“I knew you’d be a food snob. That’s why I checked Yelp. We’re headed to the Lobsta Truck.”
“You chose well, but since we’re on the company dime, I plan on stuffing myself with sweets. Remember, you wanted this.” I tilt my head to the side, and she laughs. “The full Xia experience. I’m a candy-aholic.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. What are some of your favorites?”
“I love the sour sweet things, like sour cherries, Sour Patch Kids, gummy bears, and Swedish Fish.”
> The conversation is light as we weave through the crowd and grab our lobster rolls, Cape Cod potato chips, and freshly squeezed lemonade. I never put much thought into food before. Now I’m savoring flavors and thinking about the prep work that went into what I’m eating. It’s a culture shock as we travel the streets full of people.
I can hear a few different languages being spoken, and skin tones and styles are a hodgepodge. I’m impressed by the diversity they’ve managed to cram into one sector. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. This is the difference between San Mateo and Los Angeles. They don’t call it a melting pot for nothing.
We make our way to a station where the renowned artist, Nori Shirasu, is creating nothing short of magic with a paint brush. This is way more than I was expecting when I read an artist would be here.
I thought of the cheesy Sanskrit names we used to see done at the local fair. I’m out of my depth here. I peer at Xia out of the corner of my eye. She’s enraptured by the man kneeling on what appears to be a mat. His setup is simplistic. A throwback to days gone by with his brown glazed bowls full of ink, ink pads, paint brushes, and tools that are foreign to me.
He holds himself like a warrior—one arm out in front of him, poised to strike—only he creates instead of destroys. Hip hop comes from a speaker as he sets fire to an empty canvas, turning the blank space into art.
I fast realize how small my world has been even with the travel for the club. As the sun sets, the lanterns are turned on. Neon lights molded against the sharply pointed ends of the buildings reminiscent of pagodas from Asia create a unique accent.
“Do you have anything like this where you’re from?”
“In San Mateo? No, it’s a small city outside of San Diego, which has a completely different vibe than Los Angeles.”
“How are you liking it here?”
“It’s as good as any place. This is the first chance I’m getting to experience the city since I arrived.” I’ve been in L.A. for business before for the club, and the last thing on my mind at the time was sight-seeing.
We pass a booth that features pastries and sweets, and I pause. “Sweet stop?”
The smile she gives me is genuine and blinding. I feel like I’ve been sucker punched. I thought she was beautiful before, but now she’s stunning. It’s not the dress or the makeup, it’s her essence.
I wait patiently as she picks out a few pastries.
“You should never hide yourself away.”
She glances up at me. “You’re the only one who thinks that. My family is very close-minded, conservative, and overbearing. It used to be my mission to get things changed, but I can see now I’ve gone about it the wrong way.” She shakes her head.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not what they want me to be. I never was, and they think magically after so many years that’ll change.”
“And what is it you want?”
“To have my own truck and be myself. I’m really not that complicated.”
I can’t find any fault in what’s she said. It’s a decent desire. “Why is that a problem?”
“Because in my family, women tend to stay in the background, and fit the Southern bell mode.” She shoves another bun into her mouth, ending the talk. “Look, a photo booth! Let’s get pictures.”
She grabs my hand and pulls me inside. A jolt of electricity sparks between us. Our gazes met as we step inside the tiny rectangle. Sitting on the stool, I pat my lap. When she lowers herself to perch on my knee, I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her back to my front. She squirms.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I whisper into her ear.
She shivers. The screen counts down, and we pose. The bulb flashes. I wrap my hand around her neck.
“Xia.”
She turns her body toward me, eyes half-lidded and lips parted. I move in slowly, and our lips brush. Whoosh. The curtain opens. We jerk apart.