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He plays a rock station.
Yaya swings one leg over the other. Her feet start tapping. It’s moving in time to the rhythm.
Awed, I stare more openly at her. Can her hearing aids pick up the music? Based on my research, Yaya’s hearing aids only help her with lower range frequencies.
I look closer and notice she’s leaning forward slightly with a hand pressed against the speaker at the bottom of the door.
Ah.
“Mosley, turn the music up,” I request.
He cranks it up.
“More.”
He does.
“More.”
The windows start rattling.
Yaya’s smile grows the louder the music gets. She’s enjoying this.
Sitting here, watching her, feels like I’m standing on the edge of something grand.
As a child, I never knew what I wanted to be. I didn’t have any dreams or ambitions. I was the son of Richard Sullivan. Of course I would study at an Ivy League as a legacy student. Of course I would join the chapter my great-grandfather founded. Of course I would get an MBA and intern at one of our companies.
Dreams? Who has time for dreams when your entire life is already planned out?
But right now…
In this moment…
My dream is her.
My purpose in life is to find more ways to make this woman happy.
“Sir!” Mosley bellows. “Should we turn it down?”
“No!” I yell back, basking in the beauty of Yaya Williams thumping her head to the music.
The song ends.
Her eyes open.
She catches me staring.
At once, she removes her hand from the speaker and returns to sitting stiffly.
I hate to see her shrink into herself.
And yet, I also like the shyness I’m beginning to sense in her.
Our kiss broke something, a wall, a defense, a line between us. But I won’t storm the city. Something tells me that the next step I take will determine the fate of my future and the future of my children—who will hopefully, be Yaya’s children too.
As a show of surrender, I return to my tablet.
The car slows down at the curb.
