Five.
That’s how many more times Alicia has asked me questions or pointedly made references to myself being connected to unorthodox banking.
“So you don’t know any bankers in North Korea?” Alicia asked me the other day as we were making a stir-fry.
It’s a pretty fucking strange question.
“No,” I said to her. “I know bankers in all countries, but none in North Korea.”
“And you don’t do any business in Iran?” she asked, her questions becoming more and more brazen, no longer poking around surgically.
“No one from the US is allowed to do business there,” I said to her.
“And it’s not one of those wink and nod kinda things, right?” she asked.
“No, it’s not, and what is this about?” I asked her. “Is this about work? These are the investment strategies you’re going to recommend? Invest in North Korea?”
But Alicia just stuck her tongue out at me. “Can’t a girl ask her guy a few questions so she can answer her mom when she calls and asks oh who is this guy you’re dating?”
“Is your mother going to ask if I’m an international terrorist with money laundering operations in countries that are sanctioned by the US?” I ask back.
But Alicia has a trump card that she uses to shut me up.
She takes off her shirt and presses herself against me.
Sometimes it’s wise to just pick your battles and know when to give up.
Three.
That’s how many days ago I finally told Alicia how I felt about her.
“Do you like Brussels sprouts?” she asked me as we walked through Central Park toward One57 where I live.
“I like Broccoli,” I replied as we navigated the joggers and bikers. We had gone out to play tennis in the Central Park courts and decided to casually stroll back.
“I don’t think I can be with a guy who doesn't like vegetables as healthy as Brussels sprouts,” Alicia teased, sticking her tongue out at me.
“I like them just fine,” I replied, not sure where her banter was going. “I really don't spend time thinking about them.”
We walked in silence for a while before she asked again. “What about brown rice?”
I looked at her.
“Do you like brown rice or does it have to be white rice?” she asked me. I raised my eyebrows at her. “Just answer me, babe. Please.”
“I’m indifferent,” I replied, entirely confused.
“It’s important,” she continued.
I stopped walking and turned to her.
“Why?” I asked.
There was a moment of silence on her part. She was hesitating.
I pulled her close to me, and her head came to nestle on my chest. “Tell me why it matters,” I asked her.
She looked up at me. “I’m just thinking about all the things I like, and seeing if you like them, because if you don’t then I need to figure out how to still enjoy them in case … you know,” she said and it finally dawned on me.