of people were crowded around each of the menorahs the Levinsons had accumulated over the years: the fancy twisty brass ones Shira and Talia had been gifted for their bat mitzvahs, the dinosaur one they had used as little kids, the tarnished silver one that had been passed down from their grandparents, the stained glass artsy one her parents had gotten as a wedding gift.

She joined the nearest cluster, assuming Leo was doing the same, and opened her mouth in song. The familiar words and the familiar tune poured out of her, joining with all the other people all over the world doing this at the same time on the same day, connecting her with all her ancestors who had sung these same words to the same tune to the same array of shining lights.

Her dad, who was holding the shammash, glanced in her direction and gestured her forward with the hand holding the candle, which splattered wax on the windowsill. The group parted for her, and she made it to his side in time to take the candle and light all six candles before gingerly melting the bottom and fitting it into its holder. (Because it was the sixth night, it was so full of melted wax already that it was like playing a game where if you lost, you burned yourself.)

By the time she was done, Leo was gone. And she didn’t realize it until she was packing up to fly home, but so was the book she’d gifted him.

From Shira Levinson’s email-drafts folder:

January: Hey Leo—Hope all is well! Your dad gave my mom your email and I thought I’d reach out. Also, I saw that you have social media now—I hope it’s cool that I followed you! I’ve been thinking about how we left things and I hate that we didn’t hash things out before I flew back to LA. I don’t know if your dad told you, but I did go by your house twice and you weren’t there. Or maybe you were there, just avoiding me. I really don’t think that somebody’s worth is defined by their job, it’s just that, in my field of work, I can’t be with someone who doesn’t want more from life than oh god I sound like such a tool

March: Hey Leo—Hope you’re doing well! I’ve been thinking about how we left things over the break and wanted to clear the air, because you mean so much to me. I just think you could be doing so much more with your life and I hate to see you oh god I sound like such a TOOL

July: Hey Leo—Hope you’re enjoying that gross East Coast summer heat. Is it weird that I miss the humidity? Anyway, I just wanted to see how you were doing. It’s funny how we place so much importance on what we do for a living, isn’t it? It’s like the first thing people ask when they meet you. Maybe it should be less important. I just want to make sure you’re happy. Ugh no that sounds so condescending

From Leo David’s sent-emails folder:

March: To Whom It May Concern: I was perusing the offerings in last semester’s Ocean County College course catalog and wanted to inquire about next semester’s, as I was considering enrolling in the fall…

July: Hey Roy—I feel like it’s been ages since we were owning the rest of Brody Neighborhood in beer pong, how are you doing? I saw on LinkedIn that you work for Callisto Studios now, that’s awesome. They’re one of my favorite indie game studios, I loved Blue Blue Sky. I saw that they’re looking for an entry-level QA tester. I was planning to apply, and I was wondering if you could put in a good word for me…

From Leo David’s email-drafts folder:

September: Hey Shira—Hope you’re enjoying that beautiful LA weather while we suffer out here in the mouth of Satan. I just wanted to let you know that I’m moving on up in the world—started taking classes at OCC and also got a new job adjacent to where I want to be in the gaming industry. It’s been pretty cool so far. Maybe now that I’m taking steps toward being a Serious Person you might ugh no Leo you’re so pathetic, you are not sending this

6

Year Two

If there was one thing Leo David hated more than anything, it was having to eat crow. Okay, he hated a few things more than eating crow: the taste of cilantro, for one (getting his mouth washed out with soap as a punishment for cursing as a kid had been terrible, why do it voluntarily?) and having to bury a pet (Neptune was going gray around the muzzle, and he was already dreading the day) and forcing himself to sit down for dinner with Joe once a week for omelets or pancakes or steak and eggs (because apparently his dad only knew how to cook brunch food).

