His eyes widened with surprise. “You do?”
I raised my hands. “Maybe we’re not! Obviously I suck at friends. But I feel like usually I’m on surface levels with people, and I feel like we’re beyond that, so yeah. I think we’re friends.”
He studied me.
“We don’t have to be,” I said hurriedly. “I can take it back.”
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants, squinting at the glaring gray sky. “I guess we can be friends.”
“Cool.” A rush of relief poured through me. I hadn’t realized how much it would matter that Tyler and I were okay, that we could keep being honest and open with each other. “Good. I’m glad.”
He gave me a small smile. “I mean, you clearly need more friends.”
“So do you,” I shot back, and he laughed, and I felt another surge of relief. We were okay. “You’re coming to the party?”
“You still need to introduce me to your great-uncle.”
“It’ll be a great introduction. The best introduction.”
“I’m counting on it,” he said. “See you tonight.”
Golden Doors was more chaotic than usual when I returned. Two aunts sat on the foyer’s staircase, having mimosas and a gossip, while upstairs I could see Uncle Gerald patiently untangling a knot in his sobbing four-year-old daughter’s hair. Deeper in the house, someone played piano—probably Dad, given the loud and angry Beethoven, Dad’s normal response to the stress of so many family members.
“There you are.” Uncle Jason caught me standing by the entrance of the great room. “Come help with party prep.”
In the summer, my grandparents hired caterers for parties. But tonight would be a more intimate affair, and so we cooked everything ourselves. For the rest of the morning and afternoon, all the cousins wound up in the kitchen—or at least the lucky ones did. Some of the middles were put on cleaning duty, which was a hundred times worse.
I wound up next to Noah, chopping ingredients for a tagine: onions, sweet potatoes, carrots, tomatoes, apricots. Noah and I had made a hundred meals together and easily fell into the rhythm of swapping knives and trading cutting boards. Next to him, Abby measured broth and healthy doses of coriander, turmeric, and cinnamon into the Crock-Pot. Isaac joined, on saladduty, and I sent him a tremulous smile. We had kissed last night. Was it normal to feel so weird around him? Should I be trying to find private time? Should wetalkabout it?
He smiled back and kept chopping tomatoes. Even though I should probably want to steal him away, I was relieved to have a buffer of cousins around us. I’d rather kiss him again than have to talk about it. Also, without any practice, I was back to being terrified that I sucked at kissing. Isaac’s lips might touch mine once more and be like,Nah, bro, none of this.
Olivia arrived an hour before the Hanukkah party started, and we escaped upstairs, where we found Miriam already hiding. She looked up from her book as we came in. “Did you only now get free?”
“How did you escape?” I took in the silver slip dress she wore. “Are you wearing my dress?”
“Can I borrow it?”
“You’re supposed to askbeforeyou put it on.” I swatted the back of her head lightly, then picked up a pair of black-and-silver earrings from the vanity. “Pair it with these.”
I pulled on a blue-velvet dress with a high neck and a short skirt, adding my Star of David necklace and threading in long, dangly silver earrings. As Olivia and Miriam talked about the books they’d read, I did my makeup at the vanity, finishing my ensemble with cherry-red matte lipstick. I swiveled around. “How do I look?”
“Stunning,” Olivia said.
Miriam eyed my lipstick. “Can I try that one, too?”
We headed downstairs as the grandfather clock in the great room struck six. Only family milled about, no guests yet present. Gone were the signs of how we’d spent the entire day cooking. Tablecloths had been draped and flowers arranged. All the candles had been lit—not just in menorahs but in hurricane glasses and in the center of flower arrangements. Food lined buffets: sufganiyots topped with powdered sugar and bursting at the seams with strawberry and raspberry fillings; wide bowls filled with applesauce and sour cream near a potato farm’s worth of latkes; endless amounts of fruits—berries and baked pears and pineapple chunks.
“Point out Isaac,” Olivia whispered at my side.
I searched him out, my whole body primed with nerves. But it didn’t feel like I had felt for the past year when I searched for him in a crowd; instead of wanting to home in on him, I almost wanted to know where he was so I could... avoid him? Was this what happened when you kissed and you were bad at it? You were so wretchedly nervous you never wanted to see the other person again? “He’s next to Ethan.”
“He’s cute.”
“I know.” Cute, and he’d kissed me. “Really cute.”
Olivia slid me a look. “So why are you standing here with me instead of talking to him?”
“I don’t want to abandon you.”
