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As the guests began to arrive, Leo stationed himself near his dad’s front door, Emily on his arm, his cheeks already aching with a constant smile. Since Leo had moved out almost a year ago, he hadn’t seen most of his neighbors in that time, and he was surprised by how nice it felt to greet all these familiar faces he was used to seeing on Neptune’s walks. There were a few new faces in the mix, too, young families, some people not much older than Leo but with a kid or two in tow. It made him a little queasy, to tell you the truth. Not the kids; he liked kids and wanted one or two of them someday. But people his age with kids? He didn’t feel even remotely ready, not even when he saw how naturally Emily cooed at the baby and made it smile.

Talia was the first Levinson to show up, though it took him a second to realize it. Gone were her black hair and heavy bangs, the constantly rolling eyes lined in thick black goop. Apparently graduating from college had shifted her style to a brown bob (Leo had no idea if it was her natural hair color; she’d been blond as a kid) and either no or natural makeup—Leo could never tell. Once he’d told Emily how incredible she looked with no makeup, and she’d laughed and told him she was wearing mascara, foundation, and some other stuff he couldn’t remember. The only person he could for sure tell was or wasn’t wearing makeup was Shira, because he’d seen her face in so many states of dress and undress over the years. He’d literally watched her face form into its current state, from childhood to teenagerhood.

Why did he keep thinking of Shira tonight? Probably because he was about to see her for the first time in a year. It made total sense.

“Happy Hanukkah, Talia!” Leo said, and she glowered at him. At least that would never change.

“I’ve decided to go to rabbinical school,” she told him.

“Wow.” He blinked. That had certainly come out of nowhere. “Nice. Congrats. Or mazel tov, I guess.”

“Thanks,” she said, and swept inside. Her parents came after her in a flurry of “Congratulations on your game, we’ve heard all about it” and “How nice to meet you, Emily” and “Ooh, is that brisket?” before they ran in to nab the good end pieces, as they put it.

And then there was Shira. She was wearing a dark-blue dress that flared out around her knees and fit much better than the black dress from last year had; she’d thrown her hair up in a messy bun, and her hands were clasped before her, holding each other tightly, as if she were trying to stop herself from biting her nails. (She clearly hadn’t been doing a great job at it—Leo could see the gnaw marks from here.) “Shira, hey, happy Hanukkah,” he said and turned to Emily. “Emily, this is Shira, my neighbor and old friend. Shira, this is Emily. My girlfriend.”

Was it Leo’s imagination, or did Shira’s whole body do a stutter stop before her smile turned on? “Emily, hi,” she said, extending her hand. Emily shook hers back. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Emily said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Only good things, I hope.” Shira beamed with all her teeth. “You guys met at school?”

“Yeah, after Leo transferred to Rutgers. We were both the old people in our psychology elective.” She laid her head on Leo’s shoulder, arm twining tighter through his. “I swear you could hear all the eighteen-year-olds groan whenever we asked a question. And I’m pretty sure they had a class Google Doc we weren’t invited to.”

“Joke’s on them because we set the curve for the final,” Leo added. Somehow it seemed important that Shira knew how well he’d done.

“Wow, good for you,” Shira said, mostly sincerely. She glanced over her shoulder, as if she were worried she was blocking other guests from entering, but no, she was the last one, at least for now. Her earring swung with the movement, an earring shaped like a menorah, tiny jewels glinting in place of candles. Of course Shira would own menorah earrings. “And did you see my text about how the kid next to me on the plane was playing your game?”

“Yeah, that was so cool,” Leo said without a lot of enthusiasm. Which was probably weird, right? He should be enthusiastic that his game, the thing he’d crafted with his brain and his hands and his time, was reaching so many people and striking so many chords.

But he knew better than to try and inject false enthusiasm into his voice, because it just made him sound insane. So he took the coward’s way out. “What’s new with you?”

“Oh, well, you know.” She sounded a little too bright herself, verging on the edge of insane. “I’m sure you saw that Danica was not only the youngest artist to have a solo show at the Whitney but was also the US’s exhibition in the Venice Biennale. So she’s been everywhere, and that’s been fun.”

“What’s the Venice Biennale?” Leo and Emily said at the same time. Emily snickered and elbowed him. “You owe me a Coke.”

“There are plenty of Cokes over on the beverage table that I purchased. Help yourself,” said Leo. She rolled her eyes.

“You guys don’t know what the Venice Biennale is?” Shira said. “It’s basically…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

“I love that print of yours that Leo has hanging up!” Emily said cheerfully. “He said you’re doing your art full-time now? That’s so cool!”

“I am indeed doing my art full-time now!” Shira said, matching Emily’s level and then going all-in on the cheer. “Had a tiny little breakdown earlier this year and left my job at the gallery to hustle on my own stuff. What better time, right? Being young and single and sans mortgage?”

“The perfect time!” Emily said, and if she was going to add any more exclamation points into the conversation, Leo couldn’t handle it. He didn’t think Shira could handle it, either. Her smile was so huge it took over her face, and yet somehow it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in. “I should probably warn you that your creepy uncle’s made an appearance.”

Nothing but confusion on her face for a few seconds, and then it clicked. Her eyes lit up. “Can I get a hint so that I don’t jump out of my skin?”

“He’s not a mensch, and he’s also not actually on a bench. And he’s very tall this year,” Leo said.

“I see.” She looked up. “I’ll keep my eye out. He’d better not try to look down my shirt.”

“I’ll stomp on him if he does that,” Leo promised, and Shira laughed.

“Okay, thanks for protecting my honor. I hope that your fancy caterers are doing my latke cocktail?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said.