I wasn’t sure how to approach the parentals about that. Neither Marcus nor I had talked about it. Although considering we left his room together, after they’d all arrived at the house, there really shouldhave been a discussion. We’ve only officially been together for a week, so I hadn’t gone so far as to tell my parents, and I didn’t know if he had.
But then, when we got downstairs, and Marcus made no move to act any differently than he had over the past week, it only took his refusal to remove his arm from around my waist and his constant stream of kisses on my cheek, my temple, and my lips for everyone to realize we were a couple.
Honestly, I was worried about backlash. I haven’t been the steady adult in the house that Marcus’s parents had wished I would be. I have done very little over the semester so far, other than repeatedly hurt their son for things that were never his fault. So when Samayah gushed, wrapped me in a ‘welcome to the family’ hug, and his dad gave Marcus a congratulatory clap on the shoulder, I was more than a bit shocked.
I’ve tried really hard today to keep the bad thoughts to myself, but they’ve slipped through at random moments. This morning, with Marcus, when I woke up. Again, later with Tristan, when I heard Marcus and his parents talking about his friendship with Imani, and he described her as beautiful. My brain immediately latched onto the word that’s universally accepted as an upgrade from pretty, and I wondered why he’d called her beautiful but meonlypretty.
It was Tristan who heard me mutter something petulant under my breath, and he pointed out that people have preferences, and Marcus’s preference isn’t beautiful; it’s pretty. Just because it’s universally accepted that ‘beautiful’ is an elevated version of ‘pretty’ doesn’t mean everyone sees it that way.
Tristan even went so far as to use Kairos in his analogy, pointing out that it’s universally accepted that Kairos is the more high-end and generally preferred eating establishment. Still, it’s not my thing, and I prefer the outdated pastel-colored deli down the street. The deli is exactly my cup of tea, just like my pretty is exactly Marcus’s kryptonite. Tristan’s words had unwound the tight ball of anxiety in my chest and quieted the bad thoughts for a while.
But now, again, Samayah has expressed happiness that I’m withher son, and yet all I can think about is the weight of the damage I’ve caused him since I met him. The constant rejections, that ugly fight, that I’m still shocked he ever spoke to me again afterward. The push and pull, and the very blandness of me, that doesn’t explain why he felt it was worth it to push through all of that just to be with me.
“Don’t you think he deserves better?” I ask her, letting the bad thought slip out, because even though they’ve been chased away every time today, they are bound and determined to keep coming back.
Samayah shakes her head at the question, not even stopping to think the question through.
“Marcus knows what he wants, and he wants you. You are what makes him happy, and his happiness is the most important thing in the world to me.”
I frown just a bit at that, because I know from Marcus that he confided in his parents and Darryl several times since we met. They know what I’ve put him through, and they should despise that I’m anywhere near his space, not being happy that I’m claiming ahopefullypermanent spot by his side.
“But you had to have hoped that his happiness would come with someone much more stable than me,” I point out, thinking that maybe she’s simply willing to overlook how unsuitable I am, since Marcus is so determined to have me, regardless of the lack of sense in that desire.
Samayah’s eyes meet mine with a sincere gaze. “Why would I think that? You are elegant, intelligent, talented, and caring. Do you think the weight of something other people have done to you truly makes you less in any way? If anything, it makes you stronger to rise above despite how much it’s hurt you,” she says, and my heart stills as her words disprove the very negative thoughts reeling in my head.
“And to be perfectly candid, I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of my son than I have been while listening to him talk about you. The patience he’s shown in how he’s approached you and the empathy and care he’s learned to embrace while being there for you through this hard time. I’m proud of how deeply he loves, how brave he is in showing that, and how resilient he is in carrying that through.
“I have nothing but respect for you and the strength you’re showing in fighting to get better, and fighting for your own happiness. And I hope you know, embracing Marcus in your life only shows how hard you’re willing to fight for yourself. And I’m proud of the man my son is becoming, especially for you. So, I’m truly, from the bottom of my heart, so glad to see you two together, and to have you be a part of our family,” she says with a reassuring squeeze of her hand around mine.
There’s a ringing in my ears as her words seep into my head and slap away some of the lingering bad thoughts. My mom hums against me in agreement with Samayah’s words, and her fingers tighten around my arm in a silent plea for me to listen to them. It’s overwhelming, and I face the field for a moment to try and wrestle the emotions back down to a manageable weight before I break down and start crying.
“I do think we’ll have to teach you to understand the mechanics of football, though. It’s only fair if you’re going to be a football spouse. Once he goes pro, you’ll be pulled more into the engagements with the other spouses.”
Marcus’s dad breaks the silence with an affirmation that comes from accepting the strength of Marcus’s and my relationship, without relying on the deep sentiment of Samayah’s sweet words.
Despite the sentiment that rests in his steady acceptance of Marcus and my future relationship, I still can’t help the slight widening of my eyes as I mouth the word ‘spouses’, completely waylaid by the fact that his dad has already married us off in his head.
Samayah giggles and nudges my arm. “Can’t wait to see the bridal attire; you’re gonna blow us all away with your style. I saw pictures of your Phoenix costume, and I cried. The symbolism behind it and the fact that it was just so gorgeous, I just couldn’t stop myself,” she gushes openly.
I swallow hard at that. My throat is clicking with the motion because the knot that was already in there from what she said earlier, coupled with the sentiment she just expressed, and it’s all so much. Isimply smile back at her because I don’t have the heart to tell her I’m not into the whole marriage idea.
Marriage has always felt like another box to fit into for society’s concept of normal or idealized success. I’ve never had a desire or inclination to fit into that concept. I’ve never felt like the success of a happy, lifelong, fulfilling relationship could only be symbolized by that cookie-cutter family image of marriage and kids. So while I have every intention of spending my life with Marcus, it doesn’t include any plans of marriage. Or children, for that matter.
I hope she can find it in her heart to forgive me when I finally have the courage to tell her so. And hopefully my courage doesn’t wait until I’m already wed.
Although Marcus and I have had several conversations about our feelings on marriage in general. It was always just idle generalized conversation, never aboutus. We’ve only been together for a week, for fuck’s sake. But I know he feels much the same about marriage as I do, so I don’t see him playing along with his parents on this one either.
But all of that is neither here nor there when Tristan and someone from the other team meet a referee in the middle of the field for the coin toss that’ll start the game.
It’s Marcus’s time to shine, and excitement settles deep inside me for a game I’ve never enjoyed before. However, when Marcus is on the field, it’s something completely new, something different, and while I still don’t understand the game for shit, I find I love it when he’s on the field.
A VICTORY & AN UNPLEASANT CONFRONTATION
Marcus’s POV
It’s almost the end of the game, and neither team has gotten on the scoreboard. Not from a lack of trying. I’ve been on fucking fire all game. Gaining yards and making catches like no one’s business, but between tackles and field calls, I still haven’t gotten that touchdown yet.
Something Kingston reminds me of every time he’s close enough for me to hear him—his never-ending sneers about how I cheated to get my spot. The only one between us who has cheated ishim, but there’s no point in reminding him of that. It won’t stop his mouth.
