It's the scooter story. His first scooter. I could recite it. I know where the pauses go, which detail he'll linger on, the exact beat where he expects the laugh. Thirty times, easy. Probably more.
And every single time, I let it land like it's new. I laugh at the same part. Right on cue. I don't say "Dad, you've told me this," don't do the tired little "I know, I know" that would deflate him mid-story. I just let him tell it, the whole way through, like the first time.
It costs me nothing. A few minutes and a laugh I've laughed before.
Because I've done the other math, the one I try not to do. There's going to be a last time he tells it. A day the story just... stops. And I would give anything, on that day, to sit through the scooter story a thirty-first time. So while he's still telling it, I'm going to keep laughing at the same part, every time, for as long as he'll keep going.