Her sister’s eyes fill with tears. “AndIwish you could accept that this life is what I want.”
Sin looks pained and closes her eyes briefly before she answers her sister. “I love you and want you to be happy.” She takes a deep breath and stands abruptly. “Okay, enough. We’re not going to resolve this tonight.” She points to her parents. “You two,60 Minutesis about to start.” She swivels to face her sister.
“Mae, put the pies in the oven to heat up. We’re out of ice cream. I’m going to the store for more.”
Her younger brother, Adonis, pulls his headphones down to ring his neck. “What about me?” he asks.
“You can clear the table and help Mae with the dishes until I get back.”
“Sorry I asked,” he mutters and puts his music back on.
Sin laughs. “I keep telling you not to ask questions unless you’re sure you want an answer.”
“Whatever,” he grumbles but gets up and starts piling plates.
Just like that, the argument that had been brewing, the bombs that had been dropped had all been dealt with for now, and the family was moving on for the evening. I’m not holding my breath, poised for something calamitous to happen next.
I didn’t know conflict resolution could be sexy until just now. I just watched a master at work. I didn’t expect it from the woman who ran out on me rather than tell me she’d changed her mind.
In the weeks since our encounter I’ve fantasized about seeing her again, but I was content to live with the fantasy.
I know how hard it is to draw me out, last thing I need is a woman who can’t speak her mind.
In the last month, I’ve been navigating this unexpected diversion in my life and career and it feels like walking down a dark road to an unknown destination.
My mother’s letter is a gun at my back.
The last thing I needed was a woman like Sin.
Chaotic.
Impulsive
Unreliable.
Every time I thought of her, I reassured myself that I dodged a bullet when she ran out on me.
And yet, even when I thought she was still in New York, I haven’t gone a day in DC without looking for her in every public space I enter.
In the span of an afternoon, my mother’s letter has gone from gun at my back to a trail of breadcrumbs.
Maybe she knew me better than I thought.
My vision blurs, and I blink and tears spill from my eyes. What the hell? I don’t cry.
I touch my face and then stare in amazement at my damp fingers.What the fuck is happening?
“Where’s the bathroom?” I ask no one in particular as I head for the hallway before I know where to go.
Her mother calls after me. “Turn left. It’s the only door on the right.”
I step into the floral wallpapered bathroom, start to unzip my pantsthen stop to lock the door.
They seem like the kind of people who don’t knock first and the thought makes me grin. This is the kind of family I always wish I had but thought I never would.
They’re so easy and authentic. For the first time in a long time, I’m grateful to my father for the distance he put between me and the rest of the West African community in DC. They have no agenda other than to welcome their landlord’s son. My guard came down without me realizing it. They treat me like they’ve known me for my whole life when, in fact, they don’t know me at all.
I pull out my mother’s letter and read it again.
