Xander

That night, Father stands from his seat next to me. “As a token of gratitude for how you’ve welcomed us, we would like to offer you this chest, hand-painted by my own mother in anticipation of our trip.”

That is our cue. I reach under the table, and at the same moment as my Beta, Corwyn, lift the three-foot-long chest onto the edge of the partially cleared banquet table. Nonna’s delicate brushstrokes swirl across the slick, black surface in reds, greens, ...