“You have her eyes,” he said, soldiering on. “The same skin color, too.” The black folder with Tish’s card sticking out of it sat on the edge of the table. Fiona wondered if she should offer to cover the tip at least. In her pocket there was a ten and a few singles, change from the bodega where she bought a pack of Camels yesterday.
All of a sudden the waiter’s hand shot out, and Fiona watched in horror—time slowed, everything jelly—as his fingers reached for Tish’s hair, which hung in long twists over her shoulders and down her back.
“Boy, I swear to God,” Tish said, her voice cutting through the sludge.
The waiter dropped his hand in midair. Fiona realized she was holding her breath. She picked up the black folder from the table and shoved it toward the waiter. “Be right back with this,” he said, and walked away.
“Fuck out of here,” Tish muttered under her breath. She leaned back into the booth.
Fiona touched her shoulder. “You okay?”
Tish didn’t answer.
“Hey. You want to talk to the manager?”
“I’m fine.” She fiddled with a bra strap that had slipped down her arm.
Fiona didn’t know what to say. “I thought he was hitting on you,” she blurted out.
“I’m fine,” Tish said. “Girl.” She shook her head, screwed up her face in a quizzical expression. “He was so gay, hello?”
A few minutes later the waiter sailed by to return the check with Tish’s card. “Hey, so I didn’t charge you for the drinks.”
“Oh,” Fiona said. “Thanks,” she added after a second.
“You’re welcome.” He gave a quick bright smile and left to fill another table’s water glasses.
“You’re still in the running,” Tish said to his back, “to become America’s next top waiter.”
Fiona fell out laughing. “Don’t leave him any tip.”
“Then you know he’ll be like, ‘Black people—’？”
“But he tried—oh God.” Fiona shook her head.
“Listen,” Tish said. “Back to this Gabriel person. Whatever you do, don’t let Rico Suave wife you up. Have fun with him . . .”
Fiona braced herself.
“。 . . I just don’t want to see you getting caught up like last time—with Willy—”
“Let’s not get into all that, please? I just can’t—not right now.” Fiona dragged herself out of the booth. Slipped the shades that were resting on her head over her eyes. Tish knew a little bit of what had gone down. She didn’t know all of it, though.
“You’re still getting your money back from him, right?” Tish asked. “When’s that motherfucker going to pay you?”
Fiona wanted to go home, sleep off the rest of her hangover. Her phone rang again. Another unknown number, an unfamiliar area code. There were times when she thought it might be Willy, calling from his new phone. He’d have an explanation that would make sense of everything, turn her life right side up again. In those few seconds before her embarrassment flooded in at how stupid this seemed, Fiona felt her heart beating hope, hope, hope. She said goodbye to Tish outside the restaurant, and they walked in opposite directions down the sidewalk.
* * *
? ? ?
Last night at the club, Fiona had figured that the gorgeous brown-skinned man on the edge of the dance floor, a hungry grin on his face, meant to approach Tish. He wore a gray tweed newsboy cap, the brim tilted to the side. Soft dark eyes with heavy lids, a closely cropped beard with meticulous edges. Fiona was surprised when Gabriel had sidled up and placed a hand on the small of her back, gently, and asked her her name. His voice had air in it, like wind caressing leaves, coaxing them to fall. Later, when the rest of the girls said they were dipping out to another bar, Fiona stayed behind. “Use a condom!” Tish had whispered in her ear before giving her a slap on the butt, a coach sending a player out on the field.
At brunch, Fiona didn’t let slip how nervous she’d felt, going home with Gabriel. It had been three, four months since Fiona slept with someone. The first, since Willy. In the dark, Gabriel removed her clothes first, then his own, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Fiona kept anticipating some unpleasant feeling to arise—shame, or disappointment, or even just plain boredom. She felt none of those things, but unexpectedly, a tentative freedom. His mouth tasted like scotch and the waxy spearmint of his lip balm. They fell into the unmade bed that took up nearly all the space in his room, Gabriel muttering between bites of her neck and collarbone about how she was beautiful, so damn sexy. Fiona remembered something she once knew but had misplaced and then forgotten she’d wanted to find again: her body was a thing that belonged to her, and no one else.