“Do you like it?” “Like it? You built me a damn bookshelf ladder,” she squeals. “Of course I like it.” “Good. I’m glad. It also comes with a joke. Want to hear it?” Bridget spins in my arms, looking up at me. Her eyes are watery and her brows are pinched, confused. “A joke?” “Knock knock.” She huffs but decides to play along. “Who’s there?” “I love you, Bridget Boylston.”
