Chapter Five #3
His features aren’t symmetrical enough to call him classically handsome. But his proud, prominent nose, his wide mouth and full lips, the top one with an enviably perfect bow, are the perfect complement to his high cheekbones and exquisite bone structure. I look back at his hands again.
The glint of gold from the signet ring on his right ring finger catches my eye. I can see it’s embossed with the same Adinkra symbol as the one hanging around his neck.
How did I miss those details? I blame the cocktail for dulling my senses and thank the universe that he has a sense of humor despite how badly I put my foot in my mouth.
I clear my throat. “Listen, I know how it feels to have your identity questioned because you don’t fit the mold. I’m sorry.”
He pauses mid-sip, glass still at his lips and slides his eyes to look at me. “You are? Just like that?”
“Yes,” I draw the word out. “Why are you looking at me like I just performed a strange but cool circus trick?”
He huffs a laugh and shrugs. “Because I usually have to speak Twi, prove I know how to eat fufu, and produce my passport or birth certificate before most Ghanaians are satisfied that I’m one of them. And this is the first time anyone has ever said sorry for that shit.”
“Oh God. That’s awful. But you know how hard it is for our elders to say they are sorry. And unfortunately, it trickles down.”
“I’m used to it, but I’m always surprised when I have to remind other Ghanaians that the region was colonized and occupied by three different European countries. Cape Coast is full of people who look like me.”
“Have you spent a lot of time there?”
“I used to go every year. Usually at Christmas.”
“Do your parents live there or here?”
He nods without looking up. “Both. Anyway, enough about me.” He cuts into his food and takes a massive bite.
His deflection piques my curiosity, but I let it go.
For now.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Arsinoé isn’t very Ghanaian either.”
“Touché.” I laugh at his clever turnaround. “My parents went to Egypt for their honeymoon. It’s where I was conceived so they chose a name from there.”
“At least your name has meaning,” he says.
“So does yours,” I push back.
He scoffs. “‘A boy born on Saturday’ is probably the least meaningful name my parents could have given me.”
I shake my head. “That’s not true. It’s so special to have a name that connects you with your cultural identity. I wish mine had given me my day name. Or anything that didn’t require explanation and spelling.”
He chuckles. “Look at us. Living proof that the grass is always greener when you’re not standing on it.”
“True. And honestly, I like my name,” I admit.
“Me too. Do you have an older sister named Cleopatra?” He grins and shoves a fork full of rice into his mouth.
I gasp and stare at him.
“What?” he asks around a mouthful of food.
“No one, in my whole life has ever known that.”
He wrinkles his brow and gives me a skeptical look. “How? When she’s the sister of one of the most famous women who ever lived?”
“Exactly,” I say throwing my hands up excitedly.
My insides flutter with a sensation I haven’t felt in so long I’m not sure it’s real. I thought it might be the cocktail making him sexier every time he speaks, but I’m starting to worry that it’s just…him. “So, where do you live, Kwame?” I ask casually.
“Los Angeles.” He takes another bite of food and I relax.
“Oh cool. I love LA. Is that where you’re from?”
“No, I moved there after law school and have been there almost fifteen years.”
“Law school, huh? Your parents must have been thrilled. And what brings you to DC?”
“I grew up here. What about you?” He digs into his food again. It’s the second deflection when I’ve asked about family and I wonder what the story is there.
I’m so close to mine, despite how annoying they are, I’m suspicious of people who aren’t.
“I grew up in the DMV. I was born in Silver Spring and that’s where we lived until my parents moved to Arlington when I was middle school.”
He nods. “Where do you live now, Sin?” The way he says my name feels like he’s been saying it his whole life.
“New York City.” For now.
“And when are you really headed back?” he asks with a sly grin.
I roll my eyes but can’t fight the conspiratorial smile his words inspire. “My flight is in the morning. Bright and early. So, I’m really glad I met you tonight. It’s been fun.”
He shrugs and frowns. “I’m still trying to decide how I feel about it.”
My burst of surprised laughter feels like pressure being released. When’s the last time a man made me laugh for real? “You know you’re having a great time. Stop playing.” I wave away his words.
One of his dark eyebrows quirks up. “Getting ahead of yourself aren’t you? You seem cool. But, until I know your sign, I can’t be sure. I avoid Geminis, Virgos, and Capricorns like the plague.” He gives a shiver of disgust and I can’t tell if he’s serious.
“Are you for real?”
“Yes. Date of birth, please.”
“Fine. I don’t know anything about horoscopes. But, I was born on February fourteenth. I think that makes me—”
“Wha—” He chokes on the sip of drink he was swallowing and the rest of his words are lost to a coughing fit. I’m about to pat his back when his icy glare stops me cold.