It's nearing ten-thirty in the morning when we make it to the indoor pool. For once, it's not empty. Several parents with kids have a baby swim class in the shallow end. I recognize Jaimie's red hair and baby Alex's loud giggles. The two are enjoying the song and dance in and out of the water led by a smiling middle-aged woman.

Her commands and several babies' screams reverberate from the walls and the ceiling, and I cringe at the cacophonous hubbub. Ben takes out earplugs from the pocket of his duffle, plugs his ears with them, and proceeds to ignore the ruckus. He heads straight for the imposing man in his thirties, who, stiff and tense, is monitoring the class's progress from the side of the pool. Is something going wrong?

"Cole, how long until the class is over?" asks Ben.

Although I've never seen Jaimie's husband in person, the photographs in her apartment feature him in most of the frames, and he's as unsmiling in them as he is at that moment, glaring at Ben and me.

"Five more minutes." Cole resumes his surveillance of the activities in the water.

"Alex is doing so well. What a great idea to start him with swimming classes," I pipe in, smiling at the happy boy in his mother's arms.

"Until he drowns," comes Cole's reply.

"You'll be glad you did it. He'll learn so much, and uncle Ben can take Alex swimming with him as well." I can already imagine them doing it in the future.

Cole grumbles in response and runs over with a towel to take Alex from Jaimie when the class is over. Giving the parents and children a moment to clear out of the pool, we chat with Jaimie and plan on taking Alex for a walk in a week, after I submit my thesis. I should've been done with it already. The research work is fascinating but the final edits are not at all my cup of tea. The tedium is nauseating. I have to push myself to do it every day and I don't always succeed.

"I've caved in and told your parents we would be joining you for Friendsgiving." Jaimie addresses her comment to Ben. "Cole was dead set on it being the three of us, but it's Alex's first Thanksgiving, and I want us to be with friends if we can't be with family."

"Mom hasn't told me yet," says Ben. "But this year's gathering will be huge. Mom and Dad are moving their traditional Friday Friendsgiving to Thanksgiving Day on Thursday."

Ben's family's having a party? Was he going to invite me or is it a family affair? Not that I love parties but I'd love an invitation. It's the thought that counts, after all.

Ben bends to help tug baby Alex's hands through the long shirt sleeves. "It started with Mike staying in the city, then some of Mom's friends from the orchestra weren't going anywhere—I lost count of how many people are coming."

"I'm glad we got invited. I'll be bringing the potato salad everyone likes. You'll love the Leonards's Friendsgiving bash, Amélie," says Jaimie. The possibility of me not getting an invitation didn't occur to her. Do I tell her I'm not invited?

Ben turns to me. "Do you have plans for Thanksgiving?"

"Angie and I were going to binge on turkey breast and pumpkin pie while watching movies. She's sending her parents on a Caribbean cruise for their twenty-fifth anniversary this month, so she had nowhere to go. And you know my situation."

"Then you must come as well. See if Angie wants to join—the more, the merrier. I'm in charge of pies and salads. My sister Klara is coming to town, and she'll be cooking the turkey, and others will bring side dishes. Mike is the beer and wine guy. Text him if you want anything specific. I have no doubt there will be more food on the table than people who can eat it."

A party with people who know Ben beyond just Mike and Jaimie. I'm not freaking out at the thought of sharing food with Ben's parents anymore, but a party on his territory. A party? Neither meeting more of his friends nor hanging with a bunch of people I don't know excite me. But saying no at this point would be impolite. I can suffer through one evening of smiling to strangers if it makes Ben happy.

***

"So, what d'you think about going to a party for Thanksgiving?" I ask Angie. "Ben's inviting us." I'm nursing my cup of tea, delaying going back to my desk and finishing the last bit of translation for the rewrites. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel but forcing myself to sit down and finish the last pages is almost impossible. My brain latches on to the smallest distraction and instead of five minutes, looking up an unknown word in Latin takes a half hour. and reading the last pages of the coursebook, happy to be done with it.

"Ben's throwing a party?" She doesn't ask me where I was last night. She has no clue how special it was but what am I going to say: Ben and I finally did it? She assumed that much weeks ago. It's not like we got engaged and need to shout about it on every corner of the internet. No one posts 'I lost my virginity' on social media even in our day and age. It's not even my virginity to brag about.

"It's his parents' party: Leonards' Friendsgiving Bash—an annual tradition."

"You aren't selling it. I'd rather chill with you on the couch and pretend half a pumpkin pie is a perfectly healthy dessert."

"From the way he talked about it, it's a big thing with a lot of people of different ages and a bunch of Marguerite's musician friends. I thought you might like to talk shop. Ben's friends Mike and Jaimie are going to be there as well." I looked at her with my most pleading puppy eyes.

Angie puts on a show of deeply considering her options. "I know how much you hate parties, and you know how much I love them." She squints her eyes, raises her chin and taps her index finger on her lips. "Let's do it." Her face returns to her normal smile. "Is there any chance I can sing or play something for the guests?"

"No idea, but here's Marguerite's number." I forward Angie Ben's Mom's contact information. "Ask her."

"Will do." She comes around and playfully pushes me off the stool. "Go finish your last pages."

"Give me five more minutes."

"No more. Last time you said that you ended up binge-watching the two seasons of that stupid reality show. It has nothing to do with your thesis."

"But I'm tired. I need a break."

"You get a break when you finish two more pages."

"One?"

"This isn't a Turkish bazaar. Go do two pages. Then we can watch one episode together. I'm ordering sushi. You want some?"

"Yes please. The usual."

I stare at the screen. I shuffle the black and white pages in front of me. I find the next quote. I highlight it. I draw a little heart in my favorite gel pen next to it. 'In his work on the marriage between the infanta' I hear steps of my neighbor above. He might be related to elephants. If you put an elephant in that room, would he fall through? The building wasn't built for elephants, but how much does an elephant weigh. Five hundred pounds? More? I pull up a search engine on the screen and type "How much does an elephant weigh?" Between 4,000 and 14,000 pounds. What?

My phone buzzes and I grab it. It might be urgent.

Ben: Are you coming over today?

Me: i wish. I have to finish the thesis today. It's due tomorrow.

Ben: How can I help?

Me: do you speak latin or know about blanche of france, infanta of castile's marriage to ferdinand de la cerda?

Ben. No to both.

Me: you have your answer then. No one can help me. I'm doomed to another sleepless night.

Ben: How about I come over and cook something, and make sure to keep you away from the TV and focused on your thesis

Me: who can say no to that. I'd much rather have a sleepless night with you then with my thesis.

My mind abandons thecalculations of the elephants' weight and switches to dreams of what Ben and Icould do with the night instead of finishing my thesis.