Page 20 of The Cost of Love

The reality is that I need to prove to myself, just as much as to them, that I can do this. I need to know if I can imagine a life where I spend the next thirty years working here, while I prime a child to take over for me. Continuing the cycle of duty that was placed on my shoulders from birth.

Can I do this?

Day One, and already I can feel the unhappiness swimming through my mind, soaking my thoughts in melancholy. With a sigh, I get up, ready to learn the names of everyone working for me.

By the time I am done introducing myself, most of the day has passed by. I finish up the rest, going over the reports from the last five years, trying to familiarize myself with any possible problems. When the only light that is left is the one on my desk, freedom calls to me in the form of dinner with Carter.

“You’re late,” he says when I take my seat. Having already ordered a slice of cake, he is enjoying it alongside a glass of brandy.

“You could have waited for me, still.”

I try to grab a forkful of the icing. He knocks it away with his own, giving me a look that makes me think he will stab me with it. When he sees that I have been warned off, he takes another bite.

“I had a busy day. I needed to figure out a plan to keep my position,” I say.

He nods at this, taking a few more bites in the accompanying silence. When he finishes, he puts the plate to the side and places his folded hands on the table.

“How are you feeling about it all?” Like the good friend he is, he knows my disdain for the job that I am to perform. This question is to gauge whether or not I intend to follow through.

“It will be difficult, but I think thanks to other things I have going on, I will be able to do this.”

The waiter comes over and takes our orders, leaving a drink that Carter had pre-ordered for me.

“What other things?”

“Painting, becoming an uncle, having a woman.” Realizing I haven’t texted her today, I send her a message while he watches me.

“Please tell me it’s not the server from the event.” His lips pucker in a pout as he crosses his arms. Wrinkles form on his forehead, marring his otherwise clear, light brown skin.

“Fine, I won’t.” I put my phone away. He rolls his eyes and lets out a heavy breath. With a pointed look back at me, he takes a deep swig of his drink.

“Tell me about her.”

“Well, I don’t know much about her, yet—other than the fact that she is gorgeous, and surprising. I never know what she is going to do or say. Her blunt honesty is unmatched, to the point that even her emotions are easy to ascertain. She is different.” I can’t keep the smile off my face, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him, as he mirrors it with a more sardonic grin.

“Really? She is so different that you can’t see past it enough to know this is a bad idea?”

“Are you really so classist that you think we couldn’t possibly make it work?”

“I wouldn’t say I am classist. I think I am more of a realist, and I know how hard it is to fit in with this community when you are from it, let alone when you come from the complete opposite.” He runs a hand through his dark hair, pushing the wavier strands back to the shaved-down part.

I sit back in my chair, getting more comfortable for this conversation. I shouldn’t underestimate his experience. Being a token Black person in our world has resulted in him having to fight to fit in. Despite who his father is. However, I can’t give in just yet.

“I am not going to let that deter me from going for it. We could be something great, even if she doesn’t realize it yet.”

“What does that mean?”

The waiter drops off food in front of us, and then opens the bottle of wine we got to go with it. Waiting for us to try it and confirm it, our conversation halts until he walks away.

“It means, ironically, she only wants to have sex with me.”

His laughter fills the air as he tilts his head back to let it loose. When he is done, he shakes his head in disbelief.

“That’s what you get.”

“Rude.”

“How many times have you done the same thing to some woman who wanted you to love them?” He takes a bite out of his food, letting me mull over the words as he chews.