Page 18 of American Love Story

“What is this?”

Ron looked at me like I needed to get with the program.

“That’s Patrice Denis, he’s?—”

“I know who he is, Ron! I’m just asking what that tweet is about. I mean obviously it’s about the stops, but— You know what? Never mind. I get it.”

Ron seemed a bit put off by my outburst, but he just talked over me.

“You need to get on Threads. Denis is pretty well known on Black Threads”

“What?”

Ron sighed and I couldn’t tell if he was losing his patience or just felt sorry for my lack of social media prowess.

“It is not a separate Threads, it’s just there are a lot of writers, journalists, academics, or just people who tweet about racial justice and Denis has been pretty active in the past couple of years. He has a big following, and he does not mince words. He was pretty vocal about some of the stuff happening in New York City when he was down there, and it looks like he’s not shutting down his account now that he’s up here.” He sounded a little bit too giddy at that prospect as my own mood sank some more.

Excellent.

Looked like this would put even the possibility of friendship out the window.

And how unprofessional was that? I needed to be thinking about how to deal with a situation that was escalating, not how I would stay friends with Patrice.

I handed Ron his phone back and went back to my desk.

“If Day doesn’t take my call, I’m going to go see him. I’m not impressed at all with his ghosting us.” Day and I had worked together for years and he was usually a reliable guy, or at least honest about what he could and could not do. This disappearing act was extremely concerning and not a good look.

Ron nodded as he moved to the door. “I’ll do a little more digging around and ask the IPD guys what they’ve heard of who’s being problematic. I’ll call up Tony, too.”

Tony was a deputy sheriff we worked closely with on our sexual abuse cases and he was definitely going to have some insight on what was going on.

“That sounds good. Thanks. I hope we can deal with this before it happens again.”

The look he gave me clearly said, “You and me both.”

chapter five

patrice

“Bruh, the school’s paying for the movers? Damn. You stuntin’ for real.”

I smiled at Nesto as we stood in my apartment watching two guys place my new couch in the middle of the living room.

“They told me a set amount I can spend. They don’t give me cash, just reimburse receipts. So, I figured I might as well spend it and get some professionals instead of trying to bribe you, Jude, and Ari with beer and pizza,” I said after I handed one of them a tip and thanked them for hauling all my stuff for the last couple of hours.

Nesto chuckled and looked over at Ari and Yin, who were in my kitchen unpacking plates and glasses. My mom had gone a little overboard with getting me stuff for the apartment once I got the job, and before I left New York, I had boxes of housewares from her. Not that I was complaining—I hated shopping and she had great taste.

Nesto must have guessed what I was thinking, because he grinned at me and started for the kitchen. “Odette really did the most, damn,” he said, as he peered into one of the boxes on the kitchen island. “Are those champagne flutes?”

I nodded as he gently picked up one of my twelve brand-new glasses. “Yep, she got me a dozen. You know how she is.”

My mother. I loved her, but she was a lot. She was always so preoccupied with appearances. I knew it was her way of showing people that she was worthy of respect, that she wasn’t relying on the government or whatever. Her way of making people think twice before they made assumptions about her or me.

It was endless, though. The house had to look perfect, she had to look perfect, son had to be perfect. She made sure that there was never a reason for someone to look down on her, if she could help it. Before they could focus on her black skin and make judgments, they’d see her lovely clothes and perfect makeup. They’d hear about her son, the Cornell professor, and her thriving business.

They’d see her immaculate home.

It was how she coped with everything we’d been through when we first got here. As long as she could shut people up byshowingthem who she was, she would do it. It was an exhausting way to live and one I still struggled not to fall into.