"That one," Duke said.
I stood there holding it and felt an uncomfortable honesty settle in my chest. Because this wasn't just a gift. I'd walked in here telling myself I was getting her something useful—and the truth was I wanted her to be able to talk to us. To me. She couldn't communicate like other people, so I found myself in a stationery shop buying a notebook, hoping it would provide a way for her to connect with us, which felt more honest than I was comfortable admitting.
"You're thinking too loud," Duke said.
"Shut up," I muttered.
I moved to the pens. There were about a hundred of them, and I stood in front of the display for longer than was reasonable, picking up three different ones, putting them back, and picking up two more.
"Any of them," Duke said, his patience clearly
