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He kissed me, dipping me towards the ground as he did so. “Good morning, wife.”

“Morning,” I said, dazed.

He set me on my feet and grabbed a sprinkle covered doughnut, chewing, pointing at the gifts. “What are we going to do with all of that?”

“No idea.” We'd deliberately avoided making a wedding registry. I'd moved in with him officially some months ago, and between us both, we had all the supplies a home needed. “People are way too generous.” I traced my fingers lightly over a wrapped box. “Look at this one.”

“It's massive.”

“It really is! This is so big and heavy,” I laughed until I saw the card taped to the top. I went still.

“Maya?”

Stripping the blue ribbon away, I popped the lid off, setting it on the table next to the other gifts. Inside, wrapped lovingly in pale tissue paper that crinkled under my fingers, was a piece of wood bigger than a hub-cap. The raw bark surrounding the outside was a juxtaposition to the smooth surface. Rings swirled through the grain like ripples in a pond. I touched them, counting them as tears welled in my eyes.

“What is it?” Conner asked me gently.

I held out the card so we could read it together.

Maya-bean,

I saw how sad you were when you knelt on the big oak's stump. I think you were wondering where we'd hang all the birdhouses we'd made years ago. For me, it was never about where the things we built ended up. It was about the time I spent making them with you.

Lucky me— Ted hadn't gotten rid of all the wood from the tree before I called him up. Next time you come by, let's make another birdhouse.

—Pappy