“Sex!” Marisol snaps her fingers. “That’s why you look so good. I knew it! I didn’t want to say it out loud, but I knew it!”
I cover my eyes. I would have preferred to start with, oh I don’t know, maybe the name of my new mom.
I gather up my head of school voice to gain control of this meeting and launch into a fact-finding mission about my dad’s, uh, love life. “Before we get to who this woman is, can we start with when you’ve been going on dates? I’ve never once seen you on your way out to dinner.”
“Nina, before this past year, have you ever once heard of me playing dominoes?”
I quickly scan my memory.
“Ummm, noooo. I guess I just assumed dominoes is the bingo equivalent for Black men of a certain age.”
“Have you ever seen me play dominoes at home, or any other game for that matter?”
I’m stunned into momentary silence by the scheming of the most honest man I know.
“No.” Dad never even liked playing Monopoly with me and Clive when we were kids, so his recent devotion to dominoes should have caught my attention.
“You dirty dog, Fitzroy, you’ve been using outings with the boys to front your romantic life! Nina, you getting all this?” Marisol pushes, making sure we’re both following along word for word.
“Okay, so you’re not actually an old-school gamer. Anything else you’ve been holding out on me? Like, oh, I don’t know, you’ve never stepped foot on a treadmill, and I’ve been paying your Y membership for no good reason?” I demand, though I’m afraid of the answer.
“The Y is what got me in shape and feeling confident to start dating. I promise, your old man getting remarried is all I have for one evening. Well, that and I’ve invited my fiancée over for coffee and dessert. She’ll be here in about ten minutes.”
“This night just keeps getting better and better,” Marisol gushes. “What’s her name, Fitzroy? And do we have time to do a quick Google search?” Marisol checks her watch.
This woman’s stepping foot in my house now?
“Her name’s KayCee Lang, and she owns a nail salon not too far from here.”
“HA! So, you have been cheating on me with another salon owner. Nina called it back in the fall, but I didn’t believe you would ever do me like that,” Marisol accuses, getting up to envelop Fitzroy in a giant hug. “But I’ll let it pass this time. Congrats, papi, I couldn’t be happier for you.”
I want to be happy for my dad, too, I do, but first I need to wipe off the shock and swipe on some lipstick before the second love of my dad’s life comes walking through my front door.
There were many things I may have expected when my father introduced me and Marisol to his fiancée, but KayCee being Asian and twenty years his junior were not two of them. Church going, of course. Age appropriate, I would assume. Black, no doubt in my mind. Turns out Dad really enjoys the pastor at KayCee’s church, but I misread the rest.
With Marisol on her way home to relieve Spanny and wrangle her boys into bed, Dad and I have been doing dishes in silence. It’s been a newsworthy evening, and we both need a moment to process. Or I need the moment.
“I want you to know, I’ve had a lot of late-night conversations with your mother about me, ummm, moving on.”
“You have, huh? I imagine it’s pretty easy to convince a dead woman to see your side of things.” Dad grins knowingly at my assessment of his talks with Mom.
“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?”