Carmen asked Maya later that afternoon. She came in and threw herself on Maya’s bed, flat on her back and spread-eagled. “Aren’t you going to the movie with Aunt Amy and me?” “No, I’m going to dinner.” Having changed three times, Maya contemplated a fourth. “Do you like this one, or this one?” she asked her daughter, holding up two different outfits. Carmen ignored the question. “Dinner? With who?” she asked suspiciously. “Dr. Gallagher.” “You have a date?” Maya turned around and looked at her daughter, who was now sitting up on the bed. Only a teenager could look so incredulous at the thought of her mother dating. “Yes. I’ve had them before, you know,” she added dryly. Not to mention, Carmen’s father had remarried. What was so shocking about Maya having a date? “But . . . but you just met him.” “Actually, I went to high school with him.” And almost married him, Maya thought. “Why are you frowning?” After placing both outfits on the bed, she rifled through her closet and pulled out another sweater.
