“It takes time,” Mack said with a shrug. “I’m sure if you give it a while, things will calm down.”

I nodded, but I didn’t fucking want to give it time. I wanted to be with her now, and I was furious that somehow we’d already fucked this up before we’d even given ourselves a chance.

“You look so miserable, Henry. You really care about her, don’t you?” Frannie gave me a sympathetic look.

I slumped down lower in my chair. “Yeah.”

Just then, a server came by with a tray of champagne glasses. “Almost midnight,” she said, setting a glass down for each place at the table. “Enjoy!”

But the occasion had lost all its appeal.

Just before twelve, I watched the kids light up their sparklers and listened to the crowd count down the last ten seconds of the year, but I couldn’t even lift my glass as the band kicked off Auld Lang Syne. I didn’t drink the champagne or even pretend to sing along. I just kept looking at the door hoping to see Sylvia come through it, and checking my phone in case she tried to send me a message. Each time, I was disappointed, and finally I gave up. Without even saying goodbye to anyone, I headed for the coatroom.

That’s when I saw her come through the door.

She stopped short at the sight of me, about ten feet away, and crossed her arms over her chest. She’d changed her clothes, her hair was pulled back, and her face was bare. She looked young and vulnerable and sad.

I approached slowly. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“How’s Whitney?”

“Asleep. All cried out.”

My heart ached. “I’m really sorry, Sylvia.”

She shook her head. “It’s not your fault. Whitney’s feelings have nothing to do with you and everything to do with her dad and me.”

“I’m still sorry you’re going through it.”

She tried to smile, but looked like she might burst into tears at any moment. “Thank you.”

I wanted to ask what this meant for us, but knew it wasn’t the time. I could tell from the way she was standing and the tremble of her lower lip that this Sylvia was a different one than the one I’d been next to at dinner and alone with in her room. Even the tone of her voice was different. That Sylvia had been confident and audacious and strong. This Sylvia looked shaken and fragile, like she would bruise if you looked at her wrong.

“Can I call you?” I asked, keeping my arms pinned to my sides. I wanted to hold her so badly it hurt.

Her eyes filled. “I need some time to think, okay? Things have been moving so fast, and I feel . . . off-kilter. I think I need a few days to find my balance.”