"I like being adopted for a meal," Elena said. "My parents would understand. Food is their love language and their debate team."
"Mine too, when my mother isn't busy confusing hobbies with moral decline."
Elena sipped. The cider was too sweet and perfect.
"For what it's worth," she said, "skating backward doesn't look like decline from where I'm standing. It looks like a person who found a door when a wall showed up."
Jake stared at the snow as if it might grade his answer.
"That's the nicest thing anyone's said about my weirdness without making it a punch line."
"I make punch lines about satin," Elena said. "Your weirdness gets respect. Different departments."
They stood shoulder to shoulder until the cold won a small victory and drove them back inside to pie and glitter in the potatoes and Mikey explaining, for the third time, the rules of the snowflake contest as he understood them, which involved justice, orange, and Elena's gold clip as a lucky charm. Claire caught Elena's eye across the table and mouthed thank you. Elena mouthed for what? Claire nodded at Jake, then at Mikey, then at the general warm mess of the room. For showing up, the nod said. For making the night larger than work and worry.