The Bunny

When August came hopping down the steps, Graeme was waiting for her on the couch. "Can we bring this with?" August held the rabbit in both her hands, flopping his ears back and forth to the side as she approached him.

Graeme chuckled lightly. "I forgot about him."

"Him?" she smiled playfully. "And what is his name?" She turned the bunny to look at its worn face.

"Uh… it's escaping me at the moment," he said with a small laugh.

"Are you blushing?" She teased, sitting down next to him on the couch. Graeme took the bunny from her, feeling the familiar texture of its stuffed body in his hands, which had grown much larger now since the last time he remembered holding it.

"My mom made it for me when I was about three," he said. "I didn't like sleeping alone. Greta and I had shared a room up until that point—even sleeping with mom and dad sometimes. I had a hard time adjusting to my own room, so she made me this to cuddle with. At least that's what she always told me."