The process was dangerously easy. He selected a design that featured a retro gaming controller, typed in Leo’s email, and hesitated at the "Amount" box. He thought about Leo’s ancient, sputtering laptop and the way the kid’s eyes lit up talking about building a PC. He typed in a number that made his own bank account wince, but made his heart feel a little lighter.
"Worse," Elias muttered, holding up his phone. "I’m trying to figure out how to send a gift that doesn’t scream ‘I forgot you exist’ from a hospital bed."
Ten minutes later, his phone buzzed. It was a FaceTime call. He answered to see Leo’s face, pixelated and grinning, holding up his phone to show the digital card.
"Uncle El! Are you serious? I can get the graphics card now!"
Elias perked up. He tapped into the Best Buy website. He’d always been a physical-gift kind of guy—wrapping paper, bows, the whole deal—but desperate times called for digital measures.
"You look like you're trying to perform telekinesis on that vending machine," a nurse joked, swapping out his IV bag.
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