“You look like you’re trying to decide whether to take the blue or red pill,” Kwame jokes from behind me. “Why are you going to work in a place that treats you like that?”
“I can’t have her as an enemy and succeed atThe Spectator.”
“Does this feel like succeeding?” He asks and comes to stand beside me, eyeing me as critically as I was eyeing my blouses.
“I don’t know.” I bite my lip and try not to let my self-pity get the best of me this morning. “I’m not sure I can do better than this right now.”
“If you think likethatyou certainly can’t.”
“I’m being realistic. I haven’t been there a year. I don’t want to look like I can’t keep a job. This woman has a direct hand in my future.”
He takes my hands in his. “Youhave a direct hand in your future. What are you afraid of, Sin?”
I close my eyes and want to cry. “That I’m not cut out for this and everyone can see it but me. That’s why I keep getting passed over.”
He lets go of my hand and picks up his phone. “Can I read you something?”
I eye him warily. “Sure.”
He nods and clears his throat.
“She has worked extensively as a journalist covering the stories of people who are often forgotten in the headlines. Her work has followed the rules of climate injustice in migration patterns, the exploitation of refugees, the immigration detention center systems and in 2021 she managed to find her way into a federal prison to record footage of neglect and abuse.
She's testified for Congress about the repatriation of stolen artifacts. She has been honored with the Sarah Coleman award in 2019. She’s also the 2015 winner of the Peabody future of media award.”
He looks up at me. “Does that sound like someone who’s not cut out for her career?”
“Oh my God, where did you get that?”
“You have a whole Wikipedia page, Sin. People know who you are.Youknow who you are. And I remember someone telling me that even if I didn’t have anyone, I had myself.”
“Oh my God, thank you. You always know what to say.”
“I’m glad. Because if you’re unhappy, my only concern is fixing it.”
Joy bubbles up inside of me and pushes a laugh up and out of me. I’m overwhelmed by everything I’m feeling and bury my face in my hands.
“Hey, hey,” Kwame is back by my side and he puts an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his side.
I wrap my arms around him and hug him tight.
“What’s wrong, baby?” He lowers us to sitting on the bed and I crawl into his lap and cup his face again and rest my forehead on his.
“Nothing is wrong. I’m so happy.” I bury my face in his warm neck and pepper it with kisses. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
He circles me in my arms. “Of course,” he leans away. “Are you surprised?”
I swipe at my cheeks with the backs of my hands and give him my brightest smile. “No. I guess I’m still getting used to it.”
“Get used to it. I’ll always bet on you, Sin. But it doesn’t matter if you won’t bet on yourself.” He kisses me swiftly and heads to the bathroom.
I didn’t get where I am by playing small or being a doormat. Nor have I ever hid my ambition. Where would I be if I’d waited for someone to give me a chance? I’ve always made my own luck.
He’s right. It’s time to bet on myself.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Kwame
