57

"Do you like mushrooms?" Eulera, one of our many little cousins, ran up to me and my sister as we lounged on the porch, eating our dinners. Potatoes, salad, and steak with sauteed mushrooms. Extra special for our cousins, who'd come down from Chicago for a couple days.

"I LOVE mushrooms," I answered. I really did. "I'm like a hobbit, I just shovel them into my mouth." She was probably too young to get the reference, but she smiled politely. Then she turned to my sister, crossing her arms expectantly.

"Honestly, not a huge fan," she shrugged.

"Oh," Our little cousin stood there, looking at us.

"What about you? Do you like mushrooms?" My sister wasn't usually the one to encourage conversation, or human interaction, for that matter, but she made an effort for family. As she should. I was proud, nonetheless.

"I don't like them, but if I had to either eat them or die, I'd eat them," She responded thoughtfully.

"Oh," My sister laughed, "well, yeah, in that case-,"

"Eulera! Did you get water?" My aunt called from inside.

"Coming!" the little girl ran inside, her silvery blonde curls bouncing behind her.