Lena finished her drink in one big gulp, and then went to the bathroom. As she washed her hands, one of the black women was at the sink next to her. “I love your shoes,” Lena said. The woman’s sandals were bright red, adorned with an oversized bow that looked like it was made out of leather.
“Thanks.” The woman’s voice came out tight. She stayed focused on her fingers, the sink. As Lena dried her hands, the woman turned to her. “You know, you don’t have to look white to look good. You should get rid of those contacts.”
Before Lena could say anything, the woman wiped her hands on her jeans and walked out. It was one of those moments Lena knew she would return to over and over again, finding the right response. A return insult? A way to say this wasn’t her choice without violating her NDA? Something personal and melting that would make the other woman say something like “Oh, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have judged you. I had no idea what you were going through.”
“You are going to have to work twice as hard to get the life your white friends will be able to get,” her grandmother had told Lena when she was 16 and said without thinking that maybe someday she would like to be an artist. She was in an art club at school and the advisor had told her a few days ago, “I see real promise in you.”
You should become a lawyer or a doctor, you’re smart,” her grandmother continued, “And when you’re older and you have money, a house, then you can go back to art.”
“Mom, that’s not true,” Deziree had said. They were in the living room. Lena’s homework was spread on the coffee table. Deziree had been lying on the couch, a hot washcloth over her eyes. Miss Toni had been in her chair, flipping through the newspaper.
“How am I lying?”
Deziree sat up, the washcloth falling into her lap. “Just because you work hard doesn’t mean anything will work out for you. There are people busting their asses at all kind of jobs just to make minimum wage.”
Miss Toni had lifted her eyebrows the way she did every time Deziree swore. Lena knew before her mother was sick, there was a strict None-of-that-ugly-talk-in-my-house policy. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
“And if Lena works twice as hard and goes to a top law program, she might not get hired at any good law firms because she’s black. Or she might get hired somewhere, but she can’t do her job the way she wants because all people see is their own racism, not her.”
“So, it sounds like you’re saying she shouldn’t try at all.”
Miss Toni shook her head. Deziree crossed her arms. If either of them had been paying attention to Lena, they might have laughed. Lena was looking back and forth between them, head swerving. They rarely disagreed on the right way to raise Lena. She would do her homework, babysit for the neighbors, go to church, volunteer in church-sponsored community service. She would not date until she was 16, she would go to college, she would learn at least one other language, she would speak proper English, be courteous to her elders, would not relax her hair until she was 18, because her hair was perfect as it was, and because a doctor had seriously cautioned them all against what the exposure to chemicals like that could do to all of them.
Deziree was clearly getting angry but trying not to show it. “I’m just saying she might as well pursue a passion. If Lena loved the idea of being a doctor, I would tell her to do it. You’ll always feel better if you at least like what you’re doing. Lena, do you want to be a doctor?”
They turned to her. She looked down at her homework. “I don’t like blood.”
She didn’t understand why they laughed.
Lena left the bathroom, went back into the bar, and took out her phone. She ordered another drink and snapped a picture of it. Sent it to Kelly.
When she returned to Lakewood, Lena was given another survey: How much do your eyes hurt on a scale of 0–10, with 10 being you need medical attention? Do you feel more or less attractive? Describe how you feel about your body—be specific. Do you think people found you more or less attractive with blue eyes? If you had the option, would you change your eye color to blue permanently? Do you think you have friends who would spend money to have their eye color changed? And if so, what race are the friends you’re thinking of? Did you feel more or less African American with your eye color changed?
“My eyes will be brown tomorrow, right?” Lena asked while filling out the sheet.
“Don’t worry, if they’re still blue, you’ll get a bonus.”
“I would prefer to look like me.”
Haircut snorted. “Yeah, over $20,000. Sure. For $20,000, I would have an operation that turned me black.”
Lena’s face fought between a What-the-hell? expression and an Oh-no-that-can’t-be-possible expression and an I-am-too-emotionally-exhausted-to-have-a-real-conversation-with-you expression. “Okay.”
When she returned home, Lena felt hyper-observant. She stared at the dishes in her sink, the cereal crusted to the red bowl. She kept looking at her reflection, catching a glimpse of the blue eyes. Tried to look at them objectively, but the more she looked, all Lena felt was distance from herself. She looked at her bank account. For the first time, she had money in savings—already almost $10,000. All her bills and her mother’s bills were on autopay.
In the morning, her eyes were brown again, extra-watery. She put on sunglasses, took a walk around her neighborhood. People were walking their dogs, some were parking their cars on the way to church, others walking with a box of their Sunday donuts. Teenagers were vaping on benches and reading books with titles like Demons and Rebellions. Every person she saw had a look on their face as if they were trying not to laugh at an inside joke that only Lena didn’t know.
Day 26: You ask Charlie (the manager) for a new headset. He says he’ll have to think about it. You take an online diversity seminar administered by Mariah (HR).
Tanya texted Lena later in the day to say she was going on a date with a guy she met in a coffee shop. Lena responded with exclamation points and all the best party emojis. She waited for Tanya to tell her more: the guy’s name, where they were going, what was she going to wear or buy to wear. The bubble with three dots popped up, lingered, disappeared.
Day 27–30: You’re attending an event: creating your five-year path with Great Lakes Shipping Company. You meet some people in your position from other branches.
Dr. Lisa walked around the office carrying a cardboard box. She handed Lena a clear plastic bag containing bags filled with differently colored pellets: bubblegum pink, cream, sky blue. They were heavy. Lena prodded a pellet through the packaging; it felt gummier than it looked. Each bag was also labeled with a meal: breakfast, lunch, dinner. A sheet explained that she could take a maximum of five pellets per meal during the study. She was not allowed to eat any other foods unless authorized by Dr. Lisa.
During her break, Lena called Deziree to check in. Her mother was making a smoothie that a woman in her yoga class said would boost her muscle health.
“I like saying the word turmeric more than I like tasting it,” Deziree said. “It’s relaxing, though. I feel mellow after I have some.”
Lena shifted her phone to her other ear. “You’re still taking your medicine though, right?”
A blender whirred. A long pause. “Sometimes, you forget that I’m your mom.”