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Kristy felt like a dragon overlooking its hoard. A new softball mitt from Sam and Charlie, a homemade string bracelet and a mixtape from Claudia, a hand-sewn pillow from Mary Anne, and some new jeans and sweaters from her mother - by all means, she'd raked it in this year. Yet despite the assortment of new knickknacks littering her bed, floor, and nightstand, she couldn't help but notice what wasn't there.
Maybe the mail's just late. Kristy reminded herself. It was certainly possible. Why, she'd once finally gotten a Christmas card from her cousin in the middle of March!
Yet the thought only made her stomach sink further in her chest. Even if it was true, she'd still be stuck waiting.
It wasn't as though she expected much. The most Kristy usually got from her dad was a card, a phone call if she was lucky. Even receiving the shortest, most hastily scrawled note in the world beat radio silence.
Ten's a special age, she reminded herself. Much more special than nine!
She dug around in her desk until she finally pulled out the card, slightly bent but still brightly colored as ever, from her birthday the year prior.
Happy birthday, kid! Eat a big slice of cake for me, would ya?
She couldn't pull her eyes from his brief message and lopsided signature. Her dad had picked out this card, held it in his hands, written in it, signed it. It was the closest the two had come to touching in years. Wherever he was now, be it Texas or Timbuktu, the stiff, colorful card was a piece of him that Kristy could always hold close.
She hugged the card to her chest. Kristy's throat was tight and dry. The edges of her eyes stung.
He remembered my ninth birthday. The words echoed like a mantra in her head. So what's to stop him from remembering it now?