Page 74 of The Winslow Brothers

I laugh. “No, you’re right. He doesn’t. And that’s fine too.”

“Okay.”

I nod, first to her and then to myself. I’m not an expert in childcare, but I think I do all right with my niece. And as a bonus, living the life I do, I get to take her to dinner, have a good time without worrying too much about teaching her life lessons and shit, and then drop her off with her parents so I can go home to peace and quiet. It’s pretty much the perfect arrangement, being an uncle.

Now I just have to plan a strategy to secure thefavoriteuncle position, effectively robbing it from Remy.

“Where do you want to eat, kiddo? Somewhere casual or fancy?”

Lexi ponders for a moment, answering, “Fancy. We deserve to treat ourselves every once in a while.”

“Hell yes, we do,” I agree, succinctly considering our options while looking up and down the block from Lexi’s school. We’re Uptown already, but that’s no big deal. We can easily take a cab or ride the subway if we need to.

“Do you feel like Italian or a nice juicy steak?” I ask in an effort to narrow it down.

“Spaghetti,” she says excitedly. “Definitely spaghetti.”

This kid could eat spaghetti every day for the rest of her life and still not have enough spaghetti.

“Mm-hmm,” I hum. “I had a feeling.” Reaching out and wrapping my forearm around her shoulders, I guide her to the left and head straight for the subway station on the next block. “Little Italy, it is, then.”

Lexi smiles, counting off the buildings as we walk and giving me a tally at the end of the block while we wait to cross the street. “There are fifteen buildings between this side of the street and the other. Typically, a city block consists of somewhere around twenty or twenty-five buildings, but since my school is a part of this one, it’s fewer.”

I nod. “That makes sense.”

“How many buildings are on your block?”

I have to laugh. “You know, kiddo, I’ve never checked.”

“You should.”

“You’re right,” I agree, ushering her in front of me and holding on to both shoulders as we pass through a large crowd of people cluttering the entire sidewalk. “Or maybe next time you’re over, you can count them for me.”

She nods. “When’s the next time I’ll be over?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll check with your parents.”

“Will it be soon?”

“I’ll make sure it is,” I say confidently. The thing is, I know, for Lexi, that this question in her mind won’t just disappear. It’ll be the first thing she asks me about the next time she sees me, and at least part of the thoughts she has daily. With the way her extraordinary brain works, it’s not acceptable for a question to go unanswered forever.

Several years ago, Winnie revealed to the family that Lex had been diagnosed as high-functioning on the autism spectrum. I know it was hard for my sister at first, but none of us were all that surprised. Lexi hasalwaysbeen special. She isn’t your average kid—she’s mountains above it. And her magnificent mind is something to be marveled and cherished. Revered by everyone around her.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I remove one hand from my niece’s shoulders to dig it out. But almost immediately, a knot of anticipation dissolves when I see that it’s Ty.

Maybe I’m not so cool with questions going unanswered forever either.

As quickly as the thought comes, I shake it off and tuck my phone back into my pocket. As we descend the stairs intothe subway, focusing on Lexi takes priority, and my shithead smarty-pants professor brother can wait.

Pasta and fresh bread abound on our table at Prima, one of my most frequented restaurants in Little Italy. It’s upscale without being pretentious, and as a bonus, my brother-in-law and sister know the chef.

Lexi’s eating can sometimes be picky, so having someone who understands at the helm in the kitchen really is invaluable.

She digs into her perfectly plated spaghetti with enthusiasm, twirling the strands around her fork and practically unhinging her jaw to get the large bites inside. One of the many reasons that I love hanging out with my niece so much is that she always makes me smile.

I peek briefly again at my phone, just to check and see if there have been any missed texts or calls, and then slide it back into my pocket and pick up my fork again. I’ve got a slice of chicken Parmesan halfway into my mouth when Lexi takes a break from scarfing to speak.

“You’re looking at your phone a lot today,” she muses, just as my chicken hits a spot in my throat that makes me choke.

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