I smiled inevitably. While I cleaned the bottle, I asked:
“Are you hungry, Andre?”
He stopped laughing and adjusted his sister in his arms. He noticed that I was by the sink and came closer to where I was.
“A little, I could eat,” he answered, playing the role of the tough one.
“All right, right away,” I said, smiling inwardly at how much he resembled his father.
“Does your arm feel better now, Han? Does it hurt a lot?”
Not telling him the truth seemed ridiculous to me.
“No, sweetheart, it doesn’t hurt that much anymore; now I’m going to take care of it. Thanks to your dad. I feel a little discomfort when I move, but I’ll be fine—I was very lucky.”
It seemed that Andre liked that explanation, because he nodded and sighed, relieved. Poor thing. I understood him worrying about me; af
