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Luke nodded and watched his father. Yong Chung wore a deep scowl. His hair was thinning in the front and brown spots dangled right along his hairline. His dad looked older and Luke realized it had been far too long since they’d seen each other.
“I wanted to ask something.”
“If it’s about that girl, the answer is no,” his dad said abruptly. “Your mother and I are united on that front.”
“Then why did you come to see me?”
“Because you’re my son.” Yong Chung stared gravely at his weathered hands. “A father never forgets his son.”
Luke swallowed. Most of the time, he didn’t think about the split with his parents, but in moments like these it struck him hard.
In his ideal world, his parents would accept Ashanti with open arms and they would be one big, happy family. But reality wasn’t so kind.
At the very least, he wanted a better explanation for it all than ‘we don’t like her because she’s black’.
His parents had raised him to be fair and treat everyone as equals. Their stores didn’t discriminate. They served all ethnicities from the Garifunas, to the Mayans, to the Creoles.
Where had all this racism come from?
Ashanti’s suspicion that his mother had a deeper reason for objecting to their relationship had latched onto his brain like a burr. If anyone could provide an answer to how Zhang Feng Yue’s mind worked, it would be her husband.
“Why is mom so against black people?” Luke blurted.
Yong Chung froze. “Excuse me?”
“I know you two wouldn’t have been this upset if Ashanti was white or even Hispanic. There has to be something more.”
“What are you insinuating?”
“Is it because Aunt Jin’s store got robbed last summer and the culprits were black? Or did one of her friends—?”
Yong Chung half-rose. “Is this what you came to ask? I can’t help you, Luke.”
“So there is something?” Luke mused.
His father returned to his seat and folded his hands into his lap. “Nothing happened to us personally, but we’ve heard the stories. We’ve seen the news reports. Black people are behind most of the crimes in the Western world. They are wild and uncultured. Can’t you see that?”
“Even if you’re right—and just so we’re clear I don’t think you are—Ashanti can’t be brushed with that stereotype. You’ve met her. She’s kind, well-spoken, and educated. She fights for the disadvantaged and gives the trampled a voice.”
“What about her father?” Yong Chung challenged. “Or her uncles. Her cousins. Her friends. There might be a few exceptions, but it is better to be cautious than sorry.”
Luke fisted his hands and pounded it against the table. “I was hoping, so badly, that there was a better reason. Maybe it wouldn’t excuse what you believe, but it could explain it. I was a fool to hope. There really is no chance you’ll change your mind, is there?”
“Luke, I beg you.” His father leaned over the table. “Don’t even worry about your mother and me. Think about yourself. About your future.”
“Dad, Ashanti is a big part of my future.”
His father glanced from side to side. “I know what the men whisper in the bars, about the sexual experience a black woman offers. I understand if you’re curious. Go ahead and date her as long as you want, but marriage—”
Luke stood and raised his voice, standing up to his father for the first time in his entire life. “Don’t you ever talk about Ashanti that way again.”
“Luke…”
“Ashanti is my best friend. My girlfriend. The love of my life and the future mother of my half-black children. You might not like her, but you will respect her.”
“Don’t get upset,” Yong Chung pleaded. “I’m only trying to protect you. Protect our family.”
Luke shook his head. “You should go back home, Dad. Thanks for coming out today, but I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again for a while.”
