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this surprise about? Are we going somewhere fancy?” Issa studied Alisha’s outfit. She’d changed clothes after work. The starched blue blouse and gray pencil skirt her mother was wearing were a far cry from her usual floor-length skirts and peasant tops. Her normally wavy hair was straightened and pulled neatly back at the nape of her neck. Issa became aware she was in jeans and a ragged hoodie sweatshirt, her shoulder-length curls now in a messy bun. She was not dressed for a night out.
    â€œYou’re dressed up! Are we finally going to see Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat? Mom! I’m not dressed for the theater!”
    â€œIssa, I can assure you with my strongest conviction that we would not be going to the theater on a Monday night.” Alisha attempted to start the car. The engine huffed and shut off.
    â€œWell, I never know with you.” Issa was still suspicious. “Remember that time we took a bus to the Hamptons just to sell seashells by the seashore?”
    â€œI was young and you were silly then,” Alisha said, her crescent-shaped lips curving as the engine finally groaned to life.
    â€œIt was last year!”
    â€œAnd wasn’t it fun? A good surprise?”
    â€œYes,” Issa admitted. Any adventure with Alisha at the helm was fun. She was not your usual conservative Indian-American mother. Raised by overly strict parents, she had run away from home, married someone handsome and inappropriate, had Issa and her brother soon after and never really grown up. Alisha had vowed years ago to raise Issa right, in a way her own parents had never done with her.
    Issa and Alisha had always shared everything: size 6 clothes, the same hazel eyes, a taste for coconut lattes and sweet tea and secrets. Until today. Issa wondered what all the hush-hush was about. She watched the neighborhoods change from middle class to upper crust as the car whizzed through New Joliet.
    Ten minutes later Alisha pulled into a circular driveway topped by a three-story mansion.
    â€œWhat’s this? Did we win the lottery? Is this our new house?”
    Alisha laughed. “You’ll see.”
    Issa had been joking, but Alisha’s smile was so happy, for a second she thought it might be possible.
    Alisha rang the doorbell with Issa hanging behind a few steps.
    â€œ Buenas tardes, Alisha.” A formidable salt-and-pepper-haired man, fully suited down to polished loafers, answered the door in a slightly accented voice. “I’m so glad Issa was able to make it.”
    Diego.
    Alisha had been casually dating the slick, overly polished man for a few months. Thankfully, Issa hadn’t had too many run-ins with him. He was the surprise? This had to be his house. Alisha normally had fun taste in men, tormented artists who were consumed by their genius or wannabe comedians who considered the world their stage. True, the relationships never lasted more than a month, but Issa knew her mother was just enjoying life. It wasn’t as if she was looking for her soul mate. Issa’s daddy was still out there somewhere and she knew her mama could never be with anyone else for long.
    But this Diego was different. Issa had heard he was rich, but apparently he was superrich. The expensive-looking suits, the fancy corporate-lawyer job, this vulgarly large house. So ridiculous. He looked like a clean-cut Antonio Banderas and sounded like him too. Not Alisha’s style at all.
    â€œI’m so glad you came tonight for dinner, Issa.” Diego reached out to take Issa’s zipped-up hoodie.
    â€œOh, yeah,” she muttered, and shoved her fingers into her sweatshirt pockets. She wasn’t about to reveal the ribbed Hindu-god-imprinted tank top she wore underneath.
    â€œMy young daughter will be joining us tonight. She is most anxious to meet you.” Diego either ignored, or didn’t understand, Issa’s sullen attitude.
    â€œWonderful,” Issa said through her