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“A woman is free if she lives by her own standards and creates her own destiny.”
Whatever we were doing was harmless, but we were a bunch of Black kids hanging out late, so we must have been up to no good.
One of the hardest parts of aging is being the one “still standing” when everyone else has found their peace lying down.
My mom found little rituals like that to ease my grandfather’s way until at the end, he was so lost that none of those things mattered. That’s what waits at the end of this road, and my heart contracts for Hendrix and her mother.
My Spidey senses must have been correct.
Why is it so hard to believe there are women in the world who don’t want to act as host for a human who may never fully appreciate their sacrifices, drains their hard-earned money, and forces them to make the difficult choices that men, even as fathers, never seem to face?
“I like you, Hendrix.” He says it without a smile, in a way that sounds earnest and real and not like he’s saying something to fill the space. He doesn’t take it back or explain it away, but forges on. “The kind of confidence that you exude is magnetic. You know that?”
It’s honed my instincts so I know a good thing when I see it. And Hendrix Barry is a good thing.
I walk over to her. I’m not sure if she takes me into her arms or I take her into mine, but our quiet sorrow wraps around us. Holds us both.
I cannot afford to fall apart.
When I was really young, I used to say I wanted kids because that’s what the world tells you. That’s what everyone expects, and you don’t always know how to be different at that age. You just fall in line.
There are women like me who are mothering in our own ways, but have never carried a child or been a parent. We’re teachers and mentors and social workers and godmothers. We find ways to pour love into the world, to shape the world for good without bearing a child. It’s not about our wombs. It’s about our hearts and how we share them. That is bodily agency—me getting to decide what I do with my body in this life.”
Fearfully and wonderfully made, as my mother might have quoted the Bible to describe him.
“If you give me the chance, I’ll make you feel like the goddess I see you as.”
Am I what you want? Because I want you and the only thing that will stop me from having you… is you.
He walks out and we wait a collective beat before they both release whisper-screams. “Gurhhhhlllll.” Yasmen fans her face. “We gotta work this out. You waited all this time and Father God sent you that? Sis, you deserve.”
“Good, then block out the noise, and let’s just be us. Inside this relationship, we know why we’re here. Remember, let’s just be good to each other, okay?”
Father, forgive me for I have whored.
I love the way he doesn’t tiptoe around uncomfortable topics. Over the last week, it’s become one of my favorite things about Maverick’s father. He’s blunt like life is too short for bullshit and babying. Maverick must get that from his daddy.
I don’t want to fail her now that it’s my turn to take care of her.
Strength is not always control. Sometimes it’s surrender.”
Looking at the handsome man eating
my banana pudding and winking at me, I can’t help but think he’s one of the few men in my life I actually do trust. How the hell did that happen?
“You are all my right circumstances.”
When life deals you the worst hand, the biggest test is how you get through it. Laugh, cry, wail, whine—doesn’t matter. Just through.
I ain’t got shit to prove to anyone but myself now.
“How was Hendrix raised?” Mrs. Barry looks over her shoulder and winks. “Right.” It takes me a second to process it, but when I do, I can’t help but laugh. God, she’s just like Hendrix. Guess I’ll have to love her, too.
“You good, Gorgeous?” Heart check. Do I regret choosing him? Hell, no. I lean into his arm and let a new peace and fresh acceptance settle over me. “Never better.”
Maybe when this man says let’s be good to each other, he really means it.
“Oh.” I gulp my down my laughter. “Skipper. Bolt. Good morning.”
Typo?
“Damn right I love you.” He dips and captures my mouth in a kiss that searches my soul and squeezes my heart. Makes the blood sing in my veins like that wordless jazz tune we danced to on a yacht under a moonlit sky. I hear the words to the song now. They’re love and trust and right now and forever and always and enough.
“Oh, I always have a plan.” He plucks the rose I didn’t even realize I was still holding from my fingers. “How do you think I got you?”
The past is familiar. The love of her life is there, alive and hale. Whole. Frozen in their best days. Is it selfish to keep trying to drag her back here? Are we the comfort? Or are we the ghosts?
When those footsteps disappear, that’s me carrying you. I will never leave you alone or in the dark by yourself. Okay?”
“Everything good?” she asks, glancing up from the bowl to search my face. I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. “I have you, don’t I?” I whisper in her ear. “How could everything not be good?”
Loving her, being with her—the only thing I can’t get enough of is this. Is us.
The world can take its best shots. My girl’s a fighter, and when she’s knocked down she gets back up.
I wasn’t looking for this—what we have, what we’re building—because I didn’t know it was possible. Not for me, but this woman had me looking, had me searching, had me chasing. I caught her. She caught me. And now, thank God, there’s no letting go.
“You shouldn’t have raised such amazing girls if you didn’t want to deal with them being… well… amazing.”
Who’ll take care of you when you’re old? Aren’t you afraid of dying alone? Do I go through 95 percent of my life living with a decision I regret so the last 5 percent of my life I’m guaranteed a caretaker?
