“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.”
“Uh-huh. I will, Dad, thanks.” My father always knows how to make me feel like his little girl. I reach over to shut the dishwasher, marking the end of our conversation. I’m not sure I’m buying Fitzroy’s argument, which conveniently justifies his late-in-life romance, but I love that he still wants to protect me.
“Don’t ‘uh-huh’ me. Believe me. And don’t go laying this burden on Leo, Nina. This is not about him. This is about you,” Dad lectures, following behind me as I turn off the kitchen lights. “Is feeling more Black worth feeling less happy?”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Marisol 5:02 PM
Did you find it?
Nina 5:03 PM
Leo’s in the shower, I’m looking right now. I want it bad Marisol.
Marisol 5:03 PM
I know, I know sis, but don’t get caught--that would be so cringe. Besides, what are you going to do if you find it?
Nina 5:04 PM
I don’t know I hadn’t thought that far but stop texting me you’re making me nervous and I’m on a mission.
“What are you doing?” Shit. Leo showered too fast. My hands are deep into his desk drawers.
“Looking for a pen. I have a thought I need to jot down before I lose it,” I stammer. It’s as good an excuse as I can come up with. How many places can a man stash a rejected engagement ring? As a species they aren’t that clever. I WANT MY RING BACK.
“Here’s a pen and Post-it.” Leo hands the items to me from his open work bag on the bed. Crap, now I have to pretend to write something down.
Sourdough bread
Sharp cheddar
Salted butter
I want a grilled cheese sandwich.
“Thanks for agreeing to go on the hospital tour with me. Don’t want to be pegged as the perverted single guy with a fetish for pregnant women.” Leo holds up a pink button-down shirt followed by a blue pullover. Then the pink again. “Which shirt do you think the maternity nurses will like better?” Leo asks, a little flirty. He sounds like a woman heading out to meet a promising first date. I point to the pullover, the blue pairs nicely with his dark hair. The more we are in the good graces of the nurses, the more quickly I’ll get ice chips when I’m in the throes of hell known as the wonder of childbirth.
“How is it you’re able to make this tour? Legal hours don’t bill themselves.”
“For twenty years my life has been dictated by billable hours, and now I’m cutting back. Now I’m ready for it to be run by that little dictator,” Leo says excitedly, circling his index finger at my stomach.
It hits me that Xandra called it. While she spent this year hearing Mr. Petrov with biased ears, I, too, may have had selective hearing when it comes to Leo and his commitment to this baby. The nursery in Omaha, coming to every doctor’s appointment with me, the Black to Basics parenting class, and now this; Leo’s been all in on being a parenting team from the get-go, and I’m the one who’s been pushing him and his family out.
“Let’s see, I have the map of the hospital pulled up on my phone. Turns out there’s a north and south emergency room entrance. Who knew? I’ve got a water bottle. I’m still a little dehydrated from my ride with T. J. this afternoon, and I’ve got my baby mama too.” Stifling a laugh, I look at Leo. “It’s okay. The guys in my parenting group said I can say ‘baby mama.’ Apparently, it’s pretty universal now, so I’m not culturally appropriating anything.” I let out a howl. Leo’s enthusiasm for our labor day dry run is contagious. Given Marisol’s unsolicited opinions on my stupidity and Leo’s commitment, I’m now feeling ready to stand next to him as a parental unit. I don’t yet have the right words to articulate my erratic behavior and debilitating doubts the past couple of months, but manic ring hunting aside, I know I owe Leo an explanation. Calming down, I recognize tonight isn’t about me; it’s dedicated to the anticipation of our baby’s birth day, and I don’t want to steal the spotlight.
“So, I’ve got something big for you,” I tease, wondering if the ring is under the mattress I’m sitting on, or maybe in one of the shoeboxes I spy at the top of Leo’s closet. Leo raises his eyebrows at me over the slug of water he’s pulling from his bottle. It’s hard to imagine anything bigger than my belly.
“Fitzroy’s getting married.”
“Pffft!” Leo spits water all over his rug.
“My reaction exactly. Turns out he’s been cheating on Marisol with KayCee Lang from KayCee’s Nails down the street from my house.”
“How’s Marisol taking the news?”
“Let’s just say she won’t be giving Fitzroy any more free manicures, but she’s been thinking he’s market ready for quite some time. We had dessert with KayCee, and Marisol gave her the double thumbs-up. I was the odd one out who thought my dad had shut down that business for good.”
“You okay with it?” Leo asks with concern, bending into his closet to hunt for shoes with just the right tread for hospital-grade linoleum.
“Not going to lie, it was a shock. I always thought my mom would be his one and only. But turns out all this time when I thought he was playing dominoes, he was playing house.” I pause to check in with myself. Am I really okay with my father remarrying, or am I programmed to spew a neutral party line? “But yeah, I think I’m happy for him. She keeps him active. The more active he is, the less time he’s riding my couch.”
“He got himself a live wire?”
“He got himself a trophy wife. She’s closer to my age than his.”
“Go, Fitzroy. Glad someone gets to play house.” I hear Leo mumble into his closet, unsure if that dig was meant for my ears.
I choose to ignore the comment to keep our date on an upbeat trajectory. Look at me, I’m acting more like an evolved one half of a couple. I know tonight marks a shift in our relationship, even if Leo’s not in on the good news yet.