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“That did happen, didn’t it.” Catalina let out a deep breath. “Shit.”
“Indeed,” I said. I picked at my cuticles, my eyes on the stadium seats in front of me. Cat and I were sitting in the bleachers at the field at our old high school. I could remember, so clearly, the day we graduated on this field. We were so hopeful then. I was so hopeful then. I wondered what that version of me would think of this one.
“It was tough,” I continued. I looked down at my hands as I remembered. “He was the one best friend I had in this city. You were on the other side of the country when it first went down, so you didn’t see me going to places, hoping to find him there. When you came by for the weekend or when we talked on the phone, I was able to fake it, but then I would break down afterward. I cried my way through the rest of that year, which Michael helped me through.
“See, that’s the thing that you, and Andrew, and whoever-the-fuck else don’t understand. Michael wasn’t just there, physically. He was supporting me emotionally, no questions asked. He didn’t know who or what I was crying about, and he didn’t care. ‘You’ll pull through this,’ he used to tell me. ‘No matter what.’
“More than that, Michael proved to me that I could be loved without being fetishized or hated for my skin color. All of my life, I’ve been told I’m too black to live in this world. Even my own parents ground that message into me. ‘You have to be better than even your black peers,’ they said. ‘Your skin is too dark for you to be anything less than excellent.’ As if my skin color was a barrier to success. As if it was something to overcome.
“So I overcame it. Even while being fetishized and hated simultaneously. I crawled my way to the top of everything that I did. I became the best in school, in gymnastics. I earned every major academic award that one can earn at the high school level. But even that wasn’t enough. I still got rejected by every boy I came across, regardless of his race. I even got rejected by Andrew. I was my best, most authentic self with him. He spit on my declaration of love for my troubles.
“And then Michael found me. He loved me at my most broken. I was able to be Alicia, the person, not Alicia, the gymnastics franchise. Or Alicia, who must have good hate sex with all that attitude. And yeah, I had to make some sacrifices, but who doesn’t? It was the least I could do.”
Cat was silent for a moment, looking out over the field. I looked over it, too, lost in the depth and breadth of my nostalgia. It was easy to imagine the girl I once was: while not completely carefree in love, I had wished, so badly, that I had even a taste of romance. Too bad I didn’t know that it also came with a multitude of dissatisfaction and heartbreak.
“You’re right, Alicia,” she said. She shrugged. “You’re right. Michael was there for you in a way that Andrew wasn’t. Michael helped you put your life back together.” She met my eyes, sadness mingling with determination. “But think about this: is Michael the man you think he is? Or are you just settling because you don’t think you can have security and a soul mate with Andrew?”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
* * *
Through all of this, my father remained in the hospital. The doctors were somber when they met with us, despite delivering seemingly good news. Your father will be okay, they told me. But it’s a long recovery process.
I agreed to meet up with my mom at the hospital the day after Michael and I decided to take a break. I dreaded having to talk about Michael and all that had happened. Despite all of the progress she and I had made, her feelings about Andrew—and Michael—hadn’t changed. It was odd, considering how we had laughed and joked with Andrew in the hospital.
Still, I knew I had to tell her how I felt. I dragged my feet as I approached my father’s room, knowing how she would take the news.
As I approached, I could hear her laughing softly. When I peeked my head in, I could see her head dip toward my father’s in a chaste kiss. Her face lit up as he reached out to touch the back of her hand. They both sighed in unison.
“So he was here? Andrew?” My father said.
“Yes. And I still hate him.”
“Why?”
She sighed again. “I guess I’m being hard on the boy. It’s not him that I hate, really. It’s his lifestyle. He seemingly likes to pick up and go. From what I gather, he doesn’t like to be tied down to one job. He only has healthcare because he’ll get taxed otherwise. He’s with a new girl every time I see him in the city. Even though Alicia’s a married woman now, that won’t stop her from trying to pursue that kind of life, that unfettered life. He’s no good for her, Thomas.”
“But you see her with Michael.”
“Michael is protection,” she said. “He is safe. Their relationship is not a perfect fit, sure, but he well connected, privileged. Look at our daughter, Thomas. Really look at her. She doesn’t have the benefits that I have. I’m a light-skinned black woman. I still face persecution, but not nearly as much as she will. She is beautiful, but she is considered ugly in this world. She is considered ‘too dark.’ People will forever wonder how to put makeup on her and will ask does it even show up?
“And her hair. Her hair adds another layer. I love her curls. I love that she’s not afraid to wear it in an afro. But she won’t get a real job that way. They will take one look at her and throw her résumé in the trash. Think about the partners at both of our firms. What would they say to a person like Alicia? ‘Not a culture fit.’ You’ve heard it. And when we show up to those networking events? They are surprised. When they hear us on the phone, they’re expecting someone else in person. ‘But you’re so well-spoken,’ they say. Haven’t you heard that?
“She will even be shunned by black society. Black men will turn her away because she has ‘too much attitude.’ She’s a strong woman but she has already been hardened by life, by circumstances. As black women, even when we’re not yelling or cussing or fighting, we’re told we have an attitude. At least Michael tries to love her, as best as he can.”
“My love,” Father said. He smiled, tears pooling in his eyes. “Don’t you get it? If she’s murdered, if she’s hurt by this world, she will be forgotten no matter who she’s married to. She walks through this world as a black woman, which means that nine times out of ten, she will step into a room with a target on her back. No one stands up for black women the way they stand up for white men, white women, or even black men.
“But she shouldn’t live her life in fear. She can’t be a lesser version of herself just to protect herself. You get that, right?”
My mother’s expression matched my father’s. “But how will we protect her?”
I stepped back from the room, not wanting to be seen. Though I understood what my father was saying, to a certain extent, my mom and I agreed: it was simply too risky to not be with Michael. And he loved me. That had to count for something, right?
I sighed. I knew what I had to do.
