She was about to ask where Max had gone to boarding school when he stepped off the path and said, “Let’s make snow angels.” It had snowed most of the day, though it had tapered off while they’d been at the ballet. He took big strides until he reached a patch of untrammeled snow. He stopped and turned about twenty feet from her, seeming to realize she wasn’t following. “What? Is snow-angel-ing not done in America?”

“It’s done if you’re seven. And if you don’t hate Christmas.”

“Come on.” He beckoned her. “You just said you wanted to get into the Christmas spirit this year.”

“Why are you always suggesting silly, impulsive things like ballets and snow angels?”

“Why are you always resisting them?”

She almost gasped at the question, which felt like a thin, perfectly honed blade sliding effortlessly between her ribs.

The answer was that indulging in snow angels and impromptu outings to the ballet felt like exposing herself somehow. Putting on display the tender, inner part of her that was capable of taking delight in innocent pursuits, and that, in turn, felt like she was setting herself up to be mocked.

Which was sad. She had never been a frivolous person, but she used to have fun.

In one sense, the sum total of her experience with Max was him asking her to do stuff and her saying no. Do you want to go to dinner? No. Do you want to go to The Nutcracker? No. Can I send a car for you? I’ll take the subway. Can I walk with you? You don’t have to.

Vince had done this to her. Vince and his operas and his cubist literature.

No. As much as she hated to admit it, that wasn’t entirely fair to Vince. The hard truth was she had done this to herself. She had let Vince turn her into this brittle, careful, suspicious person.

She had turned into a person who didn’t trust her own judgment.

That was why she had her list.

But the list didn’t say anything about outlawing fun. It was one thing to be post-men. But did that have to mean she was on the defensive in all human interactions? Did she have to become a misanthrope? Her parents had moved to Long Island. Leo had moved to Eldovia. She’d been thinking just yesterday about how she hadn’t seen much of Sinéad this semester. If she saw the people she trusted rarely-to-never, what did that mean for her life? Not to be too melodramatic, but what did that mean for her soul?

Snow angels it was.

“You’re not dressed for it anyway.” Max started back toward her.