I thought about my purse—left in the massive pile of bags and jackets on the bed in the guest room—and the tape recorder stuffed into the bottom of it. Gabe had said to bring it but now I couldn’t tell if that had been a joke. He didn’t seem to want to be interviewed any further—he seemed to be fully avoiding me—and I didn’t really know anyone else here besides Ollie, who was entertaining in the backyard.

I didn’t want to interrupt.

I sat myself on a couch in front of a bowl of jelly beans, trying to ignore the twin feelings of embarrassment and awkwardness. I’d never been good at parties. That was one of the things that Jeremy and I had in common. We were both, for the most part, homebodies. We’d enjoyed nights in, watching movies or just reading on the couch with our feet tangled up together. We’d go to the occasional party—mostly book launches and smaller gatherings at friends’ houses but nothing like this. For a brief, unexpected moment, I missed him.

I watched Gabe from across the room. He seemed completely at ease with all these people around him—with all the chaos and noise.

I felt a bit like a creep, the way my eyes would find him in the crowd, the way I began monitoring where he was and who he was with. I kept shifting my gaze to the door, wondering if Jacinda Lockwood would show up.

I continued eating jelly beans, and I could feel the sugar warring with my exhaustion. I shifted on the couch, and it squeaked loud enough that two people turned to look at me.

“It’s the sofa,” I said, waving a hand at it.

They both just frowned and turned away. It seemed possible that I looked completely insane—sitting by myself, shoving handfuls of candy into my mouth—but I kept telling myself that no one cared. No one noticed me.

The thought was both comforting and depressing.

I told myself I’d leave after I found one more sour-apple jelly bean.

When I did, I pulled myself to my feet, swaying a little as I reached my final altitude. I was buzzing from the sugar but I was still tired. My eyelids fought with gravity.

Gabe stepped to the center of the room.

I sat down again, the rapid movement taking most of the energy out of me.

“Okay,” Gabe said. “It’s time to play.”

My head felt heavy and wobbly but I was determined to keep it upright. Even if I had to rest my hand at the base of my throat, using my palm to stabilize it like my neck was that slippery, unsteady column of birthday cake in Sleeping Beauty.

“How long do these games go for?” I asked the person next to me.