“I have something to confess,” he says, still riveted on the snow globe. Inside it, there are two miniature people sitting on a bunk bed side by side.

I join him on the bench.

“I put an extra tablespoon of brown sugar into the cookie dough. I—I just really, really wanted you to like the cookies we made together. I’ve been talking up cookie baking so much and the pressure got to me. I cracked.”

“Is that all?” I huff a relieved laugh. “Hall, you had me worried. I don’t care if you added an extra teaspoon of brown sugar.”

“Tablespoon. I’m diabolical.”

“I think we can get through it.” I offer a rueful smile that he doesn’t immediately reciprocate.

“I want to thank you for coming on this family trip with me.” I bump his knee playfully with mine, trying to raise his spirits. “It hasn’t been too bad, with you here. My family loves you—even Dad and Grandma have come around, and they’re the hardest to convince. Usually, this week is a disaster, but this year I’m enjoying myself.”

“I can see you’re a lot happier these days.”

“And it’s all your fault. Well done, you.” I say this last bit in my dad’s embellished accent.

He nods broodingly. His expression is so far away, making my heart pinch. “Watching you become happier, laughing with your family, is a spectacular thing, which I am proud to watch. Even if it does mean my time here is tapering off.” He cocks his head. “Humans are the most fascinating creatures. You’re all so intelligent and yet you often use that intelligence to accomplish the most baffling of goals. I’ve enjoyed being one of you, having the freedom to put my energy toward nonsense, more than you can know. Not having a sole, single purpose. Down here, you can have loads of varying purposes all at once. You’re not a . . .” He holds up his fist, thumb and forefinger pinched together. “Not, like, a—a function, you know? What you are, is more than I am.”

I take his hand between both of mine. “You are everything, Hall.”

“Now that I know what I’ve been missing, I feel like I’m only halfway filled up with experiences. I’ll return to my old life knowing that I’m only half of what I could’ve been. I’ve got to live with that, not knowing what the rest of me should look like.” He pats my knee clumsily. “Sorry. My default used to be pure, unadulterated joyfulness, but now it’s shot through with dozens of other emotions. What a mess.” He tries for a smile. “Know any good jokes to lift my spirits, by chance?”

“Actually, I did make some jokes for you. Of a sort.”

I reach, and even though I can’t see the old rolltop desk, my hand finds it, along with a thin stack of folded construction paper. It appears when I pull it back.

“I made you a few more cards, since you liked the last one so much.”