Niamh typically hated first dates. Her multiethnic heritage invariably led to a “so what are you?” line of questioning. She always wanted to answer “tired of that fucking question” but instead she opted to be polite and explained her mother was Irish and Korean and her father was Iranian and Guatemalan. Her name was spelled the old Irish way (after her maternal grandmother) and was pronounced like “Nieve.” This always led to what guys thought was a compliment, “well aren’t you exotic.” Yeah, growing up in Northern California, real fucking exotic. Of course that was the guys who actually took an interest in her, instead of droning on with such misplaced pride about whatever the fuck it was they did for a living.
Jackson was different. He asked her about things she cared about and downplayed his career. “Work is all very boring but it’s a means to an end to get to eat at places like this,” he said at dinner. Truly it was the nicest restaurant Niamh had ever been brought to on a date. The first possible red flag (well besides having a last name for a first name, but that wasn’t his fault) was that he ordered for her. What kind of bullshit power move was that? The red flag gave way to fireworks when the food arrived though. It was the most delicious god damn thing she ever tasted. He was cute too. The way he looked at her felt like he was gazing right into her soul. He made it clear that he thought she was beautiful without it being part of any ethnic fetish.