“Steady or twinkle?” I asked.
“You took the cat in the grocery store?”
“I did.” Pocket was in his carrier on Dad’s couch.
“Let him out.”
“He doesn’t mind the tote.” I didn’t plan on being there long.
“Twinkle’s always merrier, I guess,” Dad said.
Even his affectionate pat on my shoulder felt too hard.
I crumpled up the card he’d handed me and threw it in the trashcan by my front door the moment I walked in. I chucked the used taper candle he’d crammed into the envelope, too. Then, I took them both out.
To light a cold, dark winter night, the card said. Love, Dad.
I put them on the table, cuddled with Pocket a bit, and then headed for the bed, suddenly guilty I’d signed my card to him simply Noah 4
“I didn’t know they made chocolate Twinkies.” It was still dark outside when I made the proclamation, sitting on my couch buck naked. “Did you?”
Pocket was unaware.