Page 22 of American Love Story

“We had to leave Haiti in ninety-one after the coup.” He ran a hand over his face as he said that. Like whatever he was remembering was almost overwhelming. “A military junta took over and the country was in chaos. My mom was an administrative assistant at the French Embassy in Port-au-Prince, which back then was a really good job.” He looked almost startled as he spoke, like he couldn’t believe he was telling me all this stuff.

“Was your mom able to get out because of her job?”

He lowered his gaze then and picked up his fork. His movements careful and slow as though he was figuring out how to answer my question. As he fiddled with his food, I wondered just how much it meant for Patrice to be sharing all this with me. “No. My father helped us.”

“Oh,” I said quietly, unsure how to respond.

The way he said “father” made me think there was a lot more to that story. I waited to see if he was going to say something else, but then he scooped up some of the couscous and took a bite.

I guess we were done talking.

We ate in silence for a few minutes. I glanced at Patrice every few seconds, observing him. He moved like a prince. His back straight, those big hands holding the flatware delicately, placing small bites of food in his mouth and chewing slowly and deliberately. There was nothing that, in my eyes, Patrice Denis couldn’t turn into an erotic experience.

“This is really good. Thank you,” he said with appreciation.

“Anytime. Seriously, I always make too much and I’m not a fan of leftovers. I end up just throwing stuff out.” I smiled at him. “Now I’ll know what to do when I make too much.”

He lifted a shoulder and went in for another bite. “It’s nice to not have to eat alone. That’s one of the things I’ll miss about having roommates. I like my space, but living with Nesto allthose years, I got used to sitting around a table.” There was a real wistfulness in his face and I wondered how much he was missing New York City.

“Do you miss the city?”

Another shrug. “I do, but having Nesto here is great.” He picked up the napkin and wiped his mouth. “And living in New York City on a graduate stipend isn’t the easiest. So the job and better income goes a long way in helping with the homesickness.”

I nodded, not sure what to say. No matter how much I tried to claim some independence and step out on my own, I always had a pretty massive safety net. Going to Buffalo instead of letting my parents pay for me to get into Cornell was more symbolic than anything. I still had full access to my trust fund, if I ever decided I wanted to stop working.

I was still thinking about what to say when he smiled at me. “Besides, it’s not too bad in Ithaca.” He paused then, and the smile evaporated from his lips. “For now, at least.” He looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he grabbed his glass and took a long drink.

I wondered if he was thinking about the stops. If he wanted to say something, but wasn’t, because of how I might react. I wanted to know though. I wanted to hear his thoughts on how this was being handled.

I knew I was probably playing with fire, but I asked anyway.

“I saw your tweet about the traffic stops.”

He put his glass down as I said that; his attention fully on me and I could almost see his hackles go up.

“You mean the sheriff’s department’s practice of stopping young men for essentially driving while black?”

There was not much I could say to that, other than agree.

“You’re right. It’s a problem.” I wanted to say more, tell him I was feeling like my hands were tied. That I thought wewere not doing enough to address the incidents that had already happened and nothing to prevent new ones.

Patrice’s face turned thunderous, like he couldn’t believe this was my explanation. He put down his fork and pushed his plate forward, half of the food still on the plate.

“If you know it’s a problem then why hasn’t the DA’s office made a public statement? Why has there not been a single word on this in the media? Because so far, it’s just been black and brown boys getting hassled a little bit, and that doesn’t even escalate to the level where anyone in law enforcement even deems to talk about it?”

He looked disgusted and it took everything I had not to get defensive. To start parroting out excuses.

Patrice’s words brought home once again that we weren’t doing nearly enough. I pushed my plate away, practically squirming under Patrice’s stare. I debated with what to say next. There were so many ways I could go here, but I would not bullshit him on this.

“Honestly, I’m out of my depth here.”

Patrice looked at me like he was trying to figure me out.

“No one’s saying dealing with any of this is easy, but acting helpless or acting like it’s out of your hands is not a good look. It’s irresponsible.”

I ran a hand over my face and sighed again. “I’m realizing I know a lot less about dealing with this situation than I thought I did.” I let out a tired laugh at that. “I’m not even sure why I would think I was equipped for any of it. It’s not like I’ve had to deal with this particular issue before.”

Patrice raised an eyebrow, but he was not giving me anything.