After a moment, she closed her book and tilted her head. “So, are you my uncle?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “You probably don’t remember me, though. We met when you were really little.”
“Got it,” she said simply. Then she threw me a curveball. “Are you married?”
“Uh, no. I’m not married.”
“Why not?” she asked, her curious tone sounding more like an interrogation.
“I don’t want to get married. I like being by myself,” I said, hoping that would end the conversation.
“No one likes being alone,” she replied, crossing her arms.
“I do,” I insisted, though her words stung more than I wanted to admit.
“Maybe you’re scared,” she said matter – of – factly.
“Scared? What would I be scared of?”
“Mom says marriage is a lot of work. She also says you don’t like working. So maybe you’re scared of hard work.”
I sat up straight.
“She told you that!? Well, just so you know, I’m not scared! Maybe it’s just… not for me. For now.”
“Got it. You’re scared,” Mira concluded, her lips curling into a tiny smirk. “Anyway, I’m hungry.”
“Then go eat something,” I said, gesturing toward the kitchen.
“Mom said you’re taking care of me. So take care of me,” she shot back.
“Fine,” I muttered, opening the fridge. It was full of salads, juices, and not a single thing I felt like eating. I sighed and pulled out my phone.