Page 73 of Isn't It Obvious?
She shrugs. “Both, I guess.”
“I came to the US for university,” he says. “To Portland, seven, em—it’s November now. Eight months ago.” Thegrowl of her stomach interrupts them yet again. Ravi laughs. “Let’s fix that, yeah?”
“Now you’redefinitelylaughing at me.” He doesn’t deny it. “I was planning to go grocery shopping, so I don’t have much here, just one serving of leftover pasta.”
“Sorry I ruined your plans,” he says, squeezing her thighs. She ignores him.
“We could order Pizza Kat?” He nods, and Yael climbs off him to dig her phone and credit card out of her tote bag. It’s late; they’re just in time for last call. “Any restrictions?”
“No.”
She places the order, and all the while, Ravi’s eyes are glued to her, roaming.
“Tell me something about you,” he says after she hangs up, making her way back to the couch. She doesn’t drop down to his lap, instead sitting on the cushion beside him and draping her legs across his. His hand runs along her calf through her sweats, easy, comfortable. “You got something about me.”
“You didn’t volunteer it; I asked,” Yael points out.
“Okay.” He thinks for a moment. “Why the braid?”
Unconsciously, Yael reaches up to touch it, twirling it around her finger. “Cowlick. My range of part options is a lot greater with the braid. And,” she says, “I dunno, I kind of like having a signature look.”
“And how long have you been dyeing your hair?”
“Two questions in a row?”
He shrugs. “Yours was technically two questions. And besides, we have time.”
She can’t tell if he means until the pizza arrives or after that, too. “I think mine was one question with two answers.” Ravi’s eyes cut to the ceiling and back, and she laughs. “I’ve been dyeing it for maybe four years? The burgundy for onlyone. I got really into seasonal color analysis for a while, and it was in my palette.”
“Seasonal color analysis?”
“It’s about what colors suit you. I’m a soft autumn,” Yael says. “It’s highly possible that it’s all meaningless, but I’m not an astrology queer, so I neededsomething.”
Ravi trails his hand down, tracing her ankle. New nerve endings form under the pads of his fingers.
“What do you miss most about home?” Yael asks. “Or Trinidad, I mean. Do you think of it as home for you, or here now?”
Graciously, he doesn’t acknowledge that she’s snuck another question in there, too. “Both are home. The US and Trinidad, I mean. I’m not sure Portland feels like home yet.” He sighs. “I think it’s sort of an obvious answer, but right now I miss the food most.”
“There aren’t any Trinidadian restaurants in Portland, are there?”
Ravi shakes his head. “No, not specifically. There are a handful of Jamaican restaurants, and pan-Caribbean. There’s a cart run by an Indian Guyanese couple, and that almost scratches the itch sometimes because there’re some overlapping influences. But it’s not the same.”
“Bake on the Run? I love that place,” Yael says. “I’m trying to think, but I’m not sure if I’ve ever had Trinidadian food.”
“My brother’s a really good cook,” he says.
Yael blinks. It’s not an invitation, she doesn’t think. But it could be read that way, if she wanted to. “It’s your turn for a question.”
“Portland’s home for you?”
“Yes.” Yael says. “My dad moved me here when I was seven,and then, save for a respite for college and my MLS, I’ve been here ever since.”
He nods. “And do you like it? I guess you must, if you came back.”
Yael frowns. “I think ‘like’ is too simple a word for how I feel. There have been times when I’ve hated it with every cell in my body. It’s definitely home, though.”
He nods again. “I… really get that.”
