“One kid?”
“Yeah, a daughter who loves playing hoops. A little headstrong, like her mom.”
If Mom were alive, she’d like them both. That thought hits out of nowhere and lodges in my chest.
“So,” Maya says, amusement creeping into her voice, “a hot single mom has taken my big bro’ off the market. That tracks.”
I can’t help the grin—it’s ridiculous and dead-on.
“What tracks?”
“She’s not just some hookup.”
No. She isn’t.
Not by a long shot.
“Tell me more,” Maya says, sounding entirely too interested.
Morning light glints off the windows, and I catch a warped reflection of myself. I’m smiling like an idiot.
“What’s she look like?”
“Black hair, shoulder length, dark blue eyes… It’s a color you don’t see often. Heart-shaped face.” I pause, searching for something that gets close. “You know Courteney Cox?”
“The Friends actress?”
“Yeah. Not exactly, but there’s something there. And in the way she carries herself? Dresses? She’s got this Olivia Pope thing. You remember Scandal?”
Maya and I have burned through enough television over the years that she definitely remembers.
“So she’s white.”
She says it casually, but not carelessly.
We’re a mixed-up blend by most people’s standards. Dad’s Mexican American. Mom was white, though her family came out of Alaska and there was Native heritage in her line. Most of my life, people have looked at me and decided what I am before I ever opened my mouth.
“She is.” I keep my tone easy. “And?”
“Has she told anyone yet?”
“We’re keeping it quiet.” I push off the fence and start walking again. “For a lot of reasons. Her daughter. My job.”
Maya goes silent.
“You’ve got an opinion,” I say. “Say it.”
My tone comes out sharper than I intended, but Maya has dated pretty much every race and background under the sun. Dad married two white women. If she’s got an issue, I want to hear it straight.
“It’s nothing.”
I look up at the hazy morning sky. That’s one of Maya’s favorite lies.
“Look,” she says, “I believe in judging people by who they are. You know that. But there are still assholes out there. That’s all I’m saying. If you end up needing somebody to vent to, I’m here.”
If Alicia runs into problems because of us, I’d bet the bigger issue is the age difference, not race. But I haven’t brought age up to Maya, and I’m not about to start now.
“So far, no issues,” I tell her. “It’s new. Don’t go borrowing trouble. I’m good.”