Chapter 34
Miriam
Ihad my suspicions about Kieran, but I didn’t want to judge prematurely. We all have a skeleton or two in the closet, but he’s stashing corpses in the wall.
“Stop looking at me like I’m on a most-wanted list,” he laughs.
“If the ice boot fits.”
Walking outside in freezing weather willingly is suspect. My aptitude for social activities is still in preschool, but that’s an invitation for frostbite, if you ask me.
Kieran’s gravelly voice lifts into a chuckle. “It’s called winter hiking. You should try it.”
“Not even if Hell offered hand warmers. I tolerate my insurance premiums where they’re at, thank you.”
Serial killer hobbies aside, tonight has been enjoyable. Kieran made good on the date I pushed off until this week. I had my reservations, but I stepped out of the comfort of my tube socks and sweater for fine dining and conversations about questionable behavior.
We’re in an upscale restaurant in Elmwood Village, a few blocks from my house.
The food is incredible, and the space is surprisingly quaint.
Half a dozen square tables are scattered across a dining room surrounded by exposed brick walls.
Our table is in the corner, tucked away from other diners under a black ceiling and dimmed lights.
The cranberry sheath dress I’m wearing was option number four for my first official date. Bile only rose up my throat once, so that’s a good sign.
“So, what do you do to decompress?” Kieran washes the question down with scotch and rests his forearms on the white tablecloth.
Antonio’s smile enters my mind. The deep lines of his mouth and those crinkled eyes bring memories of being me without reservation.
“Play video games,” I say, my thoughts back at Steel House with laughter and Mortal Kombat. Antonio was so mad I beat him in every game we played, and he tickled me to prove I wasn’t hiding a book of cheat codes under my shirt.
Where did he think I went before I came over, Radio Shack?
Kieran grins. “We might need to have a go.”
I force my dimples into a smirk.
I’m breaking dating etiquette thinking about another man.
But everything reminds me of Antonio. The fancy-name appetizers he’d swear the chef picked up from a grocery store and added asparagus to in order to charge twenty dollars a plate.
The complicated pasta dishes he swears he can cook, even though I know he struggles to boil water.
Random texts kicked off a friendship neither of us expected. Now, I’m lucky if I get a response the same day.
Eleven days came and went since we last saw each other. I assumed some distance would reset us back to where we were, before lust and complicated emotions got in the way.
I was wrong.
The here and there messages are harder than I anticipated. I don’t want us to hurt each other, but I don’t want this.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Hmm?” I readjust my glasses.
Kieran studies me. “You look deep in thought.”
“Oh. It’s nothing.” I smooth down my twist-out.
Kieran, by all accounts, easily charts any most-beautiful list. He’s the proud owner of a full set of lips, high cheekbones, a crispy fade, and groomed facial hair. All of the ingredients are here except the spark. Maybe that comes with time?
The tips of my fingers burn to reach for my phone.
I haven’t touched it since we sat down, to resist watching Antonio’s PSN interview.
He left on Tuesday to record it after returning from Houston late Sunday night.
I was in Central New York last weekend, visiting farms that are part of a food equity collective with urban growers. By the time I came home, he was gone.
“Miriam, are you okay?”
“Yup,” I lie. It’s a struggle to sip my wine with a straight face. Pounds of sugar in my glass aren’t a requirement, but good gracious, this is dry. “What did you ask me?”
“Did you always want to be an engineer?”
“Back to shop talk, huh?”
His shoulder lifts. “Indulge me.”
“Yes and no. Most of my toys as a kid were robotics and science kits.”
“Legos?”
I smile. “Those too. What about you?”
Kieran’s mouth tangles in a frown. “I didn’t have a choice.”
My face sours. “What does that mean?”
He laughs at my grimace. “It could be worse. My family’s legacy is at Maple King. My father. My mother. My grandparents.”
It sounds like a cult where you sacrifice newborns every generation for wealth and status, but I keep quiet. Maybe I should send my parents a thank-you for not forcing me into a career. Not that they could have if they’d tried.
“What would you do if you could choose?”
It’s a simple question, but it catches him off guard. He stares with narrowed eyes and a creased forehead like I asked him to explain theoretical physics.
“I don’t have an answer.”
“That’s sad.” I pop a shishito pepper into my mouth. “I’m sorry if that was insensitive.”
He laughs. “You fascinate me.”
“I don’t know why.”
“You’re honest and don’t seem rattled by what people think.”
“Don’t forget clumsy and smart.”
“And stunning.” He eyes me. “Are you doing what you want to do?”
Saved by the server.
