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He probably expected her to launch into a speech about ensuring there was enough room in the backyard for her cage of tigers or a high enough ceiling in the basement to hang her sex trapeze, but something about her stilled. It was like those few thoughts about Fake Husband Leo and the knowledge that he’d broken up with Emily had nudged a switch from the off into the on direction, and this time she couldn’t flip it back with enough determination.

She walked over to the window, giving him her back. It seemed to be the only way to get the words out when he was looking at her with those soft eyes, pretending she was his. “Years ago, even a house this nice probably wouldn’t have been enough for me,” she said. “I’d probably want one of those flipped houses. I wouldn’t care if everything was shoddy underneath, if I was risking a fire from faulty wiring or things were put together on a slant that would make all my furniture roll, as long as when my guests came by they shook their heads and were like, all quiet where they thought I couldn’t hear them, ‘Wow, look at this place. All these bedrooms and that view, she really made it.’ ”

He didn’t make a joke in response. Beneath them, faintly, the footsteps of another couple echoed. Probably a real one, really looking to see if they wanted to make this their home. “But that’s not what matters to me anymore,” she said. “I want a sturdy build and safe wiring and maybe one fun, cool feature that I can point out when I give a house tour, like a stained glass window or an original doorbell from a hundred years ago. Three bedrooms and bathrooms with character. A safe neighborhood. A garden I could grow over the years.” She stopped and considered. “Okay, and the stained glass window. I’ve actually always wanted a stained glass window.”

He was quiet for long enough that she couldn’t bear it and glanced at him over her shoulder. He met her eyes as if he was waiting for them. “Houses like that are expensive, and stained glass windows around here are extremely rare,” he said, and she realized he had no idea what she’d actually been saying. “You usually find them in really old houses, and most of the houses around here aren’t that old. The few that are would probably take a lot of work to restore properly.”

“I know,” she said, and even though he didn’t know what she was really saying, she couldn’t stop herself from saying it anyway. “But I’m ready to do the work. I wasn’t before, but now I am.”

“Do you think you want to buy when you move back?” he asked. She shook her head. She didn’t want to live around here; she’d move to one of the cities nearby, New York or Philadelphia, where the jobs were. “Me, I like renting for now. I’m still not entirely sure what I want in a forever home.”

“Yeah.” Shira looked away. “It’s not like I can afford a house, anyway.”

“Come on, you’re Shira Levinson.” He gave her a friendly nudge with his shoulder, and she had to fight the urge to relax into it. “Like you haven’t been saving money for a down payment practically since birth.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Most of it was still in a savings account, earning a paltry amount of interest, because she was too afraid the stock market would crash and take everything with it. “I just don’t know if I deserve a house like that.” She blinked back the sudden sting of tears. “I had my chance with a good, sturdy house, but I didn’t appreciate it back then. I was so immature.”

“Hey.” He slung a friendly arm around her shoulder. This time she couldn’t resist leaning into it, closing her eyes, pretending like she belonged there. “Maturity has nothing to do with buying a house. Most of our peers aren’t going to be able to buy houses until we’re old, anyway. It’s depressing but normal. Are you sure you’re okay?”

No. “Yeah,” she said, lifting her head, opening her eyes, blinking into the light like she was a new thing, just emerged from the dark. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he said, squinting at her like he couldn’t see, either. “You up for another house?”

No. “Of course.”

20

Leo was having a great time touring houses with Shira, honestly. Such a great time that he dragged her to an extra one that wasn’t even a good comp for his dad’s, just to see how she’d charm the real estate agent and embellish their fake marriage even further. By the fourth house, they’d gotten married two weeks after they’d met on a hot-air balloon tour of the American Southwest. “It was a shame how many of our fellow riders perished due to the cactus needles,” Shira had said somberly as Leo fought off a laugh. “You could say it was fate that neither one of us wanted to get that close to the ground.”

“Flying high with love,” Leo said solemnly. The agent nodded along, blinking furiously, unsure how much bluff was worth calling when his commission stood in the balance.

It was an excellent distraction from everything else that was going on in Leo’s life, namely the breakup with Emily and his dad’s unveiling. Watching that cloth come off that stone and seeing his dad’s name etched permanently in the rock had made Leo’s knees weak. The plastic marker that had sat there until then was impermanent. It was small. Leo could’ve fooled himself that it was anybody’s name there. But the stone? Leo could’ve been blind and still felt the ridges on the rock and known that his dad was buried under there.

