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“If we do that tonight we’ll probably get arrested, so let’s stick to the drinking game,” Freya said dryly. She’d been pretty quiet most of the night, and I’d caught her, more than once, sneaking glimpses at me. Had she mispronounced her ch’s, or had she spent enough years with Seth where she knew how to properly clear her throat? I wasn’t sitting close enough to hear. “You go first, Dan.”

Dan anticlimactically spun a nun, so nobody drank. Fortunately for everybody who wanted to get drunk, the Mikes each spun gimel, so we all made it halfway through our cocktails.

And then it was Freya’s turn. She spun shin. Her eyes roamed around the table, pausing briefly on me before settling on Seth. “Drink.” She raised her glass to him. He raised his glass—a bright red concoction named after the blood of the rebellion, which was both gross and cool—and took a sip. Something I didn’t quite like simmered in my belly, but I pushed it away immediately. It had no right to be there. It must have been the potato vodka.

Eventually, drinking dreidel devolved into discussing the best Hanukkah or Christmas presents everyone at the table had received. “Back in high school, one of my guy friends came up to me with the most nervous expression on his face and was like, ‘I got you something for the holidays,’ ” Kylie reminisced, stirring her bright blue drink with a toothpick that had once been stacked with pickled blueberries. “I opened it up and it was this absolutely gorgeous, absurdly expensive Tiffany bracelet. I totally panicked because I hadn’t gotten him anything and just grabbed this Scooby Doo ornament I’d bought as a gag gift for someone else and was like, here you go! I got this for you!”

The table cringe-laughed. Kylie shook her head and took a sip of her drink. Her teeth had been stained bright blue, too. “His face lit up when he heard what I said, then fell when he saw what was inside. Poor guy. I wore that bracelet every day through college, though.”

I thought for a second about volunteering my own standout Hanukkah gift. There was the year my mom had gotten me the exact dress I’d been eyeing online, only two sizes too small. She’d refused to return it, even when I showed her I could barely squeeze my bust in. “Maybe it’ll serve as motivation for you.” Or the year my parents had made a point of getting me a small, cheap Barbie toy while getting my cousins big expensive sets for them to open in front of me. They’d been punishing me for something. I couldn’t remember what it was now. Something about how I’d forgotten to close the cabinet doors when I was done with them.

The rest of the table was laughing at something Dan said. I joined in a moment too late, then startled as Seth touched my shoulder. I braced myself for him to ask if I was okay or tell me that I looked stressed, but he only said, “Let me know if you want to head out at any point. I know they can be a lot.”

I shook my head, whipping him in the cheek with my hair. “No. I’m having a good time.” I was almost surprised to realize it was true. I liked their raucous energy, my immediate welcome into the circle. The way they made me feel included and listened with interest when I spoke.

And I really liked this bar, too. I swirled my drink around, tilting my head at it in interest. I’d never done a Hanukkah special at my café before. I’d never thought there would be a market. But this bar was full, and not everybody in here could be Jewish—most of our group wasn’t. I could do a Hanukkah coffee special taking this cocktail as inspiration. Who didn’t love a latte with apple and cinnamon flavors? And a fun potato garnish?

“…so my grandma picked it up and shook it, and of course that’s when the box started to vibrate,” Freya finished, and the table burst into laughter. I didn’t even have to hear the beginning of the story to know it was funny. My own laugh was genuine.

As Freya finished, she tipped her drink toward Seth. “Tell them about the cactus.”

“Oh my god, the cactus.” Seth’s face lit up. “So you guys know I’m a responsible plant dad. Unlike some of us.” He shot a glance at Dan, who raised his glass in our direction.

“A toast to the many dearly departed basil plants I bought at the grocery store.”

“Anyway,” Seth went on. “This is back when I wasn’t working remotely and was in person at the office in Boston. For some reason, my boss decided that his holiday gift to all of us would be cacti. Did you know it’s actually harder to take care of a cactus than you’d think? People assume they’re these plants for dummies because they like sun and don’t need a ton of water, but you have to be careful about how much—”

“We don’t need the cactus instruction guide,” Dan said. “If anything, I need the basil plant instruction guide.”

Seth shook his head. “No way. You’ve been barred from ever buying a basil plant again. By PETA.”

Kylie snorted. “Does PETA have anything to do with plants?”

“They should,” Seth said. “They’re living things, aren’t they?”

I jumped in. “I read this article that said plants can cry and dream.”

“See?” Seth said. He slung an arm around the back of my chair. The warmth of his arm soaked into my shoulders. “No more basil plants for you, Dan. By PETA decree. Anyway, my coworkers started realizing that they were killing their cacti. I, the fool, told them I would adopt any ailing cacti in need. The first one appeared on my desk overnight. The next two popped up a few days later. Soon, my desk was a sea of cacti. I didn’t have time to do any work. All my time was taken by rotating them in and out of the sliver of sunlight my desk got each afternoon. My productivity reports began to fall. I started to panic.”

He shook his head solemnly. “And then the CEO, Prickly Joe, stopped by my desk.” He paused. “Of course, he was just the CEO, Joe, before he tripped.”

Everybody laughed, me with them, and kept on laughing as Seth described how, between the red face and the spluttering, Prickly Joe had resembled nothing more than a furious porcupine. The image tickled me; I leaned my head against Seth’s shoulder with a snort. His shoulder tensed for a moment under my ear, as if he were surprised, but then his arm tightened around me, drawing me closer, the way he would with a girlfriend.

Only I wasn’t a girlfriend.

I’d almost forgotten that. I’d almost let myself relax.

I pulled myself away, laugh stopping short. Seth’s arm dropped away. The table’s eyes found me, their laughs stalling.

I forced a smile. “Bathroom. Excuse me.”

The winding path to the bathroom through the crowded bar took me past not one but two large stuffed Hanukkah Harries (the secular Jewish child’s joking equivalent to Santa). It felt kind of like they were watching me the way Santa was supposed to. Catching what I’d done that was nice, catching what I’d done that was naughty, catching what I’d done that wasn’t right, like thinking for a moment that I was a real member of the group.

The bathroom was empty, which was a relief. I used it, because why not while I was already here, then stood at the sink and splashed some cold water on my face. Took a deep breath. Stared at myself in the mirror. Really, glared at myself in the mirror. What do you think you’re doing, Abby? This is all transactional. To save your café. You don’t even like him.

Except that wasn’t true anymore, was it? I considered him a friend. I didn’t know when my brain had made that switch, but it had. But you’re not a girlfriend. You don’t want to be his girlfriend. Chill the fuck out.

The bathroom door opened behind me as I realized I was mouthing the words into the mirror. Hopefully, I clamped my mouth shut before whoever came in noticed. I turned to go, because standing there talking to myself was weird, and found myself face-to-face with Freya.