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finish.”
    She stood up and walked into the kitchen. He heard the refrigerator door open and then close. Yvette walked back out, running her hand through her long, curly hair.
    “I could hook you up with some of my friends,” she said.
    “No thanks.”
    “Hey, they beat the girls you bring home. How many times have I told you that your choice in women sucks? You always went after the most stuck-up girl you could find,” she said, arms sweeping the room like all of his old dates were present.
    He raised his eyebrows in response. He had nothing to add that would be helpful.
    “So how’s it going?” she asked.
    “How’s what going?”
    “Dad’s office?”
    “Fine.”
    “Aren’t you going to start dating again, get out of this apartment, go back to your old ways?”
    He shrugged.
    “You have to get back in the game at some point,” she said.
    “I will. When I’m ready,” he said.
    “Don’t wait too long. All the good ones will be gone,” she said.
    “I doubt that,” he said.
    “Yeah, I know. A man can always find a woman. It’s the other way around that’s tough. Gotta go. Meeting the girls tomorrow. See you later,” she said, picking up her shoes and heading toward the door. His sister was a tornado of vitality .
    “Yep. See you later,” he said, standing up and following her out the door. He watched as she got into her car, waved, and drove away. He went back inside, back to the couch.
    He and Yvette were bi-racial, bi-cultural, of mixed race—whatever the correct term—the product of a white father and Mexican mother. They’d grown up upper-middle-class, gated community and private schools, and all things American teen.
    Yvette had been the rebel of the two, embracing all things Latin, while he tried to maintain an evenness between the two. So far it had worked for him, although he hadn’t encountered that many other Latinos in his neighborhood or schools. He hadn’t given much thought to his preferences in women until now. But you like who you like, right? He preferred blondes who were attractive, and quiet yet confident, but not in your face with it. Not much of a list, he knew now. He’d met Jamie and had fallen fast or lost his mind, he wasn’t sure which. He increased the volume of the TV and let his mind drift to the land of nothing.
    * * *
    Deliver me from idiots , Mariah thought as she watched from her perch behind the small bar—all of six feet in length. It was Saturday and she was working at her brother’s restaurant because another waitress had quit. She was filling in, again . She was pouring water for Amber, one of the newest employees who managed to hang on for the pasts two weeks, or was it three? She’d lost count. Amber was one in a very long line of waitresses that lasted for more than a week if they were lucky. Mariah’s training of them was a never-ending job. Her brother ran through them like water.
    Mariah had been keeping her eye on Amber, who now stood taking orders from a table full of the mean girls from hell—the type that picked on other women for sport. They were knee-deep into giving Amber a hard time. Mariah had seen enough. She watched them as Amber stood at the table, working to be kind, which she was naturally. In fact, she was maybe a little too kind for this job, especially with her brother.
    “So what can I get you ladies to drink?” Mariah heard her ask.
    “I want iced tea. Nope, wait. What flavors to do you have?” one of them asked.
    “We have…”
    “That’s okay. What kind of soda?” she asked, rapid-fire, interrupting Amber before she could finish a sentence.
    “We have…”
    “That’s okay. I just want water. What do you ladies want?” she asked, turning to her friends.
    They all spoke at once—water, tea, what kind of soda; it all came back at Amber, confusing her, of course. They laughed while Mariah looked on.
    Amber stood there with them for ten minutes more before she walked over to Mariah, looking scattered, her fine