The flames from the menorah flickered. The third night. Greta had never spent Chanukah away from her family before. She waited for the sadness to come, but it didn’t.

They all stared at her. Her dad had paused halfway through rising—presumably to come hug her—and sat back down half off his chair. Sadie was glaring expectantly. Tillie waited patiently. Maggie was leaning back, sitting cross-legged on her chair, smiling faintly like she couldn’t wait to see what was about to happen. Adelaide watched with her head cocked as she always did when she was confused. Greta wanted to grab one of her braids and tug her head straight, only Adelaide hadn’t worn her hair in two braids since they were eleven.

Although she’d spent the entire flight planning what she was going to say on cocktail napkins and the notes app in her phone, Greta’s mind had become the blank blue sky above the bay on a summer afternoon. She searched for a beginning and found only edgelessness. The urge to squeeze her eyes shut or turn her back on her family so they couldn’t see her was strong. There had been a time when anytime she needed to say anything important, she’d closed her eyes.

But now, instead, she summoned the person who had told Guy’s husband the truth in his own doorway, the person who had told Carys she was coming back to her. The person who had gone someplace new and scary and fallen head over heels in love with it. She summoned the most powerful feeling she could conjure and opened her mouth.

“I’m in love with Carys” was what came out. Her eyes widened.

Sadie snorted.

Greta shook her head to clear it. “That’s not what I meant to say.”

But it’s true, isn’t it?

It was true. Greta put it in her pocket to take out and savor later.

“What I meant to say is that I love New Orleans. I’ve made new friends. I’ve met wonderful people. And yeah, one of them is someone I’m dating. And it’s made me realize that…I’ve always felt so damn guilty when my desires didn’t line up with what you all wanted for me. Like, I’ve tried to play along, but…it’s okay if I want my own things that are different from what you want. Look, I love you all so much, but I hate it here. I don’t want to live here. I don’t want to work at Russakoff’s. And I know that’s what you guys want and I’m sorry, but…I’m gonna go back to New Orleans, and I’m…I’m gonna stay.”

Greta felt like she was suspended between two weather fronts, held safe in limbo for the moment before she was sucked into the one looming on the horizon.