“No plantains, no salami.” She clicked her tongue as I swallowed mine when she wiggled her behind. By the time she popped back up from the vegetable crisper, I had my first rule: no bending over in yoga pants.

“What kind of Dominican are you?” she chastised as she blessedly turned that delicious rump away from me.

“I don’t like plantains.” That got the reaction that I’d witnessed again and again through most of my life.

“Are Dominicans even allowed to say that?” she exclaimed in what I suspected was not feigned horror. And I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. I’d been judged about this for so long. My mother’s family in the DR still could not comprehend how I could not like the food that was such a basic part of our diet. It was one of those little things that made me feel like I didn’t quite measure up. I didn’t belong with my father’s family in his native Thessaloniki. The dark-skinned boy he’d fathered in America. And in the DR, I was the light-skinned child with the broken Spanish whose gringo father never came to the homeland to pay his respects to the family. I was a stranger to both sides of my family, never finding my footing anywhere.

“Actually, you know what?” she said after she’d stared at me for a moment. “I get it. I love plantains, don’t get me wrong, but I absolutely hate guandules.” She twisted her mouth at the mention of the peas that were another staple in Dominican cuisine. “My mom always acts like I need to be exorcised whenever I say it.” I had no idea if it was true or if she was just picking up on my discomfort with her judgement, but I took it as the white flag it was.

“I can handle T-shirts if you can live with my hate of plantains.”

“Deal.” She smiled at that, her lush mouth tipping up as she shook her head at our ridiculous conversation.

“Do you cook?” I asked. Her head reared back at the question like I’d called her a name, and I had to cough to hide my laughter.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘cook’?” The air quotes almost took me out.

“Preparing food on the stove or oven to feed yourself.”

“I’m not super into that, no.” She looked self-conscious for a second but she recovered quickly. “But...” She tapped a finger on her cheek while she assessed her next move. “Since you seem to be obsessed with feeding me, I guess I can do you a solid.”