Her bare legs rubbed against the fabric of my pants and I saw spots of colour that had nothing to do with alcohol appear on her cheeks…a tinge of ro...ge colour on the pale, oval face framed by jet-black hair. She put her fingers on my forearm while we talked, then traced her lips slowly with a fingertip. We finished our drinks and I eyed her slowly and asked if I could drive her home. She smiled demurely and said ‘of course’. I touched the small of her back as we stood, and she stepped in closer. It couldn’t be.Was that Quigley? I didn't want to assume it was him, and I didn't want to ask, because how would I explain who he was to Kevin? And If it wasn't Quigley, then I didn't want to be the person who thought all Asian men looked alike. Though, he didn't look like the Asian man I was married to, as my husband was of South Asian descent and this stranger appeared to be of East Asian descent.As I, a Black woman, questioned my appreciation of other cultures, my navel-gazing was. More

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