“Yeah?”

“Are we dating?”

“What?” He looks over at me like I can save him, but there’s nothing I can do for him. He was screwed the minute he approached our table.

“I asked if you and I are dating? Are you my man?”

His fists clench, but not in anger. It’s more like he’s trying to avoid wiping his palms against his pants. “We’ve never talked about it, no.”

“I thought so. Then, don’t ever try to check me like that again, okay?” She doesn’t even wait for him to respond before giving him her back. “I might text you later.” She dives into her enchiladas again, and Ethan walks away with his head down.

I wish I could say this is the first time I’ve been confused for Kylie’s date but it’s not, and unfortunately, I’m sure it won’t be the last. That’s just what happens when you and your sibling don’t look alike. Our mom is Chinese and our dad is Black. Kylie favors our mom with her high defined cheekbones and thin lips. I don’t favor either parent really, but I do have my dad’s strong jawline. Kylie’s skin tone is bronze whereas I’m more brown-skinned. She has a button nose whereas mine is wider. Her natural hair holds a loose wave whereas mine is coarse and has a tight curl to it that I let grow out. Kylie is what our Aunt Patrice calls racially ambiguous. People have no idea what ethnicity she is, and she gets the irritating “what are you mixed with” question often. The question gets under my skin every time because though Kylie actually is mixed, the question implies that it’s the “other” part of her that makes her beautiful. As if being Black couldn’t be enough. I, on the other hand, never get questioned about my blackness. People either think I’m Black or Hispanic. Now that we’re grown, people tend to assume we’re a couple before finding out we’re brother and sister. It used to bother the shit out of us but now we just brush it off.

“So, are you gonna text him later?”

“Hell no. What a fucking creep.” I’m not surprised. Kylie is a serial dater. It takes a lot to keep her attention and the minute a guy pisses her off, he’s out of there. I agree though; that guy was a fucking creep. “So, back to your proposition.”

I wipe my mouth with my napkin. “What do you think about moving into my place for a year?”

“With you and Po Po? Umm, no thanks. You only have the two bedrooms.”

“I won’t be there so you can have my room.”

She leans in closer. “And where will you be?”

“I’m going to stay with a client to help them during their recovery.”

She drops her fork. “No.”

“No?”

“That’s what I said. You think I’m stupid? I know your “client” is Liv. Olivia. Whatever.”

I roll my neck to prepare for the battle that’s coming. “Yeah, okay. My client is Olivia. What’s the problem? The two of you used to be close.”