Chapter 8 #2
“I think his family is in politics or something. Based on your list he has many goals—mostly political—but seems smart and has loyalty to his family, as far as I could tell.” He shrugs impassively.
I mimic him with my own shrug though feeling anything but passive, then forward the contact information to myself from his phone.
A new swirl of anxiety burns in my gut with every step we take.
I try to banish away thoughts of my application deadline, the experiment that seems to be running away from me, and the lies that are becoming more tangled by the minute.
I hold up his phone with calculated cheeriness, “Okay, you need a better picture of me than this owl that I put. Here,” I swipe open the camera and hold it up high to fit both our faces in the frame.
I wink one eye and stick out my tongue and accidentally take at least a dozen pictures.
I swipe through the photos and assign one to my contact.
In the photo, Dominic sports his typical one sided smile with his head tilted in, his chin almost resting on top of my head.
Something warm washes over me and I feel a renewed sense of calm take hold.
I peer up. In real life, Dominic stands patiently with his hands in his jean pockets as I hold his phone.
“Aren’t you nervous?” I ask, playfully wiggling his phone in my hand.
“That you’ll drop it because you’re accident prone? Yes.”
“Very funny.” I roll my eyes. “No, I mean me holding your phone. Aren’t you worried I could see a nude or something?
” I ask, handing his phone back to him. As soon as I say it, my stomach somersaults inside itself.
The thought of Dominic having naked pictures of anyone suddenly makes me feel uncomfortable.
My relief is delivered swiftly in a bark of a laugh as Dominic throws his head back.
The joy is so boyish, so uncharacteristically earnest that I pause, committing that smile that reached his eyes to memory.
“No, Hoot. There are no nudes on my phone.” I can tell he’s shaking his head in amusement but I can’t meet his eye. We turn a corner and the little ice cream shoppe’s interior lighting makes the small space glow in the surrounding dim light just ahead of us. A beacon for cool treats.
“Well maybe we should change that,” I say offhand, before realizing how it sounds. I look over quickly to see Dominic’s eyes widen and his lips part slightly.
“No…I meant…other…you’ve set me up on dates, so you—” I physically cover my mouth with my hands, close my eyes and shake my head.
Wonderful. He thinks I’m nuts AND that I want to send him nudes.
When I open my eyes again, hoping I’ve woken up from this embarrassing nightmare, I find Dominic suppressing a laugh, his lips pinched together in jest, but his eyes won’t meet mine and his cheeks have the slightest tinge of pink to them.
“So this is the ice cream—”
“Yup—”
We both awkwardly talk over each other, and even more awkwardly both walk through the door at the same time. This results in my head getting squished into his hard chest. I get a hint of fresh peppermint emanating from him.
Like a piece of gum I just want between my teeth—
“Dominico!” a friendly voice booms. A plump woman clad in a checkered apron has popped out from the back, hands in the air and excitement written all over her round features at our sudden presence.
Before she can make it to us at the front of the shoppe I turn my head to Dominic, “Dominico?” I ask under my breath quietly, a mischievous smile playing on my lips.
“Still better than Peggy,” he mutters under his breath before leaving my side to hug the plump woman behind the counter.
I watch as he wraps his long arms around her short torso in an enormous bear hug before pulling back and asking her how her family is doing.
He has the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on his face and it’s impossible not to smile right along with it.
I feel a sense of privilege at witnessing two unfettered moments of happiness from Dominic tonight.
The woman gestures in my direction and he nods and introduces me. I move quickly to extend my hand out in greeting but she envelops me in a hug that is so motherly and warm my eyes prickle with emotion.
“Hi! I’m Celeste, Dominic’s friend,” I manage, blinking the moisture away.
“Ah! What a beautiful name! I’m Mama Maria, or as Dominico used to say, Mama Mia!” She laughs and looks toward Dominic fondly.
“Used to? How recently are we talking, last week?” I tease, poking Dominic in the ribs lightly.
Maria waves me off, “Oh no, I think he was eight…no nine!” She looks to him again adoringly, motherly.
“You’ve known him that long?” I ask, trying to picture a surly nine year old Dominic.
“Known him? I practically raised him!” She waits a beat while my mind starts turning.
