That’s what’s most similar about living with him. Living with Lil meant vulnerability at an intimate level. Gushing when she needed to, me listening and providing advice when I thought I could help. Locke is comfortable enough with me now that he does that, too.
Like Liliana, he lets me listen. I like listening to him. I like that he trusts me enough to be that person.
How he opens the clear container, raises an eyebrow, and nods down at the food is unlike Liliana, though. “Is this Filipino food?”
“Yes!” I give Ghost one last pat on his head before meeting Locke at the counter, elbow knocking against his waist. “Chicken adobo. Have you had it?”
“No.” He takes a sniff of it before humming. “It smells good.”
“It’s Filipino food. Of course it smells good.” I throw him a smirk and grab the container, heading for our microwave. “I hope you didn’t eat dinner yet. This is what we’re having.”
“We don’t have dinner on Saturdays.”
I don’t get to press “start” before the realization hits me. “Huh. I guess you’re right. We always have popcorn.”
“Yes. It scares me how much we go through.”
“That’s on you. You’re always fighting me for the last handful.” I raise my voice to avoid being drowned out by the microwave.
“I don’t fight you!” His arms cross, knee popping out in an attitude-laced stance that feels exclusive to these four walls. Locke and I rarely leave the apartment together—for grocery shopping, at most—but every time we do, it’s like he retreats into his head.
He’s still interacting, and still Locke, but a more reserved version. Nothing like he is when it’s just the two of us together in the apartment.
“You do fight me!” The microwave dings when I say it, and I take it as my win.
“Lies.” He’s acting stoic, but I see the smile itching on his face.
“Believe what you want.”
We side-glance each other before falling into another comfortable set of motions. Him walking around me to grab the plates we don’t use nearly as much as we should. Me setting up the food and sides I can’t wait for him to try.
During the weekend, the nostalgia of my childhood home and the foods I grew up eating made me think of Locke. Wondering what he would think about these things, if he would crave banana lumpia every holiday like I do, if he would get along with my brother.
I credit it to him being so integral to my home life now. Of course, I’d imagine him there with me, too.
The small dining table we’re afforded by our university is cramped, but big enough for our plates of food and the glass of water Locke places to my right.
“Is there an order?” He asks once he’s settled into his rickety chair and Ghost has run to eat his own dinner.
“What do you mean?”
“Like, am I supposed to stir the rice around? Do I…” His green eyes bounce around his plate, shoulders slouching in a way I’ve learned means he’s unsure of himself. I knock my foot against his under the table, and when he looks up, I nod for him to keep going. “Sorry. I don’t really know how cultural food works. I grew up on organic chicken nuggets.”
The laugh pulled from my chest ricochets off our thin walls, and it makes him chuckle, too. “Were they good chicken nuggets?”
“No. Which is worse. How do you fuck up chicken nuggets?”
I laugh louder and hit my foot against his again—accidentally this time.
“I don’t know. But to answer your question, no. Just eat how you want.” His blonde hair bounces when he nods, exposing the blushing tips of his ears. “And don’t apologize. I appreciate you asking.”
Locke never explicitly says my mom’s cooking is better than his organic chicken nuggets, but he doesn’t have to. He looks up with impossibly large eyes when he tries the fried rice, asks questions about the chicken, and mutters under his breath that he can’t believe he’s never had this before.
Throws his head back and moans when he puts a bite of sitaw in his mouth.
The memory replays in my head too many times before I’m done eating. I tell myself it’s because he’s moaning over green beans, of all things, and not anything else.
I manage to shake it off after we put away the dishes, tuck the leftovers into our fridge, and settle onto the couch.
