Elena's glossy deep-pink lips curved.
"I would have banned you for a month."
"See? Management material."
They fell quiet in a comfortable way. Outside, a plow scraped the street with a sound like the town clearing its throat. Inside, the colored bulbs made everyone look slightly more forgiven than they might have felt at home. Elena thought of her apartment, of the cereal box, of the cancelled Greyhound ticket stub still in her coat pocket like a joke the weather had told. She thought of her mother's gold clip and how wearing it felt like bringing a small permission slip into the night: you may try to be happy; signed, someone who loves you from another state.
"Can I ask something that might be rude?" Jake said.
"You can ask. I can refuse with style."
"Why the rink instead of a bar? Mansfield has bars. Bars are the traditional temple of Christmas Eve avoidance."
Elena considered.