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Dear Lucy
It was still dark out. Matt sat up from bed and started on his morning stretches. Lucy stirred next to him.
“Go back to sleep,” he said, shuffling closer to kiss her forehead.
“What time is it?”
“Early. Sleep in.”
She opened one eye. “You’re making me breakfast?”
“Yeah. Happy birthday, Luce.”
The eye closed. She pulled the blanket higher and was out again in seconds.
Eggs Florentine was their thing.
Matt learned to make it before they were married. She mentioned once that nobody ever got it right, and he took that personally. The hollandaise had taken three attempts. The poach, longer. Ben ate the evidence.
He made it for her one morning. She claimed it for every birthday after.
Prep took longer now. As did everything else. The left-handed knives Aunt Paula sent him helped. More than he’d admit out loud. He wasn’t in a rush anyway.
When the table was set, he went back to their bedroom.
Lucy had rolled onto his side of the bed. Wrapped in her own blanket, burrowed under his. Almost a shame to wake her up.
“Hey.”
Nothing.
“Luce. It’s ready.”
A sound that wasn’t a word.
“Eggs are getting cold.”
One eye. Then both. She sat up slowly, squinting. Hair everywhere.
“You made it from scratch?”
“The way you like it.”
He’d missed that smile.
“Do I get a ride, too?”
After breakfast, he told her to hold on and came back with a small box.
Procurement had been the easy part. Getting it past Lucy during winter break was a full operation involving Ben, the garage, and the trunk of his car.
Lucy peeled the wrapping off and went still.
“Matt, where did you even find this?”
“Around.”
She picked up the rabbit.
Grayish-brown. Floppy ears. Oversized paws. Same slightly lopsided expression on its stitched face.
“These were discontinued years ago!”
“I have my sources.”
She pulled it against her chest. Same way she cuddled the original Mr. Bun.
“I can’t believe you remember him.”
“I remember a lot of things.”
Of course he did. That was the only time he’d ever made her cry.
“You got him captured. And shredded.”
“He was outnumbered. I made the best call I could.”
“He was your commander.”
“Acceptable tactical outcome.”
Fifth grade felt like yesterday.
“Mr. Bun,” she said, flopping its ears. “Still the cutest thing in this house.”
“Over me?”
“He outranked you then. He outranks you now.”
“Brutal.”
“But you’re a very close second.”
Matt could live with that.
“You really do remember everything, don’t you.”
“Only the important things.”
Lucy kissed him. She took her time. So did he.
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