He gave me that flat, patient look of his.

“To me it’s a birthday.

Don’t turn it into a bill.” I held the key up to the light from the window.

The brass was worn smooth on one side, the way a handle wears down after a hand has used it for years.

“Did you find this in the parking lot?”

“I found it in a drawer.” He folded the envelope and laid it next to my cupcake wrapper.

“The number is the part that matters.”