I shrug. “I don’t know. Kind of. We’re speaking.” I let out a weary sigh. “I guess the fact that this is the first time I’m mentioning him is a clue.”
“Oh, Kwame. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. He tried, but he’s not made for sitting still and I’m not interested in playing golf and constantly working to amass money I don’t need.”
“Wow, is that really how he is?” She sounds horrified, and I feel guilty for speaking so harshly about him.
“Look, he’s not a monster. But he’s not a good man either. He just…only does what is best for him. He invests in causes he abhors and people he wouldn’t share a meal with if the return is good. Sadly, for the world, he’s very good at it. He’s bankrolled some of the biggest brands and products of the century, it’s made him very rich. But the only time he actually spends with people is when he’s doing business with them. He doesn’t know what a personal conversation is. He’s eccentrically private and notorious all at once.”
This is so hard to talk about, and I feel breathless after that monologue. My heart thuds as I wait for her to respond. I can’t take it back and whatever happens next will be fine. I hope.
She strokes my chest as if she knows my heart needs soothing. “I bet you wish he was just your dad, right?”
“Yeah, I wish that would have been enough for him.”
“You don’t need to be enough for him. You’re enough foryourself.I’m sorry you didn’t have a dad who made you feel like you were important. I’m glad you figured it out for yourself and built your own life. You should be proud of yourself.”
The boulder of anxiety I’ve had over sharing this with her lifts. “Thank you. I have to add, because no matter how big of an asshole he is, he’s still my father. He can be funny, supportive, generous. I think ofhis greed like a disease or an addiction. He’s insatiable. Everything else will always come second.”
“Yeah, it’s good to accept it so you can stop chasing something that you could never catch,” she says in a distant voice.
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“I have Ghanaian parents too, remember?” she says.
“Your parents aren’t like that. Come on.”
She shrugs. “Not to the same degree, but I do feel like we were vessels for all their unrealized hopes. Our achievements are a testament to them and our failures were an indictment of some sort.”
I laugh at a memory. “Oh yeah, bragging rights. My dad used to put my academic awards on our family Christmas card each year.”
She sits up, and gazes down at me. Her eyes are kind, her lips soft and smiling. “You’re not your parents. Their choices don’t have to be your burden.”
“Easier said than done.”
“What isn’t? But it’s possible. Maybe that’s the new American dream—having the ability to make your own choices. Remember what you said that first night about their sacrifices not being our burden? I heard that in my soul. We’renotour parents. Even if they can’t see that.”
I rub a hand down her back. “I know, Sin. I didn’t mean to diminish that.”
Her shoulders relax and she takes a deep breath. “It’s okay.” She stays sitting up and tucks her legs underneath her. “It’s taken a lot of therapy to figure it out and stop internalizing it. I have the right to live my life how I see fit. You owe it to yourself to do the same. The people who love you will be beside you. And if there’s no one beside you, fuck it. You’ve still got you.”
I grin up at her. “You give great advice. Has anyone ever told you that?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m serious.”
I grab her hand and sit up, too. “I know. It’s one of the many things I like so much about you.”
“So…you like me?”
“Very much.” I cup her face and look into her eyes so she can see how much.
She nuzzles my palm and the silky softness of her cheek makes me want to see her as God made her. But first things first. “I want to kiss you.”
A smug grin parts her full lips. “I thought you weren’t thinkingabout kissing me anymore.”
“And you knew I was lying.” I trail my finger down her throat and cup the back of her neck. My fingers slip into the soft hair at her nape and I flex my hand to stroke her neck.
“I did. Yes.” She whimpers like she's in pain. “It’sallyou think about.”
