“I’m a racist because I don’t want to eat shrimp at your house?”
“No, Ailey, you’re racist because Rebecca says you’re barely friendly. And she doesn’t know why, because she’s so nice to you.”
“Really? That’s what she said about me?” The corners of my mouth twitched, but I knew if I told the truth about his wife, he’d only take her side. That was how marriage worked: a couple was a united front. I’d learned that from my parents. “If your wife wants me to come to dinner, why doesn’t she ask me herself? I see her every week in Petersen’s class.”
Scooter sucked his teeth. “That’s your defense for bad manners?”
“I will have you know my home training is immaculate.” I glanced around the room, blinking my eyes. It was the uppity move I’d cribbed from Rebecca, but when I looked back at Scooter, he glared at me, his lips in a grim line.
“We both know why you don’t like my wife, Ailey. You think I don’t notice these looks around campus when Black women see us together? And here I thought you were different. I can’t believe you call yourself a feminist.”
He stood up.
I pulled some papers from the middle of my stack and began to read.
He sat back in the chair, but I made him wait an entire minute before I looked up. I sang the “Happy Birthday” song in my head five times.
“You’re still here, youngblood? Oh, no, please leave! Go ’head and make your dramatic exit. Have your moment. But before you do, tell me, are you gone accuse me of hating your wife because she’s white, when I told you about my white aunt?” My voice was loud, and I’d moved into my mother’s southern drawl. At the counter, Miss Velma was leaning on her elbows and laughing at us. “Are you really accusing me of that, Scooter? Tell me right now, so you can find somebody else to drink coffee with three days out the week.”
I took in air and let my jaws fill up. When Scooter leaned his long frame into his chair and crossed his legs at the ankles, I let out the air in tiny puffs.
“No, I’m not saying that, Ailey.”
“You sure? Because it sounded like that to me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“I accept your apology. And stop being so sensitive.”
“I’m not the sensitive one here. Don’t put that on me.”
He wanted to bluster. We both knew I had won, but I switched to a near whisper to save his pride. “Listen, Scooter. Let me explain something.”
“Like what?”
“Like there are two African Americans in the entire history department: Dr. Whitcomb and me. That’s it. And Dr. Whitcomb? He’s convinced himself that he can save the Black race, one history class at a time, even though ninety-nine-point-nine percent of his students are white.”
“And what about you, Ailey?”
“Me? I’m the sister who’s pretending not to care whether my white schoolmates think I could be at this university for a reason other than affirmative action. But I have to prove them wrong, and that means earning a perfect grade point average. So while I’m sorry that you think I’m being rude on purpose refusing your kind offer of a seafood dinner with you and Rebecca, I’m not. I’m studying, okay? And I really don’t have time for anything else.”
“Come on, Ailey! Rebecca’s really nice!”
“Sure she is, Scooter. Uh-huh.”
“And that’s why I want you two to connect, Ailey. I know she doesn’t always get, you know, the race stuff, but she’s trying. And maybe you can help her with that. Teach her.”
I sighed and moved in my chair.
“Ailey, look. I know Rebecca’s hard to read, but has it occurred to you that she just might be intimidated? You’re so smart, it’s kind of scary.”
“We have coffee, Scooter. How do you know anything about my brain?”
“Anybody who talks to you for five minutes knows you’re brilliant. Plus, you’re so damned beautiful. And you know how you girls get jealous of each other.”
I snorted. “Don’t you mean ‘women’？”
“Sorry! I don’t mean to be politically incorrect! Anyway, I think Rebecca’s just jealous. And no, that’s not cool, but a gorgeous creature can get away with anything, right? Or in this case, two gorgeous creatures.” He put his hand on my arm, rubbing lightly.
I scraped back my chair: the next round of coffee was on me. When I returned, Scooter asked for my phone number again. I was a woman alone, he told me. I needed someone in town to check on me. It wasn’t safe, and finally, I gave him my number. I warned, it was only for emergencies.