An hour later, they’d devoured three platters of dumplings and were staring down the last one when Keisha shook her chopsticks at Pablo and said, “I think we were meant to meet.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“It’s like serendipity. And don’t think I dunno what you did for me tonight.” She stared down the plate. “So, what’s your story? How did you end up my knight in shining armor?”
“Well, you know, Midwest boys love to rescue damsels in distress.”
“Midwest to Manhattan? Come on, tell Mama.”
He smiled shyly. Was Keisha Kash really interested in lowly Pablo Michaels? “Well, I studied photography and marketing at Parsons, and my senior project was to produce the entire concept for the fashion class’s runway spectacle.”
Keisha twizzled her chopsticks. “Short version.”
He was boring her. “Anyway, Fern Mallis herself was in the audience,” he blurted.
“Wow.”
Fern Mallis was none other than the woman who had created 7th on Sixth Productions—or New York Fashion Week, as it was now known.
“Fast forward, Fern recruited me. I became her assistant and then she recommended me to Michael Kors. And here we are.” He popped a cold dumpling into his mouth. “Ta-dah.”
Keisha squealed with delight. “I love rags-to-riches stories! This calls for ice cream and more champagne.” She pointed to the double door Sub-Zero refrigerator.
Pablo got up and opened the unit’s doors. Her fridge was bigger than the bathroom in his apartment. Hell, it was bigger than his bedroom. And there was room enough to sleep in it. There was nothing but champagne and leftovers on one side, and quarts of ice cream on the other.
“My KonMari consultant organized it by flavor.” She was now behind him, peeking over his shoulders.
Pablo couldn’t believe Keisha had a certified tidying specialist organizing her frozen treats. It was a rainbow of flavors: coconut, blue moon, green tea, mint, limoncello, tangerine, raspberry, red bean, cookie dough, chocolate, caramel, latte, coffee…Pablo had never seen so much ice cream in one person’s freezer.
“What’s your poison?” She giggled like a little girl, pulling out a tub of Häagen-Dazs Dulce de Leche, and headed back to the sofa.
“That looks good to me.” He followed, champagne in hand.
She sat the tub between them, stabbing it with two spoons, as he popped the champagne cork and poured.
Scoring the top of the ice cream until she had a mound on her spoon, she began to lick it like an icicle pop. “I’ve been feeling really low, ever since Veronika’s Privates made a big deal about bringing me in to model plus sizes,” she confided. “And then when Kors started in on me tonight, I just wanted to die. You have no idea how hard it is to be me.”
Pablo nodded empathetically.
“When you came along and told those skinny bitches off…” She bit into her ice cream. “You made me feel so much better about myself.”
“How could you feel anything but? You’re wonderful and—”
“I’m actually very insecure.”
“You’re an icon!”
Keisha stared into the ice cream carton.
“Seriously. Come on.” Pablo flicked her spoon, trying to get a reaction. “I’m not joking around. Why are you looking all sad?”
Keisha paused, sucking on her ice cream. “I was bullied by my brother.”
“No.”
“Whenever I didn’t have my weave in, he used to call me Gollum, like in Lord of the Rings.”
“That’s horrible.”
“I know. But hashtag truth? Every time I step out of the shower after my braids are taken out, I look in the mirror and see a bug-eyed Mantis with a potbelly who’s not accepted in real fashion circles anymore.” Tears were slipping down her million-dollar face and into the carton, making it salted caramel ice cream.
“You gotta stop that old childhood shit. First, it’s not true. At all. You are not some pasty creature hanging out in a cave. And you have almond eyes, not bug eyes. Your skin is flawless. Where’s your brother now? Huh?”
“In a psych ward.”
Pablo bluffed the shock by making his I-told-you-so face. “Hashtag, just saying.” He crossed his fingers in the air. Keisha’s eyes squinted at the gesture and then she stabbed the ice cream, twice.
It was one of those moments where one secret divulged deserves another. Pablo inhaled and prepared to spill his own beans. “I’m adopted.”
“My mama’s in prison.”
They both burst into tears.
“I’ve always had to fend for myself,” she whimpered. Her crying seemed somewhat manufactured. Rehearsed perhaps? “So, I armored up. I’ve never had my feelings truly heard before. I don’t even think I like any of my family.”
“I didn’t know much about my birth mother. Only that she was a teenager and white. My biological father was young and black. A mistake in so many ways. My adoptive parents were the answer to any child’s prayers, but I was also an answer to theirs. As devout Catholics, my mom told me she’d prayed to get pregnant until she was forced to have a hysterectomy at the age of twenty-seven. ‘Then, God told me he had a special soul for me in heaven,’ she’d say. ‘I just had to be patient and wait for my blessing to come into the light. And then one day, here you were.’” Pablo had spent much of his childhood experiencing the empty feeling of depression, and it always set in when he talked about his past. Zoloft, however, had become his savior at twenty-two, and it kept his unhealed trauma in check.
“OMG, that’s beautiful.” Keisha scooped more Dulce de Leche into her mouth. “My fucked-up, cheating dad left my mom when my brother and I were little kids. I barely remember him. Then, when I was thirteen, my mama got locked up. We had no real family growing up.”
“That’s horrible.”
“I have PTSD from it.”
“I have PTSD just from hearing about it. How’d you manage then?”
“We lived with distant cousins. My real name is Kiki Grimes.”
“Mine is David…something. I don’t even know.” Pablo felt his eyes get hot again. There was a lot more to his adoption story, but something deep down told him it wasn’t time to spill all the beans. Plus, he wasn’t even ready to face it. The tears leaking from his eyes, however, betrayed his stoic expression.
“We’re gonna need more ice cream.” Keisha jumped up and ran to the freezer. Moving from size zero to plus had its advantages. “You wanna watch a movie or something?”
“Sure,” he said, wiping his eyes and trying to act normal.
Moments later, they’d settled on the couches in the living room, each holding their own quart of ice cream. Pablo dug into his Rainbow Swirl. An old black-and-white movie flickered across her supersized screen.