Morning came slow.
No one rushed. The celebration had wrung them out in the best way — the particular exhaustion of joy fully felt. Lily lay on the rug by the cold fireplace, Snow the fox on her chest, staring at the ceiling. Leo sat at the window, whale in his lap, watching snow fall. Franz made coffee. Arianne sat at the table with her hands around her mug, the watch on her wrist catching light.
"Can we do birthdays every day?" Lily's voice floated up from the rug.
"No," Franz said.
"Every week?"
"No."
"Every month?"
Arianne spoke before Franz could. "Once a year makes it special. That's the point."
Lily considered this. Her face scrunched with the effort of finding a loophole and failing.
"Okay. But next year has to be even better."
Franz looked at Arianne. She looked back at him.
"Deal," he said.
