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“There’s no way to know without seeing them,” I said. “And isn’t it better to just get it over with and find out for sure instead of spending all this time agonizing about it?”

He shrugged. “Or I could just never talk to them again.”

“A very adult way of dealing with your feelings.”

“Thank you.”

“Just to be clear, that was sarcasm.”

“What?” Seth cupped his hand over his ear. “Can’t hear you. Anyway, want to go see the butterflies?”

Again, it wasn’t my business to pry. I was a fake girlfriend, not a real one. But still, as we paused in the middle of the butterfly vivarium to marvel at a lacy scrap of bright blue that fluttered to a rest on Seth’s shoulder, our hands grazing each other with the movement, I figured that to the people around us we looked pretty real.

11

Bev was glowing and triumphant when Seth and I met her and Benjamin outside the synagogue after the charity event. The building was a majestic beast, a massive stone structure with pointed towers and elegant scrollwork dating back to the late 1800s. “My rainbow cookies sold out much faster than Eva Hallac’s. Just more proof that she didn’t really win the Bake-Off.”

“That was last year, Mom,” Seth said. Their apartment was only fifteen blocks away from the synagogue, so the plan was to walk back and grab dinner somewhere on the way. “Don’t you think it might be time to let it go? For the good of the community?”

Bev bristled, clutching her padded MZ Wallace bag to her side. “Al Gore let it go for the good of the community, and just look at what happened.”

“Yes,” Seth said seriously, but he glanced at me with a spark in his eye. “The rainbow cookie Bake-Off is exactly like global warming.”

“Honestly, Seth, of course I didn’t mean that.”

This time I met Seth’s eyes with an amused look of my own, in on the joke. If I were a real girlfriend, this moment would become something we’d bring up to make each other laugh over the years. I can’t believe you ran out of whipped cream again. It’s basically global warming.

But I wasn’t a real girlfriend, and this whole thing would pop like a bubble as soon as Hanukkah ended. I looked away.

“Personally, I find it in poor taste to joke about global warming,” Benjamin said. “Haven’t you seen those very sad pictures of the polar bears going around the Internet? The ones trapped on melting ice caps? And that’s not even mentioning the millions of people who are going to lose their homes to rising sea levels.”

“Nobody was joking about melting ice caps or rising sea levels,” Seth said. We passed a normal sidewalk tree strung up with multicolored lights. A dog was peeing on the base. “We were joking that Mom thinks her Bake-Off is equivalent to the sad polar bears.” He exchanged another glance with me. “Abby, do you think we’re the only two who understand humor around here?”

Without having to speak, the other three turned left, taking us up a side street to Broadway. Unlike West End Avenue, where we’d been walking, Broadway was wide and commercial, bustling with fellow walkers bundled in winter wear. Stores and restaurants lined the four-lane avenue, everything from hipster-ish bars to restaurants from around the world to dog salons to human salons to salons that styled both humans and dogs. People poured in and out of them, each open door releasing a rush of warm air and a different interesting smell.

“I understand humor perfectly well,” said Benjamin, sounding a little insulted. “For example, a man slipping on a banana peel. Always funny.”

Ironically, at that exact moment, we passed a banana peel lying on the sidewalk. Somehow I didn’t think Benjamin would find it so funny if he’d slipped on it.

“Whatever you say,” Seth said.

“Seth?” The voice came from behind us. I glanced over to see one powder blue glove on Seth’s shoulder, as if keeping him from running away. We all turned around.

I didn’t even need to hear Seth say, “Freya,” because I knew immediately who she was—she looked exactly as she had in my head. Tall and willowy, with light blond hair, icy blue eyes, and a pale, narrow face. In addition to those powder blue gloves, she’d wrapped herself up in a slim-fitting powder blue coat and a woven hat that bounced with a shiny silver pom-pom.

Forget resembling a Viking. She looked like the Snow Queen from a fairy tale.

As if I were meeting the actual Snow Queen, I braced myself for a gust of cold air as she turned in my direction. Instead, I got mild curiosity. “I heard that you were bringing someone home for the holidays. You must be Abby?”

“I am Abby,” I said cautiously. Would she say something passive-aggressive? Look me up and down with derision? Freeze me out?

Instead, she smiled. And yeah, it was a little stiff, but it reached her eyes and everything. “Nice to meet you, Abby. Welcome to New York. I’m Freya.” She reached out a hand. I took it. Her handshake was delicate, like I might break her fingers if I returned my usual strong one.

“Nice to meet you, too,” I said, remembering too late that I probably had resting bitch face going on. I made myself smile in return.

She released my hand and turned back to Seth. “You haven’t said anything in the group chat about tonight. Are you coming?”

Seth shifted from boot to boot, his hands tucked away in his pockets like he was afraid she might try to shake his, too. “Oh, I don’t know. We’re pretty busy. We’re on our way to dinner.”