“Don’t kid yourself,” Gemma says out of nowhere.

“I know, I know …”

“Words mean something, or they don’t,” says Ava. “If ‘labels’ shouldn’t mean anything, then saying ‘I love you’ shouldn’t mean anything.”

Holly gathers her knees to herself and sighs with her whole body. There’s an awkward silence, and Gemma looks at Ava with a kind of intrigue. She has to ask. In a calm, measured tone, she says, “Do you have labels you have feelings about?” There’s more silence. “I mean, maybe you don’t have any,” she clarifies. “But I’m feeling what you’re saying.” Gemma manages to say all this pleasantly and normally. Sometimes Gemma is drunk without anyone noticing.

Ava hesitates. Holly perks back up. “She’s gonna give you the partner rant, buddy.”

“What?”

“No!” Holly laughs. “Sorry. What I meant is that she hates the word ‘partner.’”

“I hate it so much!” bursts Ava.

“Why?” Gemma says. “I’m actually curious.”

“I don’t care if anybody else uses it!” Ava stresses. (Holly raises a hand. “Thanks, bud.”) “But I’d never want someone to call me their ‘partner.’ Or their ‘person,’ either. That’s up there, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s just”—Ava rotates her wineglass—“I didn’t get a sex change for someone to call me ‘person.’”

“I get that,” Gemma says instantly.

“If I’m in a relationship, an actual committed relationship, to me, that’s being a—”

She hesitates for an imperceptible second before saying the last word—“girlfriend. Or a wife. That is just how I feel. With ‘partner’ or ‘person,’ I just feel myself disintegrating into the wall or something!”

“‘Sex change.’” Gemma says, in a delayed reaction. “That one needs to make a comeback.”

“Sex changes for all,” Ava agrees.

The door opens and Olive rolls in. “Dudes!”

“Olive!” says Holly.

She gets up for another bottle of wine. Olive intently beelines for Ava and begins jabbering about an appointment she has forgotten. Gemma doesn’t like this. “I’ll just see if Holly needs help in the kitchen.” Ava nods and Gemma rises.

The kitchen is strangely dark and shadowed, the light coming in sideways from the living room. “I was actually gonna cut up this fruit,” Holly says. “I’m trying to eat more fruit.” She gestures drunkenly to an array of apples surrounding a cantaloupe. “Can you cut up this fruit?” Her skirt of clouds billows around her body as she moves.

“Sure.” Gemma gets herself set up chopping apples as music and Olive’s continued jabbering come from the living room. Gemma realizes she might not be as drunk as she thought.

Holly opens the fridge, then visibly has a thought and wheels to face Gemma, her skirt whirling with her. “So your family’s from here?”

“Huh? No. They’re more … Steinbach area.”

“Steinbach land!” Holly shrieks. “That’s where my mom’s from! Blumenort?”

Gemma’s tickled at this. “Close. My grandparents grew up on farms around there. Why, you wanna check if we’re relate—”

“Oh no, don’t you try that Mennonite Game horseshit with me, missy!”

Gemma laughs. “I know. ‘Everyone’s related!’ Who cares.”