Page 38 of Driving Beats

“Stuffed eggplant.”

Nese wrinkles her nose. “No, thanks.”

Using my chopsticks, I motion for the item to be put on my plate. As I eat it, she says, “I never can understand why people like that vegetable. Tastes like mushy nothing to me.”

I chew the eggplant, then swallow. “It’s a vehicle for the stuffing. Which is, in this case, savory. This has been deep-fried then steamed. There’s nothing mushy about it.”

Her lips pull to the side. Her brows furrow. “I guess I could try it.”

Not wanting to wait a second for her to change her mind, I catch the server’s attention and a stuffed eggplant is deposited onto her plate. Nese picks it up and examines it as if it were alive.

“Go ahead,” I encourage her. “Take a bite. If you don’t like it, I’ll finish it.”

She blinks twice. “You’d risk getting my cooties for a piece of eggplant? Something’s not right about this equation.”

“Stop stalling.”

She sighs. “Fine.”

She tries a small piece and chews. At least she doesn’t spit it out, so I count it as a win. “Well?”

“It’s not … bad. I’m shocked.” She takes another bite. “I can’t believe I’m saying this—I actually like it.” She finishes it.

“Good for you! I’m proud of you for trying something new.”

“This is hard to accept, but”—she puts her palm over her stomach—“I’m actually full. The eggplant must’ve done me in.” A laugh escapes her. Not quite her belly laugh, but enough to turn the heads of diners next to us.

Another cart wheels by. The server announces it’s a taro dumpling.

My eyebrow goes up. “Want one?”

“Split it with me?”

I don’t usually share food. The last time I did, it was with Lillian. Of course, the band and I toss food around on the regular, but we never use each other’s plates. Or utensils.

I look over at her. “Sure.” What other option did I have?

Nese takes the taro dumpling and bites off a piece. Her face transforms as if in sheer bliss. I’ve never seen someone dive into food—or life for that matter—with such gusto. She holds out her half-full chopsticks to me. “Here.”

I lean across the table and put my mouth around them. Removing the dumpling with my teeth, I enjoy the burst of flavor. “You know, we might be even. I never tried this before, but I like it. You got eggplant, I got taro.”

She laughs. “That should be the title of UC’s next song. All the ladies would go crazy!”

Smiling, I say, “You’re nuts, you are aware of that?”

She drops her chopsticks to her plate. “I’ve been called worse.”

I want to get to the bottom of what she’s not sharing. I hold up the teapot for the server to bring us another. While we wait, I remark, “I’ve told you about my history.” Sufficient, at least. “Let me hear the Nese story. What makes the stylist to UC tick?”

“There’s not enough time for my history.” Some of the brightness drains from her expression.

I’m more intrigued. “How about the easy stuff. Where were you born?”

“Georgia. I spent the early part of my childhood in Gainesville.”

“If I remember correctly, that’s where your apartment is. So you never left home?”

“Not exactly.”