Her smile falls and her eyes narrow. “If you so grown,” I say, lightening my tone, “you’re old enough to know the only reason that thing is on my desk is because you made it. I don’t even smoke. It’s not about how much I love it, but about how much I love you.” She nods and I push thick curls away from her face, leaning down to kiss her forehead. The doorbell rings, and she beams like sunshine.