And it had been even harder standing there in the freezing cold wind, his jacket whipping all around him because he couldn’t find the strength to uncross his arms, as Aunt Ellen patted him brusquely on the shoulder. (It wasn’t her fault. She did pretty much everything brusquely.) “I never thought I’d see my little brother’s name there first,” she said, her voice fragile as an old metal radiator cover that was rusted on the edges, which was about as fragile as he’d ever heard it. “He shouldn’t have filled in the first spot.”

The grave was large enough for four sections, the family name DAVID written big at the top. Leo’s grandparents had purchased it after the divorce; Aunt Ellen had never married or had kids, and the presumption was that Leo’s dad wouldn’t again, either. So it was one macabre way that Leo’s grandparents as parents could take care of their children. “Well,” Leo said, rubbing his nose and coming away wet. “You’ll be there soon enough.”

Aunt Ellen’s surprised cackle warmed him sufficiently to stop his shivering for a moment. “Sure will,” she said, though her face dropped as she said it. “What about you, though, Leo?”

He knew what she meant: He was an only child, relationship status undetermined. He pretended he didn’t, though. “Surely there’s enough space here to tack on a fifth name,” he said, gesturing at the expanse of grass beside the grave. “I’ll try to die of something wasting so that I don’t take up too much room.”

He wasn’t looking at his aunt, but he could feel her roll her eyes. Something about the vibrations in the air. “I have no regrets,” she said. “Singledom is my gladdest state. I have a lot of friends and a lot of solitude, and I’m very happy with my choices. I know you, though, and singledom isn’t yours.” She let the words hang there the way she had when they’d first met up at the grave. Where’s Emily? And him, bracing himself for her to tell him how sad she was, how much fun she’d had with Emily at Disney World. “So I hope you don’t end up in the ground next to us.”

“Thanks?” Leo said. They’d recited the Mourner’s Kaddish clumsily from their phones. Then he’d stood at the grave with his aunt as long as he could bear it before making an excuse and getting the hell out of there.

So now, in the car with Shira, given that he’d exhausted his list of open houses in the area, he didn’t want to go home to Neptune, who was happily sleeping without him anyway, and stare at his empty walls. There was no excuse for his empty walls—he’d lived there long enough, and Emily had lived there long enough. They’d just never bothered to find anything to hang up. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “We could stop and get something to eat.”

She was staring out the window, watching pine trees and dirt driveways zip by. “We’re going in the wrong direction from all the food, unless you want to break into the bakery again,” she said. “We could—ooh!” She pointed, but they’d already flown by whatever she was pointing at. “Was that a sign for a Hanukkah light show? There are never Hanukkah light shows, they’re always Christmas! Oh my god, if I read that sign right, I’m going to be so excited.”

It was already starting to get dark even though it wasn’t even four thirty, the joy of an East Coast winter. He could go for a light show, especially a Hanukkah one. It was the Festival of Lights, after all. Why weren’t there more Hanukkah light shows? (He knew the answer perfectly well: because there weren’t enough Hanukkah celebrators in most areas to make having one worth it.) “Hold tight,” he said, slamming on the brakes so that he could turn into the jughandle, swinging around. Shira squealed, holding on to the sides of her seat.

“You know, it’s not an emergency,” she said. “We could’ve just taken the next one. It’s New Jersey. We’ve got more jughandles than jugs.”

“It is an emergency.” He wasn’t stupid. He was still a cautious driver; he wouldn’t have slammed on the brakes or made a wild turn if any other cars had been within striking distance. But hitting the brakes like that, even in a no-stress situation, made a thrill run through him. “The light show awaits!”

“I wonder what it even is,” Shira said once they’d located the sign, which was glossy and bright, made to stand out against the darkness. “The theme park always has one, but obviously this isn’t at the theme park. What else is out here? It couldn’t be held at the military base, right?”

“If the military base had a light show, it would probably blow up our car.” The road they were driving down now was narrow and bumpy, the occasional house looming suddenly on the side of the road, their headlights ghostly circles in the dark. “Do you think it’s an anti-Semitic serial killer preying on people who want to see a Hanukkah light show?”