I say a quick prayer before digging into my Cajun salmon. It’s not the ideal dish for a first-date kiss, but I have no plans to kiss anything but my toothbrush before I go to bed.
“I enjoy applying what I learned in practical ways,” I say. “I want to own patents. Wow, I never admitted that out loud until now.”
An idea formed during a recent visit to an urban farming site in Buffalo. Climate resilience is a concern. Summers are hotter. Blizzards are more commonplace. Machinery struggles to withstand extreme weather with its current materials.
“I’d need the proper environment to conceptualize and prototype my idea, and programming,” I say out loud to myself. “I can do it.”
Kieran studies me. “A patent is ambitious.”
“But not impossible,” I add.
“Correct.” He smiles. “The offer to use our lab still stands.”
“That would be amazing.”
Kieran and I talk about my time on the farms this week and the Afro-Indigenous practices used to cultivate the land in an effort to repair the earth and the communities harmed by generations of predatory practices. There’s so much to unpack.
“That’s something.” He scratches his chin. “Commendable, but it won’t fix the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean Black farmers are barely a blip in the industry. Working against a billion-dollar industry isn’t a good use of time or resources. You won’t produce the changes you want to see without corporations’ support.”
Time for a side-eye. “I’m no expert, but even I’m aware of the effects of unchecked power on agriculture and the environment. The pesticides we ingest. The poor conditions for workers and animals. Don’t you want better?”
He scoffs. “Of course I do, but we live in reality, sweetie.”
My lip coils at the pet name. It’s a pat on the head, a sign to not step out of line.
“I thrive in possibility,” I counter. “Create solutions to improve reality.” I already have ideas about how to enhance infrastructure through design to make farming more sustainable.
Teaching kids engineering at the community center is only the first step. We’ll put what they learn into urban farming efforts around the city.
A small piece of a larger ecosystem.
I use the opportunity to peek at my phone and stifle a laugh when Kieran excuses himself to take a call.
Video of the Steel in the locker room after last week’s win replays during the PSN segment.
Half the team is shirtless, wearing grins wider than their chests.
The camera pans through a tunnel of biceps and chiseled torsos until it reaches the star of the show.
I snort as Antonio gyrates to “Atomic Dog.” He flexes for the cameras with his tongue on display.
He’s in his element and doesn’t miss a beat winking for the camera. That lip bite and those muscles rippling across his hard body will send half of America into a hot flash—assuming his thighs in the team’s rugby shorts don’t cause instant cardiac arrest.
All of him is a work of art, but it’s Antonio’s aura that will make him a household name. Everything about him is magnetic.
I minimize the screen and text him.
Look at you on prime time! I’m so proud.
We’re not in the best place right now, but I’ll always root for him.
The clip fades to an empty locker room. Antonio sits on a stool in his team travel gear with a mic clipped to his collar. Light catches on his waves and his smooth caramel face splitting into a wide smile.
I enlarge the video as he pulls Kenya into a hug.
She’s camera ready, with straight black hair flowing over a sleeveless blouse.
I have no right to be upset—that’s the wrong word.
What am I? Disturbed by the weight in my chest at their exchange of laughter and the be my man in her eyes.
But Antonio isn’t my man, so what do I care if two old friends demonstrate affection in front of millions of viewers?
They’re familiar with each other, the same way we are.
Friendly.
Bet his mouth is real friendly.
“Antonio Knight, impressive start to the season.” Kenya crosses her legs, angling herself toward Antonio.
“The Steel aims to please.”
The pain in my jaw from clenching my teeth becomes a full-blown scowl. They look good together, like one of those couples who post unblemished photos and cutesy videos involving a surprise trip to Greece and a Bichon Frisé.
Jealousy isn’t a shade I wear often, but my growing appetite to choose violence over tiramisu says otherwise.
I reopen my messages to the thread with Marcela.
Is it too late to go to Toronto with you this weekend?
Marcela
Of course not. You good?
The melody of Kenya’s laughter stomps on my last nerve.
Yup! Looking forward to it!
It’s not a lie, though staying up past my bedtime for forced socializing is not my idea of bonding. If it gets my mind off Antonio, I’ll take one for the team—the team being these feelings that won’t unhand me.
Kieran slides into his seat. “Sorry about that.” His gaze sweeps over me. “How about I show you the lab now? That is, if you’re up for a detour before I take you home.”
An opportunity to get lost in software that costs more than my car and not think about my friend servicing a booty buddy?
“I’m coming for the programs,” I say.
Kieran laughs. “I’m under no other impression. You made it clear tonight is a singular date.”
Was I too mean?
“Relax, Miriam. I’m happy to have whatever time you allow.”
“Alright. Let’s get dessert to go.”