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And when I get this mad, I cry. And if I let it get too far, I ugly cry.
“Something on my face?” “Yes. There was . . . something.” “Yeah. This sexy all over my face.”
He doesn’t get it. None of that matters. My dad can be proud that he’s the first Black chief surgeon, but that doesn’t mean he’s proud to be Black.
The way he looks at me makes me feel awake. Feminine. Attracted.
“Sober Quinn’s too afraid of her feelings.”
“I don’t know that. Fear is dangerous. Fear kills Black men.”
There are enough closed doors and glass ceilings in the world. My comfort zone shouldn’t be one of them.
