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I stood to go to the sink with our dishes. “Why haven’t you remarried?”
“I would if someone special enough came along.”
I glanced back at her as I ran the faucet. “How would you even meet them?”
“I have my ways.” Her cheeks turned rosy. “You don’t know everything about me.”
I laughed as I dried my hands, then kissed her head. “I love you, Ma.”
When I got home, I felt that restless energy I always did lately. I poured myself a drink and put on some music, but the house still felt too quiet. I looked at our wedding photo and smiled, remembering that night, how much we danced, how we sang at the top of our lungs… I’d like to dance with someone again. Someone who meant something to me.
I lifted my cell and scrolled to Delaney’s number.
My family loved you, by the way.
They were great. The food was good too.
I told you about that stuffing.
Don’t forget to give me the recipe. Grant will be in heaven.
Will do.
Can I call? Delaney asked.
Please.
“Do you think they suspect?” Delaney asked as soon as I answered the phone.
“How could they not?” I teased. “Do you see the way you look at me? Like you want to date me.”
“You ass.” He smirked. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I,” I replied in a pouty voice, and he laughed. “They hinted, but I didn’t take the bait.”
“Damn, okay.” He was quiet for a long moment, and I could tell he was stewing on something. “Some days, I wonder if Grant knows. The way he looks at me sometimes, like he’s about to confess something.”
“Well, it could be anything. Teenagers keep lots of secrets.”
“True,” he mused. “I had plenty.”
Speaking of teenage years… “Keisha is concerned about me presenting as a gay Black man in my community.”
It was obviously more nuanced than that. I was biracial and bisexual, but it was all about people’s assumptions. And you know what they said about those. Imagine if they knew I loved rimming and sucking cock. Toxic masculinity was rampant and intertwined with politics and religion. It was one hot mess. We may have come pretty far, but we had a ways to go.
“Holy shit,” he replied in a serious tone. “I hadn’t thought of that…and I guess that shows my privilege. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Just glad I can talk about this stuff with you.” I took a breath, grateful for the listening ear. “The thing is…sure, it was tough as a kid having a Black mom and a white dad, figuring out where I fit. It was the one big thing that brought Keisha and me closer together. We stuck up for each other all the time.”
“Because kids could be cruel?”
“Uh-huh. Adults too,” I admitted. “But I actually get it—where the bitterness comes from. Because we have privilege, too, just because our skin is lighter. Racism is ingrained in our society, and I get that now, as an adult, but back then, that shit hurt. Still does.”
“Yeah, of course. Nobody can change their physical attributes—for the most part. And I hate when people use that as a weapon to hurt someone.”
“Exactly. And now that I’m a mature, responsible adult, I’m not gonna tolerate that bullshit. Even if they take their business elsewhere.”
He was quiet a beat, then said, “I like that about you. How you’re always unapologetically yourself. You make me want to be brave.”
“I already told you—you are brave. Everything else will follow when you’re ready.”
“Yeah, guess you’re right.”
I wouldn’t remind him that some things happened even when we weren’t ready because life was shitty. But it could be beautiful too.
I got settled on the couch, feeling more at peace than I had just a few minutes ago. “Want to find a true-crime episode and watch it together?”
“Sounds perfect.”
23
Delaney
The Saturday morning after Thanksgiving, we were at the assisted-living center, where my father had just finished his breakfast. He was as ornery and dismissive as ever, complaining about the runny eggs and scowling at Grant’s WWI-style army jacket and garrison cap, barely engaging him in conversation, no matter how much Grant tried.
“We’re gonna get going.” I motioned for Grant to head to the door. “We’ve got lots of chores on our plate, including raking the leaves piling up in the yard.”
“See you later, Papa.” Grant frowned slightly, waved to him, then stepped into the hallway.
But I turned back to meet my father’s eyes. “You could’ve at least made more of an effort with Grant. I’m used to your sour moods, but he doesn’t deserve it. Neither do I, for that matter, but I’m an adult and can deal with it. He’s still a kid.”
“He looks ridiculous in those outfits. They’re a distraction, and you’re too soft on him.” He sniffed. “You’ve always been too soft, no matter how much I tried to toughen you up.”
