It was the first gathering back. The world had begun to stir and shift into wakefulness, stretching tired muscles and opening her eyes to the joy of collective humanity.

I was two glasses of wine into the evening, the world beginning to look brighter and louder around me. Sitting at the kitchen island on a high barstool, I tucked my toes around its legs, rooting myself to something solid as the world spun a little.

Before the pandemic, it would have been considered a small gathering. Twelve people or so. Enough so that multiple conversations were happening at once, but not enough to be considered a party. Several people were out on the balcony smoking a cigarette, while another few were leaning over a phone screen sharing photos from a recent camping trip.

I was in a circle of friends from my previous job. It had been a few months since we had all gathered in the same place, so we were going over old memories we hadn’t laughed about in a while and speculating on who might return to the job next season.

It was a routine conversation, not quite in the realm of boring but predictable enough to not require the full attention of my wine-wandering mind.

I slowly withdrew from the conversation, trading in longer comments for the occasional noise of agreement and head nod until I was far enough out of the flow that my presence was almost forgotten. Cozily wrapped inside the circle of old friends, I allowed myself a moment just to exist. To take in the currents of energy that moved throughout the room.

The moment felt like an exhalation. A return to nights full of comfortable unpredictability and warmth.

I tilted my body back a little, flexing my legs against the barstool and letting the feeling permeate deep into my bones. Everything was going to be okay. The year of loneliness and anxiety was coming to a close. Once again we could all gather and revel in what it meant to be human, what it meant to be alive.

The conversation in my little close-knit circle had picked up energy in the time I had spent releasing some of the year’s tension. One of my friends, Blayre, was waving her arms around, her face alit with passion as she talked about safety on high ropes courses. The others were nodding along, already aware of her stance on the issue but willing to listen again.

It was at that moment that I caught the eye of someone across the room. Blayre’s boyfriend.

He was alone in a corner of the kitchen, his eyes halfway closed and his posture relaxed, content to not participate in any of the conversations whirling around him.

We shared a fond smile, both of us thinking about our mutual affection for Blayre.

He raised his mug of wine up in the air, and I followed suit, moving our mugs towards each other, our gesture traveling across the kitchen.

The toast didn’t make a noise, but it was perfect.

A toast to an upcoming year of evenings spent with friends. Of wine and warmth. Of laughter and contentment.

Cheers.