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“Seriously,” Shira said. “I’m seriously fine.”

Her family nodded and exchanged a glance they probably thought she didn’t catch. “The pasta is delicious,” said her mom, taking a delicate bite from the end of her fork. Obvious subject change. Her dad made this pasta all the time. They knew it was delicious.

They didn’t even mention Danica, Ellery, and Nora. Which was kind of funny. Because in her admittedly limited experience, friend breakups were a hundred times more devastating than romantic ones. She couldn’t stop glancing at her phone whenever it buzzed, assuming it was the group chat. Every time she passed her and Danica’s bar, the one neither of them particularly liked but was cheap and near both their workplaces, she stared at her feet and hurried past so that she wouldn’t cry.

Breaking up with William had been like cutting her hair. Maybe like giving herself bangs. Yes, she’d cringe every time she walked by a mirror and was reminded of what she’d lost, and she didn’t feel good about it right now. But it would grow back, and it would look good eventually, and even if it was never exactly how it was before, she’d still be able to throw it up into a ponytail without thinking too much about how bad she’d looked with bangs.

Breaking up with Danica and Ellery and Nora had been like chopping off half her fingers. Their absence hurt every time she tried to type a text or button her shirt or got a reminder of something they’d done years before, reminding her that this used to be done another way, a better way. And, even if she eventually got high-tech prosthetics—like, advanced prosthetics controlled by her mind—her fingers would never, ever work the same.

Why were there no angsty songs about friend breakups? Maybe she would write one, she thought as she jammed a bite of pasta into her mouth and chewed with such ferocity that she could feel her family’s worried eyes on her again. She couldn’t sing or write music, but she could learn. She could learn.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket again. Despite the family rule of no phones at the dinner table, Shira took it out. Sure enough, it was work. An artist her boss wanted to poach was going to be at a party in New York City the next night. She’d gone to Columbia and graduated in the same year, the same program, as Shira. Shira must know her, right? Could she go and schmooze her? It wasn’t that far from Shira’s family’s house, right?

Without even seeing the artist’s name, Shira could respond that she’d know her. The art program wasn’t that big, and she’d known everyone in her year, if not well. And it wasn’t like she could tell her boss she couldn’t go because she needed to prep for the Hanukkah party. Gritting her teeth, she typed back, Of course. Clicked on the event link, and her stomach plummeted to her feet, then through her soles and into the basement and down, down, down until it burned up in the molten core of the earth. No. Oh, no.

“Shira?”

She glanced up to find her family studiously not looking at her, which was almost as bad as when they were all looking at her. “What?” she snapped, wanting to actually literally snap something in between her teeth. “Something to say?”

“Nooooooo,” said Talia. “Except that the pasta is delicious.”

So after dinner, when Shira snuck a bottle of wine from the basement—she didn’t need to sneak alcohol at her age, she knew that, but force of habit—and met Leo at his house with a few plastic cups, she felt like she deserved it. “You didn’t need to bring cups,” he told her, shutting the door against the winter chill. “We do have cups.”

“I felt like drinking the wine out of a plastic cup,” Shira told him, bending down to give Neptune a good scratch between the ears. She still felt like she might vomit up her pasta. “It’s a whole mood.”

“Ah.” Leo took the bottle, grimacing. “It’s warm, too. Is that part of the mood?”

“Yes.”

His dad wasn’t home—he was out on a date, apparently?!—but sitting at a legitimate venue like the dining room table did not fit the whole mood, so they went down into the basement, where the musty smell and old cracked leather couch and spidery boxes piled in the corners completed Shira’s vision. She slumped into the couch, feeling it sag in the middle under the cumulative history of too many butts. “Thanks for letting me come over. I desperately needed to get out of the house.”

“Ah.” Leo had declined her warm wine—fine, more for her!—but had deigned to accept one of her plastic cups for his cold orange soda. “One of those nights? Family getting on your nerves?”

Shira sighed. She felt the anger draining out of her like the wine draining from the bottle. “No, they’re just worried about me, and I guess it’s better than them not caring about me, but god, sometimes it feels suffocating.”

“Well, you’re used to being on the other side of the country.” He’d clipped his hair shorter this year, not quite to his head but close enough where the curls didn’t tumble anymore, and it made everything he said sound somehow more logical and serious.

She took a sip of her wine. It had started the process of turning into vinegar. She winced but gulped it down anyway. “Maybe.”

“What were they so worried about?” He rested his elbows on his knees. His wardrobe had changed a bit, too. He was still in a T-shirt and jeans, but the soft gray T-shirt fit him well, had clearly been purchased for the purpose of him wearing it to the office or to see friends rather than having been found crumpled in the back of a drawer. The jeans were dark and distressed, baggy in an intentional way but the exact perfect length despite his tallness. Maybe tailored.

One of his socks had a hole in the toe, though. That cheered her. He clearly hadn’t changed that much.

“They think I’m unhappy. Mostly because of the breakup.”

Leo didn’t show any surprise, which made sense because they had indeed done better at staying in touch over the year, mostly via text. They hadn’t texted constantly or anything, but maybe once a month or so Leo would text her something that reminded him of her, or Shira would send him a link to something she thought was funny, and they’d have a little conversation about what was going on in their lives. “Are you unhappy because of the breakup?”

She wrinkled her nose. “No. William was a good guy, and I don’t regret dating him, but he wasn’t the one.” She knew that mostly because, once she’d done what needed to be done, she’d been sad, yes, but also relieved. She’d thought about the future and didn’t feel lonely without the thought of him by her side. “It’s…” She couldn’t even get into all of it. So, as her family had, she went ahead and changed the subject. “Did you hear that the deli’s shut down again for some kind of infestation?”

“What, locusts?” Leo said. “It’s Hanukkah. Do they think it’s Passover?”

Shira snorted. “But it’s okay. I’m going to do all the food myself this year, and it’s going to be spectacular.”

Leo furrowed his forehead. Without all his hair getting in the way, his eyebrows, thick and dark, were extra expressive. “What do you mean, you’re going to make the food yourself? Won’t that be a lot of work?”

“Sure, but I can handle it!” She waved her arms in the air, nearly knocking over the plastic glass of wine on the end table. “I’m going to go all out. Homemade latkes with sour cream and smoked salmon and caviar. I’m going to make the smoked salmon, it’s not that hard.”

“I’ll do the caviar,” Leo said seriously. “Finally put my scuba certificate to use.”