“Let’s lie down,” she says.
I grab a blanket from the backseat and use my coat as pillow and arrange myself with one arm bent so I can cradle my neck. She lays on her side next to me and puts her head on my shoulder and presses herself into my side.
It feels good.
Safe.
I close my eyes. “I’m Kwame. Born in the UK to Aloyisuis and Constance. My dad is from Ghana. My mom’s parents were American. When I was three, my mom was accepted to a masters’ program in diplomacy at Georgetown, so they decided to settle in Virginia.”
“Wow, I didn’t know that about her.”
“She never worked in her field. She just supported my dad’s career.”
She strokes my chest, and I cover her hand with mine and keep it there while I talk.
“I was taught at home by a tutor until I was twelve and then I wentto boarding school. I left for college when I was eighteen.”
“Where’d you go?”
“London School of Economics for undergrad.”
She sits up. “You did? No way. I did my junior year abroad at the School of African and Oriental Studies. I lived in that library on The Aldwych.” She does the math and shakes her head. “That would have been your final year, right?”
I nod. “I wonder how many times our paths crossed before we actually met.” My heart thunders in my chest.
“Timing is everything. So what did you after LSE?”
“I came back to the US and went to law school at UCLA. Went straight from there to the California DOJ.”
“That’s where you were when we met.”
“Yup. I’m spending the year as Of Counsel at a law firm in DC.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s like being a partner without an equity stake in the practice. It’s only a temporary position and I mainly do civil litigation work. I’m trying to get back to criminal prosecution because it’s what I love and what I’m good at.”
“So why’d you leave that?”
I take a deep breath. “When my mother died, she left me a letter with a list of requests. One of them was to move back to DC and try to live the life they’d hoped I would. To give my dad a chance to be the father she thought he could be.”
“Wow. That’s a lot.”
“Yeah, but I’m glad she used her last words to steer me. She also left me the bulk of her estate which was worth over a billion dollars.”
She’s silent, and I look down to find her mouth open. “Wow. A billion?”
“Yup, that house was part of the bequest. She wanted me to make it a home. But…I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay in DC at first. Being close to my dad wasn’t an exciting prospect.”
“Why not?”
“He wasn’t happy with my decision to go to LSE or law school. He didn’t like that I didn’t want to use their money and status or step into his shoes. He basically exiled me when I refused to do what he wanted. I saw my parents once a year at Christmas in Ghana, and my mother when she came to the US every spring and summer. They’re kind of public figures but intensely private at the same time and I’ve never publicly associated with them. We only reconciled right before my mother died.”
“That recently?” she asks.
“Yeah. My mother and I weren’t ever at odds really. He wanted a very specific thing for my life, thought he knew best, and I wanted to find out for myself what I was good at. You would have thought I’d spit in his face. After she died, we agreed to try to get to know each other. He lined up this job for me and started introducing me as his son everywhere we went. Three weeks in he said he had to deal with a crisis on one of his new projects and left.”
“But you’re on better terms?” she asks with what sounds like hope in her voice.
