He shook his head and looked at me as he gently placed his fork and knife on either edge of his plate. Just like my mother had always pestered me to do when I was a kid. I held back the barrage of questions that were on the tip of my tongue and let him take his time.

“We had to leave Haiti in ’91 after the coup.” He ran a hand over his face as he said that. Like whatever he was remembering was almost overwhelming. “A military junta took over and the country was in chaos. My mom was an administrative assistant at the French Embassy in Port-au-Prince, which back then was a really good job.” He looked almost startled as he spoke, like he couldn’t believe he was telling me all this stuff.

“Was your mom able to get out because of her job?”

He lowered his gaze then and picked up his fork. His movements careful and slow as though he was figuring out how to answer my question. “No. My father helped us.”

“Oh,” I said quietly, unsure how to respond.

The way he said “father” made me think there was a lot more to that story. I waited to see if he was going to say something else, but then he scooped up some of the couscous and took a bite.

I guess we were done talking.

We ate in silence for a few minutes. I glanced at Patrice every few seconds, observing him. He moved like a prince. His back straight, those big hands holding the flatware delicately, placing small bites of food in his mouth and chewing slowly and deliberately. There was nothing that, in my eyes, Patrice Denis couldn’t turn into an erotic experience.

“This is really good. Thank you,” he said with appreciation.

“Anytime. Seriously, I always make too much and I’m not a fan of leftovers. I end up just throwing stuff out.” I smiled at him. “Now I’ll know what to do when I make too much.”

He lifted a shoulder and went in for another bite. “It’s nice to not have to eat alone. That’s one of the things I’ll miss about having roommates. I like my space, but living with Nesto all those years I got used to sitting around a table.” There was a real wistfulness in his face and I wondered how much he was missing New York.

“Do you miss the city?”

Another shrug. “I do, but having Nesto here is great.” He picked up the napkin and wiped his mouth. “And living in New York on a graduate stipend isn’t the easiest. So the job and better income goes a long way in helping with the homesickness.”