Greta had waxed poetic to Carys, Helen, and Veronica about her mom’s latkes the other day at breakfast. She’d told them about the applesauce versus sour cream debate that divided not only the Russakoff family but any group of latke eaters. Helen had instantly chimed in, voting for sour cream, Carys had scoffed and chosen applesauce, and Veronica had said, “I vote ketchup.”

“A valid third-party vote,” Greta had said.

There, next to the applesauce and sour cream, sat a bottle of ketchup.

Tears came to Greta’s eyes when she saw that in addition to the latkes, Helen and Veronica had also made cookies in the shape of dreidels and kugel bites.

“Is it okay?” Helen said from behind her, voice just a touch uncertain.

Greta whirled around and grabbed them in a tight hug. “It’s fucking perfect,” she said.

Veronica approached, and Greta hugged her too.

“Thank you both,” she said. “It’s the best Chanukah I’ve ever had.”

And it was.

“You haven’t tried any of it yet,” Veronica muttered.

“It doesn’t matter.”

But she piled her plate high with a bit of everything and was able to honestly tell them that their latkes were as good as her mom’s.

The look of pride on Veronica’s face was everything. She leaned in. “It was Carys’ idea. She wanted you to feel like you weren’t missing out on too much by not being at home.”

Greta’s heart melted, and she went to look for Carys. Greta found her in conversation with Muriel and slid her arms around her waist from behind.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and even though she didn’t explain, she could tell Carys knew what she was talking about.

Carys reached a hand back and squeezed her shoulder, imparting her tactile You’re welcome without interrupting Muriel. Taking her cue, Greta pressed a kiss to her cheek, then left them to their conversation.

Greta stepped out onto the porch for a breath of fresh air. She didn’t realize Ramona had followed her until she was deep in thought.

“Dude,” Ramona said. “Just do it.”

“Paid for by Nike,” Greta chirped.

Ramona lit a clove cigarette, and instantly Greta was back in their shared freshman dorm room, trying a clove for the first time and nearly puking before she learned to love them (and not to inhale).

She took one from Ramona and accepted a light.

“What’s stopping you?” Ramona asked, hooking a boot heel over the railing.

A flood of reasons and fears tidal-waved through Greta’s mind.

“Um, hurting my parents, abandoning Ash, my sisters being mad at me, how expensive it is to move, not having a job here, things with Carys being so new, failing…”

“Failing at what?”

“Just…failing. Here. After leaving.”

“How could you fail here?”

“I don’t know, a million ways. I have to do better here than I would’ve at home, to…”