Page 63 of Bear’s House

I laughed so hard I almost dropped the pumpkin.

Mikey's came next. Daddy handled the tiny pumpkin with the same care he handled everything Mikey-related — gently, like it was something precious. He scooped it clean and set it back in front of Mikey with both hands.

"Thank you, Daddy," Mikey said in that soft voice.

Daddy kissed the top of his head.

Sawyer's was next, and Daddy did it without ceremony because Sawyer didn't need ceremony. He just handed the pumpkin over when it was ready, and Sawyer took it with a nod.

Then Daddy did his own.

He cut the top off his enormous pumpkin — the one Mikey had picked, the one absurdly big compared with the others — and started scooping. I watched his forearms flex with the effort and made a sound that was absolutely not appropriate for a family pumpkin-carving activity.

Sawyer kicked me under the table.

"What?" I said. "I'm appreciating."

"Appreciate quietly."

Daddy didn't look up, but I saw his shoulders shake with laughter.

Once all the real knives were washed and put away, Daddy brought out the pumpkin-carving kit. The little serrated saws were much less impressive than the kitchen knife, which was probably exactly why he trusted us with them.

The carving started.

We all did things differently. Mikey worked slowly and carefully. I went fast and had to be reminded twice that I wasn't racing anybody. Sawyer was precise and boring.

Daddy carved a classic jack-o'-lantern into his enormous pumpkin, and somehow even that looked annoyingly professional.

"That's so good," I said, and I meant it completely, no teasing, no performance. "Daddy, that's really good."

He looked up at me, his eyes warm.

"Thank you, baby."

Then he went back to carving. When they were all done, we lined them up on the kitchen table and counter. They looked amazing.

"They're perfect," I said.

"They really are," Mikey agreed, giggling excitedly.

Daddy cleaned up all the carving tools before we did anything else, because apparently living with us had taught him never to leave unattended blades within reach even for thirty seconds.

Then he produced four little battery-powered tea lights. We carried the pumpkins outside one by one. Daddy made us put shoes on first because frost had already started settling over the front steps and the wood was slick.

The front yard was dark and quiet. The pine trees stood black against the sky, and the streetlights made pools of orange light on the road. The air was cold enough that my breath came out in clouds, and even with my hoodie on, the cold felt sharp against my face.

Daddy switched on the little lights one at a time and set them inside the pumpkins. The carved faces glowed. We lined them along the front steps. Four pumpkins in a row, each one different, each one ours. I took a picture of them, then forced everyone closer together so I could take a selfie of us in front of our pumpkins.

I stood on the porch with my arms wrapped around myself and looked at them.

"Happy Halloween," I said to all of them.

"Happy Halloween, baby," Daddy said.

We stood there for a while, watching the faces glow. Eventually Mikey started shivering, and Daddy immediately herded us back inside. The kitchen was still warm.

Daddy poured himself a bourbon now that every knife and carving tool was safely put away. Mikey made hot chocolate for the three of us, and we sat around the kitchen table with our drinks while Daddy spread the pumpkin seeds onto a tray.