The house glowed against the December evening, windows golden with light. Through the glass, Jonah could see figures moving — the table already set, menorah waiting. He could hear the faint sound of laughter.
Tzipi stood beside him on the front walk, her hand tucked into his. Kara and Shel flanked them, the four of them having driven up together from the city, trading stories and comfortable silence in equal measure.
Three days. It had been three days since the boat.
Three days of figuring out what "we" meant when they weren't running from drunk co-stars or fraudulent wellness companies.
Three days of coffee in the morning and her laugh-snorting at his terrible jokes and Chinese takeout just so they could read each other fortunes (in bed.)
Three days of her teaching him how to delegate instead of doing everything himself, and him teaching her that not every crisis required her to handle it alone.
Three days that felt dangerously close to the beginning of something real.
"Ready?" Tzipi asked, squeezing his hand.
Jonah looked at her — short hair catching the light from the house. Looking exactly like, and nothing like, her sister. Completely herself.
"Are you kidding?" he said. "I've been ready for latkes since I finished latkes with Shel this morning at Russ and Daughters.”
She laughed, and he'd already memorized that sound.
Tzipi glanced at her sister, something unspoken passing between them. "You sure about this? It's a lot of people."
“I was just about to ask the same thing of you! I’m sure," Kara said. She glanced at her phone. “Um…Jonah? Why did you just text me the frying pan emoji?”
“Oh, snap!” Tzipi laughed. She and Kara had traded phones back yesterday. “I guess I’d better give you my actual number now.”
“You think?” Jonah sputtered a laugh. “Athough, having Vanta Blackmore’s digits in my phone could be useful…”
That earned him a double punch on the arms from both women.
“Only if you promise to use it for good and not evil,” Kara warned.
“That depends on where you see elementary school public speaking falling on the scale?” Jonah said. “Because my sister would owe me for life next fourth grade Career Day.”
“Love that energy! Front of the class vibes!”
“That’s her way of saying no,” Tzipi translated. “But the other twin would totally do that. They’d get Rosie Bloom…and a cafeteria food waste audit.” She grinned.
He reached for the door, but Tzipi caught his arm.
"I hope it's okay I brought my sister. And Shel. We promised to be together to light the final candle this year."
"Tzipi." He turned to face her fully, both hands finding hers. "It's more than okay. This is... this is what we do. We show up for each other. We bring the people we care about. We make room."
"Even for chaos?"
"Especially for chaos." He smiled. "You should've seen the year Avi brought his entire band and crew. Thirteen people. Mrs. Katz didn't even blink."
Behind them, Shel cleared his throat gently. "Should we...?"
But Jonah wasn't quite ready to move yet.
Because standing here on this threshold – the Katz house warm and waiting behind them, the eighth night about to begin, Tzipi's hand in his and her family beside her – he found himself thinking about next year.
About Nora and Beck’s baby, who would be here by then. And Talia, as a bride. About how different the group would look; how much would change.
About Eli and Sylvie, and whether they’d both make it back for next year's Matzo Baller. About Jay's inevitable plans to make it even bigger, better and more epic.
