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A sign hung above the front door, the o’s inPortoreplaced by brown, round-capped mushrooms. Since it was reservation-only, there wasn’t a line outside, just a dark front door covered in painted mushrooms, each a different color. I idly wondered ifthey’d used paint from the store that had stood here previously as Dev reached around me to push open the door, urging me inside with a hand on my waist.
We stood by the entrance, waiting by the hostess stand as we tried to warm up, the night cold enough that our short walk had frozen me to my bones. Dev ran his hands over my arms, trying to warm me through the sleeves of my sweater.
“You’re always freezing, meri jaan,” Dev jokingly scolded as I shivered, abandoning his friction technique to wrap his arms around my torso, pulling me tight against his chest. “Better?”
“Much better,” I agreed, sagging against him, feeling the warmth return as it radiated from Dev’s chest into my skin.
“Welcome toPorto,” the hostess greeted as she stepped up to the stand, smiling widely over my shoulder at Dev. “What name is the reservation under?”
“Ames Fitzgerald,” Dev answered, glancing around the room. “We’re a little early, so they might not be here yet.”
“You’re a little early, but I can sneak you to your table.” The hostess winked, grabbing a handful of menus before leading us through the tables crammed into the small space, weaving around the mismatched chairs with ease.
The restaurant was already full, our table one of the only empty ones in the room. The back wall was made up entirely of an open-concept bar/kitchen combination, which allowed you to see the chef plating dishes alongside the bartender pouring drinks.
“Can I get you a drink? Or anything else you need?” The hostess rested her hand on Dev’s arm, the movement flirty and proprietary.
Dev stared at where her hand rested on his arm, glancing at me before he gently shook her off.
“I’m not sure. Maybe you can ask my wife first?” Dev put just enough weight behind the word wife to make his intention clear, and the hostess quickly stepped back.
“Oh, your wife. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” The hostess had the decency to look chagrined, her cheeks pinking with embarrassment as she stuttered out another apology and a reassurance that our waiter would be able to take our drink orders.
Dev met my eyes across the table, his mouth opening and closing as if unsure what to say. There wasn’t anything to say, and I told him as much, reassuring him that I couldn’t - wouldn’t - blame him for another woman’s passing interest. He’d done everything right, anyway, gently letting the woman down while making it clear he was taken.
But the interaction wouldn’t stop playing in my head. Not because of Dev or his response, not because of some petty jealousy over another woman’s attempt at making a move on my husband. No, it was the words she uttered in the end, the ones following her apology:I didn’t realize.
I tried thinking of every reason the hostess would’ve thought we weren’t together. Was it because we were different races, Dev’s dark features so different against my red hair and pale skin? Or was it something more innocuous? Did we not match in some other way? I took Dev in as he sat next to me, his tan sweater tight against his arms and across his shoulders, black chinos showcasing his long, toned legs. His long, black eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as he blinked, his beauty overwhelming in such a small space.
He looked important, sitting next to me with strength and competence as I sat there in a sweater dress I’d owned since college, shoulders curled in because I still hadn’t gotten used to taking up space, to standing out.
I couldn’t be sure what she meant, but that didn’t stop me from turning those words over in my head. Not when Alex and Ames showed up moments later, Bex and Wren following shortly behind. Not as the waiter took our drink and meal orders, or as we ooh’d and ahh’d over the dishes Ames had glazed in various, mis-matched colors in an homage to the building’s previous life. Not as I ate my mushroom ravioli on autopilot, tastebuds barely able to appreciate the burst of flavor in each bite. Not as we left the restaurant and walked the few blocks back to our cars, the night having passed too quickly as the hostess’s words ran through my head.
I didn’t realize.
I didn’t realize.
I didn’t realize.
How could she not realize we were together? Dev’s hands were all over me the moment we entered the restaurant. Him, leading me by the waist to the hostess stand. His hands rubbing warmth into my arms, and then his entire body, his arms wrapped around me as we laughed.
I took in how Dev walked down the street, either arm draped around Ames and Wren, the three of them laughing at some joke Dev told. I watched as he wrapped his arms around Bex and attempted to throw her over his shoulder, only backing off when she threw an arm out, the punch just missing Dev’s throat as he jumped back with a grin. He picked up Bex’s girlfriend instead, Wren giggling as Dev sprinted down the street with the petite girl bouncing on his shoulder.
The rose-tinted glasses I’d worn the last week faded as I thought of the tightening at the corners of Dev’s eyes when he looked at me, so unlike the open expressions he wore with his friends. I thought of the frowns he so often wore in my presence, the ones so unfamiliar to his features, as if I were the only one to bring that expression to his face. I thought of the tightness in hisjaw when we had sex, the way he’d pulled back a few times when he went to touch me, shuttering his expression before changing the subject.
And I realized the reason she didn’t see us as a couple was because Dev treated me the same way he treated his friends. No, not even that.
His friends were treated with trust and unconditional love. I didn’t get to see a happy, carefree Dev. I saw the Dev with tension, the Dev with secrets, the unhappy Dev.
Dev and Wren turned the corner, their laughs carrying on the wind, and I held back a moment as the rest of them kept moving down the sidewalk.
These past few weeks, I’d started taking up more space, feeling safe enough to shirk some of the self-defense mechanisms I’d spent my life shoring up. I spoke louder, laughed more often, shared more of myself with Dev, with his friends. I wore my hair down more, no longer worried someone would see the color and know my parentage.
It was freeing, being surrounded by others who knew the truth of my family and how I grew up, whom I didn’t have to hide things from. But now, I just needed a moment to gather my thoughts, to organize them before they crushed me. And it was all too easy to put back on that persona, scrunching in on myself as I slowed my steps, becoming invisible as the rest of Dev’s friends disappeared around the corner ahead of me while I just…stopped.
I was usually rational enough to brush off the innocuous comments of some random person, but nothing about my situation with Dev was rational. I took a breath, attempting to sort through the facts of our relationships, looking at them like an attorney would.
There had been a short stint in high school where I’d resigned myself to becoming a lawyer, worried I’d have to defendmy father or one of the many mob members I’d grown up with from a prison sentence. I’d spent far too many hours watching crime shows as a result, learning the lingo in preparation.
