The woman is young. Not yet thirty. Dark hair. Brown eyes. Not White. Not Black. Sturdy. A handsome woman. Not pretty, though I doubt I would feel any better if I had been run over by a lingerie model.

A man comes out of the restaurant and closes in on the woman. “Jesus, Kal, what the hell did you do?”

“It was an accident,” she tells him.

“Is he hurt?”

“It was an accident.”

“Hey, old-timer.” The young man bends down and squints at me. “You okay?”

I don’t like him already.

“How many fingers?”

The woman helps me to my feet and starts brushing me off. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I tell her.

“See,” says the young man. The accent is American. East Coast. “He’s okay. No harm, no foul. Am I right?”

“I’m Kalea,” says the woman. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“He’s okay,” says the man. “Come on back inside.”

“Jesus, Bryce, show a little respect.”

“Our food is going to get cold.”

“I’m fine,” I say. “Don’t let your food get cold.”

Kalea stands there with her hands on her hips, and for just a moment, she reminds me of Mimi.

“Please join us,” she says.

“What? Come on, Kal!”

“I insist,” says Kalea. “It’s the least I can do. Please.” And she holds out a hand.

Kalea Tomaguchi and Bryce Osbourne. Kalea is Hawaiian and Japanese. Bryce is white-collar Boston. He’s the third Bryce Osbourne, but doesn’t use “Bryce Osbourne the Third,” because it sounds stuffy and old-fashioned.

“My grandfather’s era,” he tells me.

“Blackbird Mavrias.” I shake their hands in turn.

“Italian?” says Bryce.

“Mavrias is Greek,” says Kalea. “Isn’t it?”

“Greek and Cherokee,” I say.

“See, Bryce,” says Kalea, “all the best people are mixed bloods.”

Bryce smiles and throws up his hands. “What?” he says. “Now it’s a crime to be White?”

Kalea and Bryce have a table for four, so it’s no problem to squeeze me in. All the staff have to do is bring a plate and utensils.

“I hope you like General Tsao chicken,” says Kalea.

“Every time we do Chinese,” says Bryce, “Kal orders that.”

“And you always order the chow mein.”

“We’re predictable,” says Bryce. “But we’re also compatible.”

“Maybe,” says Kalea.

“Come on, Kal,” says Bryce. “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”

Whatever the offence, it’s easy to see that Kalea is not ready to forgive or forget. It’s not a comfortable situation, but having been attacked, I discover that I’m hungry.

“We can order more if we need to,” Kalea says.

“We still have dumplings coming,” says Bryce. “And Sizzling Beef in Black Bean Sauce.”

Kalea takes some of the General Tsao chicken. “Are you married, Mr. Mavrias?”

“Come on, Kal.”

“I’m with someone.”

“How long?”

I smile. “Longer than you’ve been alive, I’m afraid.”