After pie, Claire cornered Jake in the hallway by the coats.
"I like her."
"I know."
"Don't do the thing where you decide you are too complicated for good things."
"I am too complicated."
"So is lasagna," Claire said. "People still eat it. People fight over the corner pieces. Be a corner piece, Jake.
On the afternoon of that first Christmas, after cookies and before Phil's third airplane story, Elena stepped onto Claire's small back porch for air and found Jake already there, satin jacket traded for the sweater, two mugs of something claiming to be cider in his hands. He offered her one. The yard was a white square. A neighbor's dog barked once and thought better of it.
"You don't have to perform family for me," Jake said. "Claire adopts people. It's a medical condition related to being the oldest."