“No, no. Stay there. I’m coming.” He grinned, and she gasped as she stepped into the snow. It wasn’t a gasp that came from the shock of confronting painful truths this time, though; it was a gasp that came from the shock of confronting painful cold as her feet sank into the snow. She wasn’t dressed for this, but she could hardly turn back now. Snow-angel-ing, to use Max’s silly verb form, had become symbolic.

“That was false bravado a moment ago,” he said when she reached him. “I haven’t done this since I was a child.” He eyed the snow. “I’m not sure I remember how.”

She made a shooing motion to get him to move farther away. “The trick is to have a big enough patch of fresh snow.” She waved her arms like she was doing jumping jacks. He did the same, positioning himself so he was next to her. “And keep your legs spread,” she added, stepping wide and ignoring the stabs of pain in her pantyhose-clad ankles.

He cracked up. “Keep your legs spread. Yes. A particular motto of mine.”

“Oh, shut up. No off-color jokes allowed during snow-angel-ing.”

He made a show of shutting his mouth as he got himself into position. She adjusted her stance and looked over her shoulder to make sure the ground they would land on was still pristine.

“All right,” she said. “Fall flat and decisively. If you slump back or are tentative, your angel will look sad.”

“How do you know all this? I’m the one who grew up in the Alps. You grew up in an apartment in Queens.”

“My dad used to take my sister and me to the library every Saturday, and it was across the street from a big playground. In the winter, my sister and I would make snow angels, and then we’d inch in along the top and add halos out of rocks or sticks. We had quite the technique developed.”

“Your dad sounds rather wonderful, if you don’t mind my saying. The library, the beach, clamming.”

She smiled. “He is wonderful.” Both her parents were. She felt lucky, both to have them and to be here, now, back to the pre-Christmas excitement she’d skipped last year. “Are you ready?” she asked Max, who nodded. “On three.”

She counted, and they both landed with a muffled thud.

“What now?” he said through laughter.

“Oh my god, that’s cold!” She was wearing a knee-length coat, so her legs were unprotected. “Flap your arms and legs.” His continuing laughter was contagious, and once she started, she couldn’t stop. She was making snow angels in Central Park with an Eldovian baron. How utterly ridiculous.

But also how fun.

See? She could have fun.

Max started to move like he was going to get up. “No!” she said. “Stop! The dismount is critical!”