He chuckles. “Well, there’s one more, and you might love it more.” “I doubt that.” I stick my hand into the tissue paper, feeling the softness of the object below. It’s plush but a little coarse at the same time, kind of cozy, like something that’s been well-loved. “I don’t think anything could top the—” My words fizzle, dying in my throat as I pull the stuffed animal from the bag. Its pink fur, once so bright, is pale and muted, just the way I remember, the white patch on its chest a little gray from years of dragging it everywhere, the black button eye on the left hanging loose. I clutch my
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