The dawn of the neck day prickles my skin when I awake. There are lopsided scones and black tea on my bedside. It's the last day of the winter holidays.
I slip out of bed, eating scones that make my lips stick together, and shower all before ten. I sip the tea on my way to the kitchen.
"Good morning!" Dad's taking a try of the mysterious treats out of the oven, mitts burnt and smoking. "Last day, kid!"
He's more excited than anyone is allowed to be. I sit down at the kitchen table, folding my legs beneath me.
"Are you doing anything special today?" he asks, tossing hot scones onto plates with naked fingers. "How's the project going?"
I shrug, eating another scone. "I thought I'd stay home with you today," I say quietly. "I miss hanging out with my favorite person."
"I'm your favorite person?" Dad's eyes are glowing a peculiar brown. There's something within their shininess that I can't place.
"Always has been."
We waste away the morning, sipping pallid back tea and talking about nothing with scone crumbs on our lips. We're stuffed by the time the afternoon rolls around.
Dad groans, resting his head on the table. "I need a nap."
I laugh. "Me, too."
Dad and I nap on the couch. It's a tight fit, but it's a cold day so we're all warm and slip away effortlessly. I'm halfway to a place in my dreams where the goldfish can speak human and I've turned into one, too. There's a knock on the front door.
Grace is all pink and excited in the doorway. She smiles, cheeks flushed and freckled. She holds up a CD. "I've brought gifts."