Page 94 of Thin Ice

Alex was next to me. His knee against mine under the table. His cheeks flushed from the wine. He was listening to Ethan tell a story about his film professor, something about a screening that went wrong, a projector that caught fire, and the professor standing in front of the blank wall saying "this is actually a better film than the one we were about to watch." Ethan told it with his whole body. Hands moving, voice changing for each character, building to the punchline like he was editing in real time.

Priya laughed first.

"Your professor sounds unhinged," she said.

"All good professors are unhinged. It's a prerequisite."

"My constitutional law professor has been wearing the same tie since 1987. I don't think that qualifies as unhinged."

"That's deeply unhinged, Priya. That's the most unhinged thing you've said all week."

She smiled. Took a sip of wine. Noah put his arm on the back of her chair and she leaned into it without looking.

Remy was talking to Alex about the lake. Not rowing. The lake itself. How deep it was, where the springs fed in, why it froze unevenly. Alex was explaining the geology of it, something about the limestone shelf on the north side, and Remy was listening the way he listened to everything, like he was filing it for future use.

"That's why the ice is thicker at the cove," Alex said. "The spring current doesn't reach it. Shallower water, less movement, cleaner freeze."

"So the south shore freezes last."

"Always. By two or three weeks, sometimes."

Remy nodded. I could see him building the lake in his head. The depths, the currents, the freeze patterns. A system to read. That's what the world was to Remy. Systems.

I sat there and listened to all of it. The overlapping conversations, the laughter, the wine glasses clinking, Remy's jazz through the phone speaker. My hand was on Alex's leg under the table. His hand was on top of mine. And I was happy. Not the complicated kind, not the kind with a qualifier attached.

Just happy.

By eleven the pasta was gone and the wine was gone, and someone had found a bottle of champagne that Noah swore he'd brought from New Jersey.

"I packed it in August," he said.

"You keep saying you packed things in August," Priya said. "What were you doing in August?"

"Preparing."

"For what?"

"For this. For exactly this."

"You planned a New Year's Eve party in August?"

Everyone laughed and we moved into the living room. Fire going. Blankets on every surface. Remy was in the good chair with his feet tucked up and an energy drink he'd switched to after the wine. Ethan was on the floor next to him, leaning against the chair, his head near Remy's knee. Priya and Noah were on the couch under a blanket. Alex and I were on the other end, his back against the armrest, his legs across my lap.

Ethan had the countdown on his phone. Forty-eight minutes.

"We need to talk about the fact that this has been the best week of my life," Ethan said.

"Don't make a speech," Remy said.

"I'm not making a speech."

"You're making a speech. I can feel it building."

"I'm making an observation. Observations are different from speeches."

"Observations don't start with 'we need to talk about the fact that.'"

Ethan tilted his head back and looked up at Remy. Upside down, from the floor. "Let me have this."