Ash was wearing jeans and the pastel blue sweater that made him look utterly huggable. (“It said festive dress was ‘encouraged,’ not mandatory,” he’d explained when Truman asked what was festive about it.)

Truman himself had borrowed a red sweater that he’d found in Greta’s closet. He didn’t think she’d mind, but it was rather snug under the arms and a bit short in the sleeves, so he tugged them up to the elbow as if he was warm, though he wasn’t.

“Truman, I’m so glad you made it,” Maisey greeted them. “Sorry for the last-minute invite, but you weren’t even here when they went out.”

“Thanks so much for having me. Is this an annual tradition?”

“It is. We’ve been having these dinners since we got married. Is that Greta’s sweater?”

“How can you tell?” he said, startled.

“Greta wears it to this dinner every year. Even though the Russakoffs are Jewish, Greta always said she didn’t have any blue sweaters for Chanukah so she went with this one.”

Truman smiled at the idea that he and Greta had the same impulse, and as soon as they’d made their way inside, he took a selfie and texted it to her.

are you taking over my life!? she wrote back with a GIF from a movie he didn’t recognize that said SWF.

“So you see,” Ash said, “I’m wearing festive clothes because I’m wearing a Chanukah sweater.”

Truman smiled. “Did you know Greta wore this sweater here every year?”

“No. I haven’t been in years, actually.”

“Oh. Did you not get invited? How do people get invited?”

“Nah. I was gone for a long time, and then since I’ve gotten back…I guess I haven’t felt much like doing this kind of thing.”

“So what made you come this year?”

Ash squirmed and blinked owlishly. “Oh, well. I don’t know. Just felt like it, I guess.”

Before Truman could tease him about that being a total nonanswer, Don came downstairs and began making the rounds. When he reached them, he slapped Ash on the back and squeezed Truman’s shoulder.

“Good to see you boys here. Ash, glad you changed your mind. Make sure you get some of the sweet potato casserole. I made it using my secret ingredient.” He winked. “And don’t bother asking, because I’m taking it to my grave.” He turned to leave. “Oh, and the eggnog’s got quite a kick.”

“You changed your mind?” Truman asked, eyeing the buffet table for the eggnog. “How come?”

Ash mumbled something that sounded like “Fridunnow.”

Truman cocked his head in question, and Ash let out a sigh.

“Because I wanted to hang out with you,” Ash said.