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And a woman who drove three hours to make sure I had something to blow out.

My chest feels tight.

“That's it?” I ask.

Her smile drops. “What?”

I point at the candle. “One? That's all I get?”

She narrows her eyes. “Oh, I'm sorry. Did you want twenty-eight? Because I was concerned about the structural integrity of the pie.”

I laugh. “Structural integrity?”

“It's a very delicate dessert.”

“Right.”

“And considering how much you love it, I figured burning it down would be counterproductive.”

I shake my head. “Fair point.”

She folds her arms. “Well? Are you going to make a wish or not?”

I look at the candle.

Then at her.

“What if I already got what I wanted?”

Her expression softens. “Bishop.”

I shrug. “Just saying.”

For a moment, she doesn't speak.

Then she smiles. “Still have to blow it out.”

I lean forward and do.

She claps. Actually claps. Like I'm six years old.

And somehow, instead of feeling ridiculous, I find myself laughing harder than I have in days.

“Congratulations,” she announces. “You've officially survived another year.”

“Barely.”

“Want me to cut the pie?”

“After dinner.”

She nods. Then reaches for the candle.

I catch her wrist. “Hey.”

She looks up. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”