But eating crow was definitely up there. And while he’d managed to avoid thinking too hard about Shira Levinson for the past year after their fight at the Hanukkah party, he knew that she always flew home for the holiday. He knew that he could try to avoid seeing her, too, but they’d run into each other at some point, and he’d have to prepare himself for—

Oh, shit. There she was, literally, right there, strolling down the sidewalk all bundled up in her pink wool peacoat and sophisticated navy beanie, her cheeks and the bridge of her nose red with cold, the setting sun making her glow all around as if from a halo. He took a deep breath. She hadn’t seen him yet; she was looking over her shoulder at someone behind her, probably her sister or her parents. He briefly considered turning tail and running the other way, but Neptune was not known for his running (more for his skills at napping in the exact shape of a doughnut), and besides, it would be far more awful for her to turn and see his retreating back than his fake smile.

So he geared up that fake smile—shaking it out and hanging it on the line, where it hopefully wouldn’t stiffen too much—for when she turned around. Which she did. Her eyes widened in surprise, and for one heart-stopping moment, he wasn’t sure whether she was going to turn tail and run the other way. But of course she didn’t, because she was Shira Levinson, and she had everything together—even her fake smile, which he could tell from her real smile by the lack of a dimple in her left cheek. “Leo!” she said. “Fancy running into you here!” She smiled down at Neptune, crouched to give him a good scratch behind his silky ears. She didn’t hunch as she crouched, rather folded elegantly like an origami crane. “Good to see you, buddy.” She stood, swinging her arms at her sides as if she were nervous.

There were two ways this conversation could go; he knew that right off the bat. They could exchange a few fake pleasantries, laugh a few fake laughs, and wish each other a good afternoon before they went about their day, and then that would be it. That would be their new baseline.

He’d spent a full year having nightmares about that baseline. He took a deep breath as Shira turned toward him, leaving her face in profile against the setting sun for a moment, outlining the strong lines of her features in gold. “Look,” he said. “I’m sorry about the way things ended last year. I was an ass to you, and I shouldn’t have been. You were just trying to help.” Her mouth was hanging open. “Oh, and also,” he said, “hi.”

She laughed—her real laugh, the one not just with the dimple but with her crooked bottom teeth on display. “Leo David, apologizing.” And she quickly sobered. “I’m sorry, too. Honestly, I’ve been trying to figure out a way to apologize all year. I was also an ass.”

Leo probably wouldn’t have been able to apologize a year ago. He certainly hadn’t been ready right after their fight, the wounds too red and raw and fresh. He’d walked Neptune in the woods so he wouldn’t have to run into her in the neighborhood, stubbornly told himself that she’d clearly changed in the last eight years and didn’t know him at all anymore. That he was doing just fine and he’d been doing fine without her in his life for eight years, that he didn’t need her at all.

But it was a wonder what a year could do. After maybe a month of pure annoyance in her direction, a doubt cracked through and let in a little light. What if… And then another couple of months and another few cracks were open, and the light was enough to see that maybe she was right about two things, that his job wasn’t a good fit for him and maybe he should start thinking about his future. And then another month and that stupid book was still sitting on his desk, and he had nothing else to do, so he cracked it open.

If they’d tried to repair things immediately, he probably never would have really looked inward and decided that he wanted to change for himself. “No, you were actually right,” he said. “At least about some things.” He cleared his throat again. “I started taking some coding courses at OCC.” The local community college. “They’re not too expensive, and they’re right nearby, so I can live at home and save money.”

“That’s great,” Shira said. “You know, I wasn’t trying to say you were a loser or anything. If you’d been happy, I totally never would’ve said anything, but I could see how unhappy you were, so…”

“I was really unhappy.” This might have been the first time he voiced it out loud. It didn’t feel bad, actually. Surprisingly. “But this feels good. A baby step toward something else.”

“That’s great,” she said again. Her eyes crinkled with relief. “And it’s probably easy to schedule shifts at the warehouse around your class schedule.”

“I’m actually not at the warehouse anymore, either.” To be fully honest, that wasn’t entirely due to Shira or what she said. He’d just had it with his boss nitpicking him for going thirty seconds over his fifteen-minute break or telling him that he wasn’t allowed to go to the bathroom until he met his quota. “I found a job as a QA tester. Quality assurance for a game developer. The pay isn’t great, and the hours are long, but it’s remote, so there’s no commute, and it’s a foot in the door for when I’m looking for an internship or something.”