I was overjoyed that I was able to stay in London for a few more weeks. Casimir and I celebrated his birthday, which had been a very fun occasion. We played games at his house, and then I presented him with his birthday gift. It was a photograph of the two of us, inside a frame that I had made at camp. It meant more to him than any of the presents his father had sent him, since my gift had more sentimental value. Mr. Chrysanthemum hadn’t shown up for Casimir’s birthday, which was a fact that Casimir tried to ignore. He said that I helped to distract him from this sad reality and made him focus on having a good time.
When the cake was brought out, Casimir only had the thinnest, tiniest slice that I had ever seen. “This is more than enough for me,â€? Casimir had said. I wasn’t going to nag him about it, so I said nothing. But I would make sure that he ate his dinner.