The warm, lazy glow of the afternoon began to fade as the sun dipped closer to the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. We lingered on the grass for a while longer, laughing at Caleb's exaggerated recount of the "great race" and Rory's attempts to add sound effects for dramatic effect. Béatrice chimed in occasionally, her wit as sharp as ever, but there was an unexpected ease to her presence now. Eventually, the chill of the evening set in, and we shuffled back inside, our makeshift obstacle course forgotten in the yard. In the living room, the energy shifted into something quieter, cozier. Caleb turned on some soft music, and Béatrice—of all people—suggested we play a board game. "Not Monopoly," Xander said immediately, holding up his hands. "I'm still recovering from last time." "That wasn't Monopoly. That was war," Rory deadpanned, flopping onto the couch. "Scrabble, then?" Béatrice offered, holding up the box with an almost innocent expression. Caleb groaned. "Scrabble? Come on, Béa. You're just trying to show off your vocabulary." She smirked. "Is it my fault you can't spell rendezvous?" "Fine," I interrupted, snatching the box from her hands. "Scrabble it is. But no French words unless you can prove we all know what they mean." "Deal," Béatrice said sweetly, though I could already see the wheels turning in her head. We gathered around the coffee table, the tiles clicking as we set up the board. The first few rounds were relatively tame, but, unsurprisingly, things heated up fast. Rory tried to make up words ("plarft is totally real!"), Caleb argued over scoring rules, and Béatrice slid in an obnoxiously high-scoring word that sent Rory into a dramatic spiral of defeat. "Why do I even try?" Rory moaned, flinging himself back onto the floor. "To provide entertainment," Xander said with a grin, laying down his own word and earning a groan from Béatrice. I couldn't help but laugh, the sound coming freely now. This was what I'd hoped for—messy, imperfect, and full of life. Even with Béatrice's antics, the boys' constant banter, and the chaos of hosting, it all felt worth it.
When the game finally wrapped up, Béatrice emerged victorious, though she graciously declared herself "humble in victory." Caleb immediately demanded a rematch for the next sleepover, to which everyone groaned but reluctantly agreed. The evening faded into night as we all sprawled across the living room, the air heavy with comfortable silence. Someone—probably Rory—had dimmed the lights, leaving only the soft glow of a lamp in the corner. Béatrice was curled up with a book she'd found on my shelf, Caleb and Rory were half-asleep on opposite ends of the couch, and Xander sat on the floor next to me, his back resting against the couch. "Told you hosting wasn't so bad," Xander said quietly, his voice low so as not to disturb the others. I tilted my head to look at him, his features soft in the dim light. "Okay, fine. You were right. But don't get used to hearing that." He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'll take what I can get." As I leaned back, letting the quiet hum of the house wrap around me, I realized something. Despite the chaos, despite Béatrice's larger-than-life presence and my initial anxieties, this had been one of the best nights I'd had in a long time. And as I glanced around at my friends, I couldn't help but feel grateful. These were my people—messy, loud, unpredictable, and perfect in their own way. No matter what came next, I knew we'd face it together.