She must have taken pity on my ignorance or decided that I was harmless. She explained that Sacha was a big enough name in poetry circles, even a celebrity of sorts in the wider world, due to her television appearances (which I had never seen), where she discussed her feminist critique of Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein. Anders was the principal translator of a Nobel Prize–winning Swedish poet, in addition to writing his own poems, which were “very dark. Very.” Doug was a good and worthy poet, but he was mostly known as the editor of Compass Points. “God,” Barb said moodily. “What I wouldn’t give to get something into Compass Points. Excuse me.”

She got up from the table and went into the house. Aaron was having a conversation with Doug, on his other side, so I ate a little more and took the opportunity to sit quietly and watch everything going on around me. Anders, who did in fact have a hollowed-out and sinister look, was tending to Sacha, filling her plate with food as if he had a mind to devour her later. Ed and Chloe were sitting next to each other but not finding anything to talk about. I didn’t assume that Doug was flirting with Aaron, I mean come on, people can just talk to each other, but maybe Ed was crazy jealous. Anyway, he didn’t look like he was having a great time. As for Chloe, I didn’t know her at all and couldn’t speculate, but she had a pinched, anxious expression, like she was waiting for a stack of dishes to fall off the table.

Sacha, Viridian, and Oscar were at the far end of the table, talking and laughing, eating and drinking, as if they were the ones delegated with having the best time. It was completely dark now except for the candles and the lights overhead and the lights from the house. I could only hear bits and pieces of what they were saying. Sacha reached across the table and put a hand on Oscar’s wrist. “You were on fire.”

“No, drunk.”

“Don’t be modest.”

“I’m not. I was magnificently drunk.”

Viridian said, “We thought you weren’t going to get through it. You kept interrupting your own stories and rambling and changing the subject. We were all frozen with horror—”

“Come on. Not horror.”

“Horror because we thought one of us was going to have to get up on the stage and help you down.”

“And then you finally shut up—”

“And started to read—”

“And I swear, the hair on my head blew straight back, listening to you.”

“Shucks,” Oscar said. “I had a good night.”