The Truth According to Ember

by Danica Nava

“Cool.” That was it, people. All I said to the hottest man to ever pay me any attention was cool.

I had to breathe, and in my totally casual inhale, I discovered that he smelled like a pure, clean man, with a hint of lavender.

Most people did not dream of pushing paper surrounded by fake walls, but I was not like most people. I was a recovering poor person, and a well-loved, decorated workspace meant stability, longevity, and steady income.

I will forevermore be wary of any person who describes a task as zipping out for a quick favor. It would inevitably not be quick, and there would be no zipping with traffic downtown.

“So, you’re a smart-ass, huh?” Obviously. I just went over this.

“You can’t plan to marry a guy just based on his salary and title,” Danuwoa lectured. “He could be abusive, or a serial cheater.” “Who cares? I need a starter husband.”

I’d never had a serious boyfriend or anything. I usually just had elaborate crushes on guys I had hardly ever talked to and created a false reality in my head about why the relationship never worked out.

His eyes said, Shut up already. I narrowed mine in response. Don’t tell me what to do. I’m trying to be nice and respectful of your time. He curled up a single eyebrow and won the silent exchange. You think you could make me do anything I didn’t want to do?

Danuwoa broke the silence. “So, uh…Native Daddy, huh?” “You heard?!” I was beyond mortified. “Every word,” he said with a laugh. “For the record, I don’t have daddy issues.” It was dark, but the streetlights illuminated him enough. He wiggled his eyebrows. “Wanna start?” I pushed his chest, laughing at his dumb bravado. “Shut up before I jump out of this car.”

“I just want to help.” That was the problem. I didn’t need help. I had managed everything for everyone on my own, and I couldn’t get used to someone helping me, or I’d never be able to shoulder these burdens on my own again when that someone inevitably left.

That was the problem with hope. It created expectations, and when they weren’t met, you were left feeling crushed.

My brother looked hopeful and dumbstruck. He’d had a crush on Joanna since forever. Poor kid, the woman would break him—mentally and, knowing her repertoire of kinks, probably physically.

“Stop doing that.” “Teasing you?” “That and smiling and being likable in general.”

Danuwoa grabbed me by my shoulders and crouched so we were eye to eye. “The next time you are ever scared or trapped anywhere, you yell, okay? Fuck Mr. Stevenson and his nap. Got it?” I wiped the few fearful tears that escaped my eyes from my cheeks. “Yup.” “That’s my girl, let’s sit down and look at the ocean.”

“There appears to be a huge mistake. You see, there I was sleeping my good, deep sleep when I was awoken, most violently, by this man,” I said, motioning to Danuwoa next to me with my thumb. “Ignoring the dramatics,” Danuwoa said, rolling his eyes, “it appears we were booked in the same room.”

“How hard would it have been to just listen to me?” We were sharing air and it was electric. Charged. As if a spark would be set off at any moment. He took a step closer to me. Our chests were now inches apart, and he whispered in my face, his breath smelling like the toothpaste he just used. “About as hard as it was for me to lay in that bed next to you, knowing you wore nothing under that robe.”

“You put me in a really uncomfortable and awkward position just now. I’m not a racist man. I am what some might call a woke man. I believe women should have all the same rights as men and no one should be treated differently based on their race.”