"Because I thought, maybe, since Annie sat me next to you, and you've been soa Wella Warm to mea"

"Michael. Seriously?" Amy asks with a funny look on her face. She doesn't look angry, just surprised. He can't quite read what she's thinking.

"I justa""

"You didn't know?"

"Didn't know what?"

"I'm with Wendy."

"Wendy?" he asks, leaning back to look at Wendy, who, thankfully, is busy talking with Eric. "I had no idea."

"It's alright."

"I suppose I should've known. You guys came together, and she's soa Soa"

"So, what?"

"Well," he says, whispering again. "She kind of looks like a lesbian."

"Does she?"

"Is that not something I should say?"

"No, it's fine. I'm a big girl. I don't offend so easily," she says, smiling at him. "And me?"

"What about you?"

"Do I look like a lesbian?"

"No, not at all. You're pretty. Feminine."

"And other lesbians aren't pretty? Aren't feminine? They're what, exactly?"

"You work in women's studies, right?"

"Uh huh."

"Let's pretend I never uttered the word feminine."

"I'm just kidding you. I don't mind," she says, laughing at him.

"Good. I wouldn't want to upset you. You seem nice, and I do have a tendency to say the wrong things at times. I don't have the best social filter, you know."

"I know. We were warned."

"Max and Annie told you that Ia""

"That you have no filter."

"Huh? Maybe I'm the one who should be offended."

"They said it lovingly," Amy says, and then touches his arm again. "So, tell me what really happened in the kitchen with Holly?"

"You're a gossip," he says, teasing her.

"Just curious, that's all."

"Something nice happened," he says, and he can't help but smile as he says this, but he feels embarra.s.sed by this new, easy happiness. He looks up at Holly and catches her looking at him. She's smiling too, but then she looks away, starts to cover her embarra.s.sed mouth but stops, let's it be on display again.

"Good. That's good," Amy says.

"It is," he says. "Why do you say that?"

"Because Holly's a friend of mine."

"I knew you knew her, but I didn't know you were close."

"Yeah, I've known her since before Johna Well, you know."

"Really? You knew him?"

"A little bit."

"What'd you think of him?"

"He seemed nice enough. He made Holly happy."

"Does she seem happy now?"

"Honestly, Michael, the past couple months, I haven't ever seen her happier. And I'm convinced it's because of you."

"Really?"

"Sure. You don't know how tough the past few years have been for her. She's been anti-social, and, at times, downright despondent. She needed someone like you, someone who would needle and prod her out of whatever darkness she'd adopted. Since you've been around, she's become more talkative, more open, warmer. And she's funny again. She laughs now. I had forgotten how much fun she could be. I hadn't heard any of that from her in a very long time.

He looks over at Holly again. Tim is saying something to her. She's so pretty sitting there trying to pretend she's not aware of Michael's stare.

"She's certainly making me happy," he says. Then he turns back to Amy. "You think she's ready?"

"A month or two ago, I would've said no way. But, now, I think so."

"But if she's ready then why'd she bring him?"

"She's the only one who doesn't think she's ready. You need to show her it's okay."

"How do I do that?

"If you really care for hera"

"I do."

"And if you're serious, then it'll be okay."

Michael scoops a piece of pie onto his fork, dips it into the puddle of vanilla ice cream on his plate, and takes a bite. The room, once full of several private conversations has grown quiet. The sound of Django Reinhardt's guitar is rolling across the room, accompanied by the sound of forks on plates and that nervous noise of a group of people trying to find something to say.

Max is resting his elbows on the table, his chin parked on the fists of his hands. He makes no secret of the fact that he's looking at Annie.

Annie is nibbling at her pie, trying to pretend that she has an appet.i.te, and doing her best to avoid Max's stare, pa.s.sing her eyes instead on everyone else at the table, one-by-one, and politely smiling when she catches someone's eye.

The song changes, and a soft piano sound fills the room. Max takes his eyes from Annie and eases back in his chair. Eric, too, seems to relax at the sound of the song.

"Oscar?" Max asks Eric.

"Yep," Eric says.

"Oscar who?" Amy asks.

"Oscar Peterson," Eric answers.

"Our dad used to play Oscar Peterson all the time. And, if this is from Pastel Moods, this was one of Dad's favorite alb.u.ms."

"It still is. He still plays it all the time. In fact, he gave me the LP when we bought the house. G.o.d knows where he got it. It couldn't have been easy to find. But he said that he couldn't imagine a house being a home without it."

Max sits up again, planting his elbows back on the table. "You still play, Annie?"

"Of course I still play."

"Well, I didn't want to presume."

"She plays in a jazz band here in town, and she teaches," Eric says.

"At the university?"

"No, mostly just here at the house," Annie says.

"I knew you gave private lessons," Max says. "Are these mostly little kids?"

"Mostly, yeah."

"So, you've never taught at the university?"

"I've taught a few music theory cla.s.ses in the past, mostly during summer semesters."

"And you play jazz?"

"Yeah, it's just something I do with a couple local musicians. We play twice a month at The Wayfarer."

"The bar?"

"Right," Annie says, and looks at him skeptically. "Why do I feel like you're judging me?"

"No. All that sounds fine. I just remember you saying that you never wanted to end up like your mom, teaching piano to spoiled suburban kids."

"Max," Eric says, clearly annoyed. "What's the point ofa"?"

"No, Eric. It's alright," she says, not taking her eyes off Max. "I was naive then, Max. Some things don't turn out quite the way we expect them to."

Max raises his eyebrows at this and laughs a little under his breath. Annie can't quite tell if he's making fun of her, or if his laughing is simply nervous laughter.

"But that's okay," Annie says. "I certainly don't regret leaving Boston to come back home. I love this place, and I love the kids I teach. And I genuinely feel like I make a difference in their lives."

"That's good. And I certainly didn't mean to implya""

"It is good," she says, with a tinge of irritation in her voice.

"Of course this is always the problem when you run into someone from your youth, someone who really knew you," Max says. "They know who it is you most wanted to be, and you only know who you've become. They hold a mirror up to your past, and it's not always a face you recognize."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Annie asks, disappointed that he didn't just let the subject drop.

"Nothing profound. Just saying that I'm sure it probably happens to everyone."

"Everyone but you?"

"No, things certainly didn't turn out how I hoped they would," he says, and she looks at him. A flash of panic comes over her. She wonders what he might say next, all the while knowing that she's invited it.

"Okay," Eric says. "I think we can all concede that we've all changed since high school."

"Not me," Michael says. "I'm doing exactly what I thought I'd be doing since before my bar mitzvah."

Amy elbows him in the ribs. He looks over at her. She shakes her head at him.

The room is quiet again, and there is a tenseness in the air. No one quite knows what to say. The heat from Max and Annie is still swirling.

"I'd love to hear you play something," Max says, finally.

"Now?" Annie asks.

"Sure. Why not?" Max asks.

"No, I don't really feel like playing. I've justa""

"Come on. I'd love to hear you play some jazz. My memories of your playing consist almost entirely of you wrestling with the Goldberg Variations."

"She's still wrestling with those," Eric says.

"Just one song," Max says.