We’ve been together all this time and I didn’t know that?
She looks up slowly. “…What? Because I’m big I can’t be vegan now?”
“That’s not what I meant?—”
“Look’ere, big man. You came onto me,” she cuts in, voice level but edged. “You knew what I looked like when you asked for this. So this fixation on my weight? It’s strange.”
I set my fork down. “Francine. I was being genuine. I didn’t know you were vegan.”
“Well,” she returns to the blunt, “now you do.”
I watch her for a moment too long then clear my throat. “Is it a personal choice?”
Her fingers pause. “Religion.”
Fuck. That’s right. How could I forget?
My interest in her religion stopped the minute I learned she couldn’t suck my dick.
I really am a prick.
“Rastafarianism?” I ask.
That gets her attention. She looks up properly this time. “Yes.”
“I thought I read that somewhere,” I say, scratching the back of my neck. “But you drink, so I figured?—”
“You figured wrong,” she says, but there’s no heat in it. “You read about Rastafarianism?”
“…Yeah?”
She studies me like she’s deciding if I’m taking the piss. I see it in the way her shoulders drop a fraction, then her mouth softens.
She seals the blunt and sets it down.
“Did you grow up Rasta?” I push. “Or convert?”
“My dad’s Rastafarian,” she explains. “My mum converted to Christianity. I was raised with both.”
“And now?”
She shrugs. “I take what aligns with me. I respect both. Study both. But I can’t give myself up completely for religion.” She meets my eyes. “Jah and God will have to take me as I am.”
I grin. “They’re lucky.”
She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifts again.
“Alright.” She nudges my plate closer with two fingers. “Finish eating and get out before Zaza gets back. I don’t want her thinking I allowed you to overstay your welcome.”
I pick my fork up again, but slower this time. I eat because she told me to, not because I’m hungry.
My nerves are too big to handle.
Fuck it.
I clear my throat. “What you doing tomorrow?”
She doesn’t answer straight away, and just raises a brow.
