"Oh, and you don't," I teased her, and was rewarded by another grape bouncing off my arm.

"Hey, Chris and I have been together for almost three months now," Bree said.

"And?" Robbie prompted her.

Self-righteousness mixed with rueful embarrassment crossed Bree's face. "He's bugging me a little," she admitted.

Tam and I laughed, and Robbie snorted.

"I guess you're just picky," Robbie said.

My dad wandered into the kitchen again, got a pen from the pen jar, and headed out again.

"Okay," Bree said, opening the back door. "I better get home before Chris freaks out." She made a face. "Where have you been?" she said in a deep-voiced imitation. She rolled her eyes and left, and moments later we heard her temperamental BMW, Breezy, take off and chug down the street.

"Poor Chris," Tamara said. Her curly brown hair was escaping from her headband, and she expertly twisted in back underneath.

"I think his days are numbered," Robbie said, taking a sip of soda.

I pulled out a bag of salad and ripped it open with my teeth. "Well, he lasted longer than usual."

Tam nodded. "It might be a new record."

The back door flew open and my mom staggered in, her arms full of files, flyers, and real estate signs. Her jacket was wrinkled, and it had a coffee stain on one pocket. I grabbed the stuff from her hands and set it on the kitchen table.

"Mary, mother of God," my mom muttered. "What a day. Hi, Tamara, honey. Hey, Robbie. How have you two been? How's school so far?"

"Fine, thanks, Mrs. Rowlands," Robbie said.

"How about you?" Tamara asked. "You looked like you've been working hard."

"You could say that," my mom said with a sigh. She hung her jacket on a hook by the door and headed to the cabinet to fix herself a whiskey sour from a mix.