“Yo!” cried Phoebe. “What are y’all doing down here?”

It was cooler down by the water. The sun had long since set. Back up the hill, the Lily Pad was glowing like a golden ball against the black woods; everyone’s voices carried down toward the bank.

“Thank you so much for all your help getting dinner ready,” I said.

“Everything was so good,” Ros said. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry all the work fell to you.”

“Yeah,” said Touchstone. “You really did an amazing job.”

“Oh yeah. It’s no problem at all,” Phoebe said. “I really like to cook, actually. I had fun.”

“Well… thanks anyway,” Ros said. They looked back up to the hill. “I should go make sure Jess hasn’t left me for Oliver Teller.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Touchstone.

The two of them loped back up the hill, and I watched the backs of my friends recede, my heart filled with love, even if they did drive me nuts half the time. It was just me and Phoebe then, looking out at the darkness of the water.

“Hey,” I said, remembering our dinner conversation. “I didn’t realize you were so stressed about the yeti costume.”

“It’s not very helpful to show up in the costume shop and be pulling my hair out. It doesn’t really contribute to a positive work environment, if you know what I mean.”

“It’s funny,” I said. “You bend over backward to help other people. Like, you were so nice to me in the shop, my first week. You taught me how to sew, how not to get my face bitten off by Jacques, how to find cell service—I mean, Phoebe, you basically cooked this whole dinner. But you don’t ever let people think about helping you.”

“Mmmm,” said Phoebe. “Celia with the insight.”

“Don’t be a dweeb,” I said. “You act so tough. You are tough; I get that. Like, you literally sewed through your finger and didn’t lose your cool. That’s fucking metal.”

“Thank you.”

“But, like… even metal people need help, too.”

I waited for her to brush me off or tell me that I was being overly sentimental. But then she said something I didn’t know I was thinking, too, until she said it.

“I wish we lived in the same place.”

“Me too,” I said. “I mean—who knows. Maybe we will one day.”

The voices were growing louder, carried down toward us where we stood.

“You want to hear something funny?” said Phoebe.

“Definitely.”

“You know the wine they’ve all been drinking?”

“Yeah… I stopped drinking it. It tasted weird.”

“Me too. That’s because it’s not really wine,” Phoebe said.

“It’s not?”

“It’s cooking sherry.”

“Wait, for real?”