I eat my breakfast with the two most important people in my life now. Gianna was right, Malia makes a mean fried rice. "This is really good, Lia."
Malia's cheeks flush red, suddenly caught off guard at my words. "Uh–thanks?"
My egg is a little overcooked.
"See! I told you it's really good. I don't lie!" Gianna says, beaming a toothy smile. There's a smear of yolk on the corner of her mouth. Before I can stop myself, I reach over with a napkin and wipe it away gently. She pauses for a second, surprised, but then she gives me a small shy smile. "Thank you."
And because I don't trust my words right now, I just smile back at her as I pull back my hand. I did the same last night too, wiping her face with a napkin. I did it like it was natural for me to do so. There are kids in my family, but I don't pay much attention to them like I do with Gianna now. It's a strange but good feeling.
"Can you make eggs again tomorrow?" she asks.
