The Better Half(87)

“You know, when KayCee came to visit me in Queens, the pilot light on the stove went out for the first time in decades. I think it was your mother’s way of saying she was fine with me being with a new lady friend, just not in her house. That’s when I realized it was time for me to move.”

“Obviously. Mom’s not letting another woman walk her worn path.” The groove in the floorboards between the kitchen sink and the stove hold most of my childhood memories.

“I found it hard to convince myself that it was okay to see someone else. I finally realized that marrying KayCee doesn’t mean I love your mother any less.” Dad gives me an approving nod at how I’m stacking the plates into the dishwasher. We both believe a loading strategy is the key to domestic bliss.

“I’m working on being happy for you, Dad, I promise I am, it’s just KayCee isn’t exactly your type.” Truthfully, I had never considered what my dad’s type may be, but I couldn’t imagine it would veer far from Jamaican.

“My type? How do you figure what my type is?”

“You know, Mom and Angela Bassett.” My mom knew Fitzroy Morgan would be loyal to her until the end of time, unless, of course, Angela Bassett called. Then, bye-bye.

“Ah, you mean Black.”

I nod yes.

Dad wipes his hands on the last clean kitchen towel and leans against the refrigerator. “Is that what you think? That I should only be attracted to a Black woman, want to marry a Black woman?” I shudder inside my cardigan at my father’s mention of sexual attraction. “Is that what you think I expect of you, too? Or more importantly, is that what you expect of yourself?”

“Certainly, makes life a lot easier.”

“Perhaps. Though you have personal experience that tells us otherwise.”

“DAD!” I don’t need this conversation about his love life shining a spotlight on mine.

“Okay, okay, but if your mother and I failed at expressing to you and your brother that we will embrace whoever you choose to love if they choose to love and respect you back, then we failed as parents.”

“Dad, please, you didn’t fail us as parents,” I say, grabbing the towel from my father to dry my own hands.

“Well, maybe not, but it sounds like we should have been more plainspoken on our thoughts about love. I suppose, if you grow up with parents of the same race who mostly socialized with Black folks and attended an all-Black church, you’re going to assume some things about what we expect of you as an adult. But that’s not the truth, Nina. Not at all. Is that why you’re not tight with Leo anymore, because he’s not Black?”

I can feel my dad hurting at the idea that his lack of parental guidance has resulted in my lack of a partner. Far from it, but he has hit on a big piece of what’s held me back. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. But yeah, there’s some truth there.”

“So uncomplicate it for me.” Like always, nothing’s convoluted in Fitzroy’s world.

“It’s one thing to date, or I guess in your case, marry a person from another race, but raising a baby with them, particularly when that baby is going to be Black, that’s a whole other challenge. Growing up in Omaha, living in Silver Lake, working at a corporate law firm, not only is Leo White, his entire life is White. ALL White, all the time.”

“Except when he’s with you. With us.”

And his new parenting buddies, I have to admit to myself. Leo’s put in the effort to diversify his world without direction from me.

Here it is. “I’m struggling to see how a White man can successfully raise a Black child.” That’s as plainly as I can put it for Fitzroy.

“He’s going to raise that child like all parents do, with lots of love, lots of mistakes, and help from friends and family. What a child needs most from a parent is nurturing, not matching skin color.” An easy claim from a man whose children happen to be his spitting image. “This is a lot for you to be carrying. Is that all or do you have more, Nina?”

“You ever wonder if being with KayCee, going to her church, being around her friends and family will . . .” I don’t want to be the wet blanket on Dad’s second chance at love.

“Go on,” Fitzroy pushes, not letting me off the hook.

Here goes. “You think marrying KayCee will make you less Black?” There it is. Under it all, living in Pasadena, fighting to be the head of Royal-Hawkins, sending Xandra to boarding school, choosing to have a mixed-race baby, being with Leo, becoming part of his family, this is the question that’s been haunting me, and I can’t find any peace with it.

“Ah, you’re afraid of losing your own Blackness. Is that it?”

Fitzroy has boiled my greatest fear down to one simple sentence. “That’s it,” I admit.

“Nina, baby, how Black you are, whatever that even means, is determined solely by the confidence you carry in your head and in your heart. How I think about being Black as a Jamaican immigrant in this country is very different from how you think about it as a first-generation American, and certainly miles away from how Xandra thinks about being Black. We are all Black in our own distinct ways.

“Your Blackness is not determined by where you work, the profession you choose, or who you love. The only person who can take away any feeling of who you are is you.” Fitzroy wraps me in a big hug. “Did you hear me? Only you. And if anyone tries, you tell them to come talk to me.”