Oh shi—am I meeting his mother right now?
My eyes flash subconsciously down at my sneakers in embarrassment.
“Well, for a time being anyway. I’ll get you some scoops,” Maria says softly, a hand cupping Dom’s cheek before bustling off.
It’s such a maternal gesture it warms my heart immediately, making me forget all about shoes.
This woman wouldn’t judge a hair on my head.
Then her words hit me, a time being? I must have a puzzled look on my face because Dominic tugs on my hand for us to sit at a booth in the back, his palm warm against my skin.
As we sit down across from each other in the plush red leather booth his hand lets go of mine, leaving my skin chilled with the lack of contact.
I glance around, taking in the retro Americana aesthetic.
“So, I guess I’ll explain then,” Dominic says, averting his eyes from mine and scratching the back of his head.
My eyebrows draw together in a frown. “You don’t have to explain anything, Dom. If you don’t want to, you know.” He lifts his gaze to mine and I see something vulnerable there, something very delicate and brittle that I know he protects dearly.
You don’t have to, but I want you too. Let me in.
I hold my breath, letting him open up if he wants to. I know it’s selfish, wanting him to share when I can’t tell him my whole truth, but I can’t help myself.
“I guess it started with my parents. My biological parents that is.” He winces, his gaze hanging on the shoppe window.
“They were very into drugs and not very into parenting so my sister and I were put into foster care early on. I was about six and my sister around four I think, give or take a few years. I’m not entirely sure.
” He shakes his head like he’s trying to rid himself of an unpleasant memory, as if his brain were an Etch A Sketch and one good shake will clean the slate.
“We were separated for the majority of our time in foster care, but never too far from each other. In and out of different homes. I was with Maria for a few years but she had lots of other foster kids.” A small smile appears swiftly and disappears just as fast. “Here, look.” Dominic ducks under the table and I’m suddenly looking at an empty seat across from me.
I feel a tap on my knee and I duck my head too, Dominic’s half smile waiting for me under the tabletop.
“May I?” he asks, holding his palm upwards. I put my hand in his without hesitation. His large palm envelops mine, guiding my fingertips to grooves indented under the table.
“Does it say Dominic? Did you carve your name here?” I dip my head a little further, searching with my eyes and read “Dominic’s Spot” carved into the underside of the booth’s table in untidy scratches.
We both pop our heads right side up and laughter bubbles out of me.
The idea of this sullen, pessimistic, always clad in black man ever being a playful little boy, let alone one rebellious enough to carve his name into a booth, creates a funny picture in my mind.
“So, why this booth?” I ask as Maria comes over with two bowls, one with two scoops of charcoal black ice cream that’s placed in front of Dominic and a bowl in front of me.
“How did you know?” I ask Maria, perplexed. She just throws me a wink and walks away, a coy smile on her face.
“How did she know I love strawberry and vanilla? And what the hell is that?” I ask Dom, pointing with my spoon at his bowl, already digging into my own frozen bliss.
He chuckles and shrugs. “She just knows. But this here is The Dominico.” I give him a wary look. “It’s squid ink in mint chocolate chip ice cream. Growing up in a foster home that ran an ice cream shoppe meant that I had to be creative so that I always got the flavour I wanted.”
He levels me with a look while licking the end of his spoon.
The playfulness I was feeling turns warmer and I feel my skin begin to flush.
His tongue darts out to lick a little bit of ice cream from the top of his full upper lip before slowly lifting his eyes to meet mine.
I look away, unable to hold his gaze, feeling heat sizzle in my low belly.
I clear my throat and take a big spoonful of my own ice cream, “Clever, Peggy. So, are you close at all with your sister?” I ask, hoisting another spoonful into my mouth, changing the subject before I melt faster than our ice cream.
Dominic’s bowl is scraped clean before he even answers.
He folds his hands together on the tabletop and leans back into the padded seating, extending his legs and crossing them at the ankle.
The movement has his leg brushing against mine.
I fight off a little chill that zips up my spine at the contact.
“I wouldn’t say close. Once we were old enough to get cell phones we exchanged numbers. Every now and then we send ‘are you alive’ texts or Merry Christmas, or whatever. But we definitely don’t have a sibling bond or anything,” he says dismissively.