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Which was a shame for them because, as Leo realized a few minutes later, it was actually really good. Probably because it barely tasted like a latke. Instead, it had notes of apple, cinnamon, lemon, and something a little creamy, all layered over alcohol. “Let me guess—potato vodka?”

She clapped. “You got it in one.”

He took another sip. “Did you make it up?”

“No, I found the recipe on the internet.” Her eyebrows rose over her glass. “Don’t tell.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “Hey—” He caught Joe out of the corner of his eye—he was heading toward them. Thank god, he was stopped by one of their neighbors, an old man who Leo had nicknamed Reindeer Guy after the lifelike reindeer statues that lived in front of his house all year round, dressed as pumpkins and skeletons for Halloween and posed kissing for Valentine’s Day. “Want to move back to the living room?”

Shira frowned. “Are you just trying to avoid your dad?”

“No,” Leo lied. “I wanted another pig in a blanket before they’re all gone. They’re really good.”

She gave him a pleased smile. “They’re Trader Joe’s, from the frozen section. Don’t tell.”

“I won’t.” The farther they got from Joe, the more Leo’s shoulders relaxed. It was like he could breathe again. This probably wasn’t healthy, right? Internally, he shrugged. Even if he thought it was a good idea, which he wasn’t a hundred percent on, he couldn’t afford a therapist right now.

Which was fine because Shira seemed energized about the idea of being one for him. “You can’t just keep outrunning your dad, you know,” she said, her finger poking his chest. He ignored her, reaching for a pig in a blanket. It was good they’d come here in time, because the hors d’oeuvres were almost all gone. See? Everything was fine. Everything he did made logical sense. “He doesn’t just know where you live—he literally lives there, too.”

He couldn’t respond to that, because he’d just crammed his mouth full of food. He gave her a shrug of faux apology. She didn’t buy it, just waited until he’d swallowed to say “It’s been a long time. You don’t have to be his best friend, but you could open the door. I think it would be good for both of you.”

He held back a snort. She hadn’t seen him for eight years. How could she know what would be good for him? Besides, it wasn’t her business how he related to his dad. It wasn’t like she could understand, having two parents who were married and, from what Leo had gathered, never bothered looking at anyone besides each other.

He didn’t voice those thoughts, though. He just said, “He’s still the same guy who lied to me and my mom. Who had a whole secret life behind our backs. Who betrayed us. Who didn’t even treat us like trash, because at least trash you throw away. He treated us like…like, I don’t know, something that’s not even worth being thrown away. He treated us like the empty toilet paper roll someone leaves on the holder because they can’t be bothered to make the effort to change it out.”

It wasn’t like his dad had been a teenager when he’d done it all, with his brain half-developed and zero impulse control. He’d been a fully grown adult man, a husband and father for more than fifteen years. He’d made an adult decision not only to fuck another woman but to carry on an affair in secret. Maybe if the initial night had been an impulse decision but then he’d come clean about it—even if it was to divorce his mom—Leo might have been able to respect him. But he’d made the decision over and over again to hide, lie, betray. Sure, he’d apologized for it, but only after he’d been caught.

Leo was still angry. He didn’t think he’d ever stop being angry. And it made him even angrier, somehow, knowing that he was dependent on his dad. On Joe. He both didn’t want to look him in the eye and couldn’t look him in the eye.

Anyway, it was a healthy situation, and all was fine. He said that to Shira in the form of “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, but he knew it was only a matter of time before it came up again. Shira was like Neptune when he smelled rotisserie chicken in the Costco bag: He wouldn’t stop until he got at least a bite of what he wanted. “Come on, let’s make the rounds.”

He didn’t really want to talk to more of his neighbors, but it was a lot more tolerable with Shira at his side. They fawned so much over her—telling her how great a job she’d done with this party once again, and honestly even though they weren’t Jewish, they thought the Hanukkah party was more fun than the Christmas party, and my she was doing so well out there in LA; they were so proud that one of their very own was going to go so far, and they couldn’t wait to see her show or not actually see her show, since it was all the way in LA, right, but they couldn’t wait to see the pictures that would surely be featured in the local paper—that they barely had time to ask Leo how he was doing. Or maybe that was on purpose. It seemed everybody had already heard from Joe about how tough a time Leo was having. Maybe Leo should’ve been insulted by it, but he was relieved. Besides, not having to talk left him more time to sip on his first and then his second latke cocktail.

The latkes were excellent, at least. And the sandwiches pretty good, too. So Leo trailed Shira around all night, getting steadily tipsier on latke cocktails and filling his stomach with (oops) more than his one allotted potato pancake. Occasionally the thought flitted through his head that, if he hadn’t had a couple of latke cocktails and if the person he was following around weren’t Shira, he might have felt a bit like a shadow, especially considering that most of the other “kids” his age weren’t here. But then Shira would turn his way with sparkling eyes and a snarky comment about Mrs. Kane’s hair or Mr. Candido’s tendency to say dagnabbit over fuck and it would all feel okay.

It was almost like he’d never moved away at all. Like he’d seamlessly slipped back into his old life.

After they’d made their way through the crowd, collecting compliments and a few hostess gifts that hadn’t made it to Shira’s parents, Shira turned to him with those sparkling eyes. He waited for her to comment on the vintage of the wine Benny Thompson’s mom had handed her (he’d already decided he’d just nod along, since he knew nothing about wine), but instead she grabbed his upper arm. “Hey, come with me.”

His heart skipped a beat. Leo nodded, and she led him through the house and down the hall, past the bathroom…

…and into her room.

Well, her old room, considering she didn’t live here anymore. But it looked pretty much the same as it had back then, not that he’d spent much time in there: the same twin bed with the blue flowered coverlet, the wall-to-wall gray carpet with the stain in the corner from the time they tried the Mentos-and-Diet-Coke trick inside, the walls covered with art posters and magazine pages and photo collages. A lot of the photos were from after his time, of Shira with her high school or USY or art friends, of her posing beside art exhibitions, of Shira Shira Shira. He’d missed so much of her life. He imagined himself in some of the photos, her tucked up against his side, their faces turned toward each other in laughter. Maybe if he’d stayed, that’s what would have happened. They wouldn’t have drifted apart; they would’ve drifted closer together.

“Hey,” Shira said, her voice low. He felt rather than heard her close behind him, something about the breath from her lips brushing the back of his neck. He swallowed hard.

“Hey.”

“Are you having a good night?”

The heat coming off her skin was all transferring into him, into his hot blood and lungs, making it hard to breathe. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I am.” It’s the first good night I’ve had in a while, he didn’t say.

“I got something for you,” she said, and she stepped closer, and the heat of her against him was almost unbearable. He turned around as if in slow motion to find her nearly touching him, her face pointed up, eyes serious.

“For me?” he said dumbly. Somehow he knew that if he tried to move his eyes away from hers, he’d feel the physical tearing of it in his chest. His heart throbbed in a new rhythm he’d never felt before. If he died now, he’d die happy.