Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
“You want kids?”
“Honestly, I hadn’t given it much thought until recently. Apparently my clock is ticking. Well, according to my gyno and my mother, at least.”
“I hate it when we pressure women to reach certain benchmarks by certain times when we don’t have those expectations of a man. Clooney was the man, a confirmed bachelor who could play the field, and we loved him for it. Same for Leo DiCaprio. Just taking his time, enjoying life.”
“While a woman who wants to focus on her career,” she says, “but have great sex with no commitments is slut shamed and pitied until she lands a man.”
“No one could pity you.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Her laugh is in a bitter code I’d love to crack. “Things look different from inside.”
I used to be inside—used to know her from every angle. But that was the girl. This is very much a woman sitting beside me, a fascinating woman who tempts me.
“You obviously love your job very much,” I say.
“I’m doing exactly what I was meant to do. I can’t imagine anything else being more fulfilling.”
“I get that. When I started YLA, it felt like I’d come face-to-face with myself. Found my path.”
“The school, what you’re doing, really is remarkable. I may have watched a few viral videos of your students on TikTok. They’re amazing.”
“They’re my joy. Them and Noah, of course.”
“You’re a fantastic father.” She tosses her head back, sending the hair dancing around her face. “I mean, it appears. You could be beating him at home for all I know.”
“Only at chess,” I say, chuckling. “Okay. You have to tell me. How’d you break with three generations of Spelmanites?”
“Very carefully.” She shrugs, cupping her neck and tipping her head back to look up at the stars. “I didn’t tell my parents I was applying to Arizona, but I needed options. The higher my father’s profile rose here in the city, coupled with my grandfather’s legacy, the more I felt the weight of it. I just wanted to be myself. To be seen for myself, and not through the filter of my last name. I couldn’t find a place in this city, much less on Spelman’s campus, where that could happen. I was suffocating.”
She pauses, leveling her eyes on me briefly before looking away again. “Did you ever find out what caused such a huge rift between our parents?”
I have my theories, but I’ve always kept them to myself. What I think happened can only cause problems that should remain buried with my father and with hers. “No, never.”
“My mom was adamant that we not have any contact. I defied her at first and searched for you. I mean, the internet wasn’t anywhere near what it is now. There was no Facebook or Instagram, but I did try. Your bubbe had passed away, though, and she was the only relative of yours I knew.”
“I wrote you several times. The letters came back return to sender. And when I called, your number had been disconnected.”
“Daddy did a lot of work in the city that wasn’t always popular,” she says dryly. “When we moved, we got an unlisted number.” Her laugh is husky, hollow. “Driving here today I passed through the old neighborhood. Our houses are still there. Mrs. Washington’s house. The park, though it’s been upgraded.”
“You’d go there sometimes by yourself when you needed to clear your head.”
“Like at that age I had so much that needed clearing.” She laughs. “I was never there by myself long, though. You’d always come find me. Sit with me. Not talk, but just swing back and forth. You were such a quiet kid.”
“Not with you.”
“No.” Our gazes lock, cling. “Not with me.”
The silence deepens, but neither of us seem in a hurry to fill it. I soak in this moment, soak in her company, relishing it like the luxury time has proven it to be.
“You remember that old ice cream truck?” she asks after a few more seconds, a smile coming to life on her lips, in her eyes. When she smiles it’s like a sunrise, spreading warmth as it ascends.
“That little song was so creepy now that I think about it.” I chuckle.
“Oh my God, and the driver was creepy. We’re lucky he never snatched us.”
“He always had those orange Push-Ups you liked so much. Those were your favorites.”
She tilts her head, smiling as she considers me. “How do you even remember that?”
“I remember everything, Tru.”
The amusement in her eyes and the smile on her lips flicker, and she goes silent. I shouldn’t have said that, not like that in a way that reveals just how much those times meant to me. Still mean to me.
“What was mine?” I ask. “My favorite ice cream?”
I just don’t know when to stop. What would it even prove if she remembers?