I slipped on my black dress shoes and looked up, "Hey Lucy, you ready to go?"

"Yeah... What time do we have to be there again?"

You know, I really wish she'd stop saying it like it’s an obligation. Lucy always gets annoyed with these rituals. She lets me know that before we go every time. She's perfect, raven-haired, everything I could want in a woman. Exotic looks, built like a Brazilian model on the catwalk. She dyed her hair darker because her friends liked it better. Never understood why she changed it. I hate that she makes those changes just because other people judge for her.

I'd like it more if someone appreciated who they are. I mean, I guess that's what I saw in the beginning. Who knows? I met her in a bar; could be anything.

My cell rang, "Hey big bro. What's that? Oh really? She's the student right? Yeah, the one you talk about. Oh really? Ok, cool, can't wait. Ok, well we're about to leave now. Bye."

I clicked it off and stuffed it in my pocket. I don't make it a habit to turn it off. I looked up and she's still in the bathroom. Now she has the door closed. She decided to take forever to apply make-up. Why do women feel the need to apply it all the time? Less is definitely more but wow. Sometimes its like why bother saying anything? Women get mad anyways. I always tell her she’s beautiful the way she is. I guess that isn’t enough.

We’re always the late ones. I think it’s starting to be a trademark now every week. I hate it because then I have to apologize for both of us when it’s really her fault. I’d like to admit it’s me, but it almost always is her. Women just take forever with everything. Least girls as opposed to my mother. Hopefully this won’t last when I get older. I’m 33 and my patience is wearing thinner then most men. I think maybe because I care about precious time. I don’t know, these days I feel like I’m aging by the second.

The car ride is always a special time for me. Why do girls ask so many questions? Good god and some don’t breathe in between them.

Thank god the Lounge was so close. How much more can I take?

I did love coming here though. Back in Cambridge, there was a place just like this. Kind of a dark, posh, quiet, semi-casual dining. The kind where people usually greet you by your first name. I liked anything that reminded me of home. I always want to go back. There were so many cool memories I had growing up. I remember balling my eyes out when I found out my mother found a job in West Los Angeles. She had gotten laid off because the school board had lost its founding budget for the art classes. Everybody in the art department was fired. Even the new teachers. There’s not a day goes by that I regret not helping out. I was 10 when we moved and that was the first time I remember being that emotional.

Kyle and I were both artists. Well, he’s an actual artist and I’m a poor excuse for one. Or so I tell myself.

Acting was a fantasy. When you’re a child, you love putting on those plays for family members and see the smiles on there faces for all your hard work. But it was never possible for me. So I became a writer instead. Another poor excuse for an artist. Still, I guess its humbling. I’m doing what I love to and that’s enough for me.

Ugh, oh yeah, back to life. After valet ate up another 20 or so (felt longer) minutes, we finally walked inside looking for our party. The place always smelled of perfume and chicken. Don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. I’m indifferent.

I spotted the tabled near the back entrance. We always sat near the kitchen so it wasn’t hard to find. It practically had our names engraved on it. Go figure, right? Same table, nearly the same waiter. Some failed/struggling actor trying to rub two pennies together to get by plastering on a fake expression to make more than $50 in service tips. My parents really are so giving.

As we got closer to the table I noticed something was missing. Or someone. I only see my parents. But then again, they’re early usually. Normally Kyle joins in almost as if he rode with them.

Oh yeah, didn’t he have that girl with him? I forgot and it was only 30 minutes ago. We took our seats and relaxed. Lucy grabbed my hand from under the table and squeezed it. Was I shaking? I hadn’t noticed. Usually I’m much more attentive than this.

“I’m so sorry everyone. Please excuse my coming late.” I heard behind me.

I turned around. It must be her. The student. I could see why she was his favorite. For some odd reason she just screamed creative. She sat down between Kyle and me. She definitely had that extroverted attitude down. I’d be nervous too if I was meeting someone else’s family like it’s an interview for a job. Luckily for her the lights were so dimmed I could barely make out any expressions.

I stuck out my hand in front of her, “Hi, I’m Josh, Kyle’s brother. Glad you can join us tonight.”

Did I have to emphasize the glad? Not really, but I did.

She accepted my hand and gave a thin smile. “Hi, thank you. I’m Layla. Sorry again for coming late. We got caught up talking about my next project in class. It was my fault.”

“It’s alright.” That’s all I can say? Why the hell was I stuttering?

“That’s quite alright. I’m Karen, Kyle and Josh’s mom. It’s nice to finally meet you after all the sweet things that Kyle has said about you. He says you are quite the artist.”

She looked away and even in the shaded lighting, you can make out the hit of red forming at the tops of her cheeks. “He’s a nice teacher. He really helps improve.”

God, she’s so young. What is she? 18? 17? 15? I didn’t even know who I was at those ages. I still don’t. It sounds like she has a good sense of herself. It’s kind of scaring me a little. Oh boy, here comes the grilling.