He unspooled himself from his seat. “Maybe something stronger?” At my expression, his mouth twitched. “If you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” I said quickly. Drinking didn’t bother me; just drinking alone with Tyler Nelson wasn’t a scenario I’d exactly envisioned. I led him to the bar cart, stocked high with liquors.
He crouched down to examine it. “Anything we shouldn’t touch?”
“They don’t keep their good stuff here. And so many people come through, I don’t think anyone will notice.”
“Sweet. I’ll have the brandy.”
“Are you an eighty-year-old man?”
He laughed. “So judgmental. Not only old dudes have brandy.”
“Hmm.” I handed him a glass, then poured myself a straight shot of Godiva liqueur.
Tyler blinked at me. “Seriously?Youwere mockingme?”
“It’s liquid chocolate! Much better than brandy.”
“Well.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to you, taking in a stranger.”
“And it’s not even Passover.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” I sipped my drink, which really was like liquid chocolate—though with a much stronger bite. I didn’t love alcohol, but I liked the fuzzy feeling from tipsiness, the way it blunted my edges and made socializing easier. “Come on. We should get decorating.”
We popped the covers off the boxes. Decorations pressed up and out: tinsel and ornaments, pine cuttings and dried eucalyptus. White plates filled one entire box; blue tablecloths and white runners stuffed another. There were candles and twinkle lights and bags of dreidels and glittering Stars of David.
These decorations contained sixteen years of my Hanukkah memories. For Passover and the High Holidays, we rotated city homes, but for winter break, the Barbanels came to Golden Doors. Even if Hanukkah had come and gone, my grandparents made the house feel festive.
“What’s the plan?” Tyler regarded the pile of goods with some dismay.
“Er.” I had no idea how to translate this mess into Grandma’s Pinterest-worthy interior design. I took a bracing sip of the Godiva. “Maybe we start with the wreaths?”
Tyler took his own sip, looking a little wary. “Seems easy enough.”
We both regarded the pile uncertainly. And took more sips.
“Okay.” I banged my drink down on the table. “Wreaths are easy. Let’s go.”
“You’re the boss.” He tapped at his phone. “I’ll DJ. There’s a Hanukkah playlist.”
Wow, was he going to get an earful when he realized our songs were more about smiting enemies than decking halls. “Cool. Biggest wreaths on the front door and foyer, and the French doors here, I think? And then the smaller ones throughout the house.”
There were two full boxes of wreaths: blue-and-silver wreaths, wreaths made with ribbons, or metal balls, or evergreens, or all of the above. We hung them everywhere we could find a nail or a hook. “This house ismassive,” Tyler said as we trotted upstairs and down, winding our way through the music room and the library and the rooms without names.
“It’s great for hide-and-seek.”
When we returned to the great room, we heard “for the terrible sacrifice justice and freedom demand” coming from the phone’s speakers, and Tyler shot me a look. “Festive.”
Actually, the songdidfeel festive to me, though I could never manage the key change. “I mean, ninety percent of Jewish holidays are about trying to survive and the rest are about trees, so we take what we can get.”
“Trees?”
“Sometimes, they’re about survivingandtrees.” I dug my laptop out of my bag, pulling up photos from past years so we could try to replicate Grandma’s decorations. “Let’s put runners on tables throughout the house, and we can arrange plateswith ornaments and greenery. Like this, see? Around a candle or something.”
Tyler’s shoulder brushed against mine as he leaned close to see the screen. I pulled away. This wasn’t as horrible as I’d expected, but I imagined again being snowed in with Isaac instead, Isaac helping me decorate, Isaac’s shoulder touching mine. “Let’s go.”
