“What happened?” he inquires, frowning.
I tell him everything. How I want to choose my own path and not the one my mom has already decided for me. How I need more time to figure out who I am and what I like. And how I love her, but I need to live my own life.
“Can I say something?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“Your mom wants the best for you, which is perfectly understandable. She loves you, and that’s why she says and does the things she does. Out of love.” He scrutinizes me intently, as if gauging my reaction. What he sees must make him comfortable or something because he continues to talk. “But you have the right to follow your own dreams. And if you make mistakes along the way, you’ll learn from them. From what I’ve seen, you two are very close. Maybe you need to sit down and really talk? Tell her how you feel. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. She’s my best friend, too, so I don’t want to hurt her. I think seeing me struggle to find my path makes her want to push me toward hers even more. I’ve toyed with the idea of going for business maybe. I’ve worked most of my life at the diner, helping with some business management stuff, and I really enjoy it.”
He steps toward me, bringing his face closer to mine. “Yeah? Then do it, Grace. Whatever you choose, make sure it’s something you want.” He’s speaking with so much passion, it makes me feel like I can do anything.
“Why do you have to make so much sense?”
He drags a hand through his hair. “I’ve been there, so I know what you’re going through.”
“It feels good to talk to someone who understands.” I smile softly, but I can’t stop thinking about the pained look on Mom’s face. “My mom is everything to me. She’s so brave, Sol. One of the bravest people I know. And wise.
“I remember when I was seven years old, back in elementary school, and we were on the playground during recess. All of a sudden, one of the black kids stood in front of me and frowned. He put his hand next to mine and asked me why my skin was lighter in color than his. He asked me if I was white or black.” I shake my head, remembering how confused I was by the end of the day. “That evening, I asked my mom why my skin was different than hers. I asked her if I was black or white. Do you know what she said to me?” I don’t wait for his answer because I’m too swept away by the memory. “She told me I was whoever I wished to be. That beneath our skin, we all bleed red.”
“She’s pretty amazing, Gracie.”
“She’s the best.” I hear wonder in my own voice. “She’s my hero.”
“Good.” He bumps my shoulder with his. “We need more of those nowadays. If you want to talk to her, I can take you home.”
I shake my head. “I’ll do it tomorrow. She and I need a few hours to calm down.”
“Of course.” He drags his hand through his hair, then asks, “Okay, you have got to tell me how you handled Levi. I’m dying to know.”
I cut through the air with a slanting stroke with the side of my hand and yell, “Karate chop!”
His lips twitch, his eyes dancing with amusement, and his eyebrows hit his hairline. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind.” He winks at me. “Let me guess. Your mom made you take classes?”
“Yep,” I say, popping the “p.” A small laugh slips through my lips. “She signed me up for self-defense classes when I was ten years old.”
“Great thinking on her part. Not everyone you meet has good intentions these days. Better to be safe than sorry.”
We walk in silence, our hands brushing lightly. I squint at the ground and try to make out the shape of our toes covered in water while gathering the courage to open up to him.
From of the corner of my eye, I notice him watching me. He swallows hard before tossing his shoes aside and taking a step forward. His arm slips around my waist, turning me to face him. He pulls me flush to his body, making me go up on my tiptoes. His forehead touches mine, and his air becomes my air. The rapid beating of his heart mirrors mine, and I wonder, for just one second, if our hearts are telling each other what our mouths can’t.
“I try so hard to stay away from you, but like a boomerang, I keep coming back to you. What have you done to me, Gracie?”
His words steal the oxygen from my lungs, and the steel bars around the cage housing my heart liquefy a little.
“Bewitched you with my womanly charms?” I joke, closing my eyes and brushing my nose against his.
“You sure did.” He chuckles softly but turns somber fast. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I do,” I say, pressing my lips on the edge of his mouth, forcing myself not to go farther. If he wants this, then the decision has to be his. “Maybe we should stop spending too much time together. I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult this is for you.”
He swallows, his gaze veering off to my left shoulder, probably considering my words. “Maybe, yeah.” His arms tighten around me for just a few beats before they fall away.
Stepping back, he grabs his shoes and hands me mine. We continue walking, the air between us sparking with tension. How does someone come back from a revelation like this?
I clear my throat and attempt to form my thoughts. As much as I enjoy spending time with Sol, the constant tugging of the invisible thread connecting us becomes too much sometimes. It’s like we’re two magnets, drawn to each other the way only opposite poles can. We pull apart, but the magnetic field between us always draws us back together. It’s inevitable, like the rising and setting of the sun.
I sigh. Time to change the subject.
I’ve never told anyone about my father. Maybe talking to someone else other than my mom will help ease this hurt, this feeling . . . as if something is missing in my life. I need to get it out before the words roll back down my throat and churn acid into my stomach.
“When I was six, my mom finally told me—after I bombarded her with questions about my father’s whereabouts—he left before I was born. So cliché, right?” I laugh, but it sounds bitter even to my own ears. “My mom was eighteen. She was due to start her undergraduate program at Brown University, but then, I happened. My father, whoever that person is, packed and left town, leaving my mom alone and pregnant.
“Growing up without a father wasn’t easy, I won’t lie. Every night before I went to sleep, I’d get down on my knees next to my bed and pray to God he’d bring him back into my life. I’d write letters to Santa, asking him for one thing only—my dad. Every Christmas Day, I woke up early, hoping to find my father sitting in the rocking chair by the window, waiting for us.” After a moment of silence, I add, “It never happened.”
I shake my head and smile at the memory of the five-year-old version of me, so hopeful and innocent.
“I watched other kids bring their parents to school events. Sometimes, my mom couldn’t get time off from work. She had just gotten this new job as a maid for some rich guy, and she didn’t want to risk losing it. So I had no one there.” I shrug. “I don’t care what anyone says; my father is nothing but a coward who didn’t stick around and accept his responsibilities.”