It’s true. He is. I just wish I’d said it to him before I blurted it to his friend.
Her eyes widen. “Love? Already?”
I nod and regret speaking so freely. If they were really that close she’d already know. “We met a year ago. Been together almost nine months. How do you know Kwame?” I turn the tables on her.
She nods. “We grew up together. My parents owned the house next door. We went to undergrad together. Separate law schools but graduatedthe same year.”
I can’t hide my surprise. “Oh wow. What a history.”
She sips from the champagne flute I hadn’t noticed in her hand. “Yeah, he went on to practice, and I’m still a student. I’m working on my PhD at Georgetown.”
“In Law?” I ask.
“Yup. And Politics.”
“Wow, that’s pretty amazing. I barely survived my Master’s program.”
“It was that or practice andI hatedpracticing law so back to school I went while I figured out what was next.”
“Still, a PhD at Georgetown isn’t exactly a gap year.”
“No and I busted my ass to get in there. Being called a nepo baby for most of my life gave my pride such a battering that part of me just wanted to prove I could do hard things on my own. Being underestimated can be a blessing but I get so fucking sick of having to prove myself. Do you know what I mean?”
It’s such a vulnerable answer and so relatable that my wariness of her wanes. I lean in a bit, nodding. “It’s exhausting. That’s why I’m not doing it anymore.”
Her delicate brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“I quit my job. Trying to see what life as a freelancer is like.”
Her mouth drops open and she keeps at me like I just told her that I went to the moon. “Wow. Now that’s what I call having the courage of your convictions.”
“Thank you,” I say, realizing how badly I needed to hear someone say that.
“What did your parents say?”
I’m surprised by her question and it must show. “I’m the oldest daughter of immigrants, too,” she says.
I nod in understanding. “So, you get it.”
“Too well.” She grins and we share a commiserating laugh.
I take a long sip of water and use the opportunity to dart a glance in the direction Kwame went. How long has he been gone and why does it feel like hours?
“So, is Sin short for something?” Paloma asks as soon as I put my glass down.
I nod and remind myself that it’s normal for your partners friends to want to get to know you. “It’s short for Arsinoé.”
Her smile widens. “That’s so pretty. What does it mean?”
“It’s Egyptian but derived from ancient Greek words that mean awoman with an uplifted mind.”
“That’s cool.” She leans back in her chair, still eying me. “So, you don’t have a day name like Kwame?”
I check my impulse to bristle at the question. “Every Akan has a day name, whether we use it or not.” I explain then frown. “How did you know I was from Ghana?”
“Kwame told me, silly. He’s told me all about you.”
That makes one of us.
