“
I have to tell you a joke," James says, and the angel blinks at him, then arches an eyebrow. "I need you to laugh."
"James—"
"What did the big flower say to the little flower?"
The angel glances over at the best friend, and the best friend is stifling laughter, and then the angel focuses on James again. The angel indulges him. "I don't know. What did the big flower say to the little flower?"
"Hey there, bud," James tells him, and the mother laughs, and the father laughs, and the best friend laughs, but the angel does not laugh. No, the angel only reaches up to grab his hand, gently pressing a smile to his knuckles. It's a small smile. Lips of an angel. Sweet. James wants to put his mouth on it, and stick his fingers in it, but he's also sad because the angel didn't laugh. "You were supposed to laugh. I told a flower joke. It was funny, and you like flowers."
"Mm." The angel's eyes drift shut. The angel is still smiling and cradling his hand. "Better luck next time."
"I'll keep trying."
"I know.
”
”