“not carving pumpkins, or a turkey, or picking out a Christmas tree, meeting the parents. And I never thought I would ever want these things, but I do. And I want to do these things with you.” “You want to do normal with me?” I ask as tears I can’t help spring and spill. “I do,” he murmurs, wiping them away. “Why are you crying again, Trésor?” “Because I’m okay with being a mouse . . . sometimes.”
