"It's your birthday," he says, as though he'd had any intention of hosing down dishes right this moment. When he's coming back over to get the cake, he leans down to kiss the side of her head. "I'll get all this. Meet you on the porch."

Around the corner of the wrap-around porch, where the swing's been swept of any possible snow and there's a pair of boxes, one small and one larger. They're wrapped identically, with the kind of half-hearted effort of someone who knows making presents look nice isn't his strong suit, but who's trying anyway. Sure, it's kind of cold out, but they can probably make themselves cozy.