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“There’s no Les-Way fan page. Wait, there’s a Les-Way fan page?”
“Yep, you haven’t seen it because you’re spending too much time and energy looking at the haters. Meanwhile, some people love and adore your relationship with Wayne.”
“Why didn’t you tell me we had a fan page?” I lean over and grab my phone from the nightstand. I type in Les-Way on the I-gram, and oh, my God. Millions of people have liked this page. There are pictures of Wayne and me separately and pics of us together. There are encouraging captions and captions that show adoration for our relationship, ranging from “The best couple” to “When two people find love, it doesn’t matter what anyone else has to say about it.”
There is a picture of the sneaker store where I met Wayne with the caption, “Imagine going into a sneaker store to get a pair of shoes and walking out with the other beat of your heart.”
My favorite image is Wayne kissing me behind my ear at his last game. The passion written all over our faces is enough to snap me out of the funk I’ve been in. In the middle of a crowded football field, no one mattered but us two. That’s how I want it to be. That’s how it should always be.
As if reading my thoughts, Wayne enters our bedroom and comes over to stand by the bed. He slides my phone out of my hand and places it on the bedside table. “Baby, what did I tell you about getting on social media? It doesn’t matter what anyone writes on there, you’re mine, and that’s all that matters.”
I hear my sister’s heavy air intake as a reaction to Wayne’s proclamation. She eases off the bed and goes back to stand by the door. I open my mouth to tell him we have a fan club, but I’m interrupted by my mother’s voice.
“We taught you that there’s nothing anyone can say about you that can break you. You are stronger than any words someone says about you on that computer,” she says.
My heart constricts. I have talked to my parents briefly over the phone and seen them in passing. We haven’t spent real time together since we had a big blow-up about me quitting school years ago. And they have never been in the home I share with Wayne.
I glance at the doorway and see my parents standing next to Jasmine. My mother looks like she’s lost a few pounds. She’s wearing a pair of black slacks and a pink blouse. My father’s six-foot height is still imposing. He wears a leather jacket and black slacks and looks good.
“Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?” I ask.
“We came to see our daughter, since you’ve lost your way home,” Dad says, wearing a hesitant expression.
“I know my way home, Dad. I just don’t come because we have a difference in opinion over what I should be doing with my life,” I tell him as my heart swells with what feels like millions of emotions.
“That’s why we came to you, Leslie. It’s time to change that,” my mother announces, her eyes brimming with hope and determination.
My father chimes in with his thoughts. “Your mother is right. It took us a while to realize that your choices are yours to make, but we get it now. And we’re ready to get our family back together like we used to be.”
“I would love that,” I admit, opening my arms and inviting them both for a hug. “I would get out of bed, but I’m only wearing this blanket. I’m not dressed.”
“That’s okay. Stay under the covers.” Mom crosses the room and leans down to hug me.
“Miss you, baby girl.” Dad follows my mother’s lead.
It feels good to be held by my parents. No matter how grown a person becomes, a parental hug can make them feel like a little child again. And though I’m their oldest child, I am definitely my mother and father’s little girl.
“Mom and Dad have something they want to tell you,” Jasmine nudges once they’re standing around my bed, letting silence take over. Apparently, she’s responsible for this surprise visit.
I give her a “you set me up” glare, and she gives me a “you would’ve never done it, so I did it for you” shrug. I roll my eyes away from Jasmine’s and back to my parents.
Dad turns to Wayne and speaks. “Well, for one, we don’t appreciate all the BS people have been saying about our daughter.”
“Sir, I can explain—”
Dad holds up a hand as Wayne begins to explain. “No, I don’t want to hear it. I know that you don’t have anything to do with it.”
“It’s still just so unsettling,” my mother looks like she’s about to cry.
Dad gives Wayne a menacing scowl. “We thought you didn’t want anyone to know you were with our daughter. We thought you were using up her precious young years, intending to throw her away as soon as you didn’t have use for her. And I couldn’t support that.” He sighs. “But we’ve been watching how you treat her after the games. We’ve seen the recordings of how you defend her when anyone asks you an out-of-line question.”
“And the way you look at her….” Mom smiles, the stress lines on her honey-brown forehead softening. “How you look at her tells us we were wrong about you. You were trying to protect her. You have not been hiding our sweet Leslie because you’re ashamed of her ethnicity.”
“God, no. Is that what you thought?” Wayne looks perplexed. “I could never be ashamed of Leslie’s color. I love her. All of her. Her beautiful shade of brown is part of what drew me to her.”
“So, what are you going to do? Marry her or not, because all of this shacking up is not what we raised our daughter to do,” Dad states curtly.
“Dad!” Jasmine and I say together.
