Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
I poke a fork at the food room service delivered and wrinkle my nose. It’s not great, but there’s an echo in my empty stomach and a throbbing in my head.
I’ve taken four mediocre bites when my phone lights up with a message.
Mateo: Down another four points in the polls. When are you coming back?
Can this day get worse?
Me: Don’t worry about the polls. They’re preliminary. We haven’t even really started. The election’s a long way off. I’m back tomorrow. I’ll be at headquarters by noon.
I hope he doesn’t respond, and he doesn’t. We knew this would be a tough race and that our odds are long, but the reality of this uphill climb gets to us all sometimes. I took valuable time away from the campaign to come to Alabama and fight this shitty voter suppression legislation.
And lost.
Now we’re down in the polls and Mateo’s side-eyeing me, probably second guessing his decision to hire our team. Wishing he’d gone with his first instinct, bet on the good ol’ boy Anthony.
Okay. I’m spiraling.
Lennix could get me out of my head, but she’s so close to delivering and has a lot on her plate. I hate to bother her. I could call Viv or Kayla. Even Mama, but I already know there’s only one voice I actually want to hear. And tonight I’m just weak enough to call.
He picks up on the first ring.
“Kimba?”
Ezra’s voice is dark liquid poured over my nerve endings, making me shiver, soothing me in the space of one hot breath.
“Hey, Ez.”
The rush of air on the other end sounds like relief, disbelief. Joy.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “We haven’t spoken and I—”
“I know. I’m sorry I haven’t called.”
A beat of silence fills up with all the things we could have said to one another over the last four months.
“You’ve been busy,” he says. “I understand.”
“So have you.” My smile belies the ache in my heart. “You turned in the book?”
“Uh, yeah. It’s all behind the scenes, preparation stuff right now.”
“How’s Noah?”
“He’s good.” A smile enters his voice, the one reserved for his son. “Same Noah. Looking for new and inventive ways to rule the world.”
I laugh, force myself to ask the next question. “And, um…Aiko? How’s the pregnancy coming along?”
Another beat of silence, filled with all the things keeping us apart.
“She’s great. The baby’s growing. Healthy.”
I want to ask if the baby has kicked yet. If he was there for that, if he felt it. If it’s a boy or a girl. If Aiko has that famous glow. If this is bringing them closer…again, reminding them why they spent the last decade together.
Making him love her?
But I don’t ask any of those questions in case I can’t live with the answers.
“You sure you’re okay?” Ezra asks. “Do you need me? I can come—”
“Yes, I need you, but no, you can’t come.”
“Tru,” he groans, my name torture on his lips. “Baby, where are you? Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Just a crap day,” I say, my words going watery. “I’m in this poo butt town fighting bullshit legislation that would promote voter suppression. And we lost. People who really needed this win don’t get it, and I feel… I feel like I let people down, you know?”
“You didn’t. I know you did all you could do.”
Right, and the worst part is when it’s not enough. So many times it’s not enough. Tears prick my eyes and it feels good to cry for someone other than myself; to step out of my own problems long enough to consider all the people and communities who’ll be affected when they purge those voter rolls.
“Shit,” I say, my voice wobbling. “Why are people so… God, I hate this.”
Tears run into the corners of my mouth as I think of the poor, elderly women on that committee I’m addressing tomorrow; the ones who have experienced the worst of discrimination. I sniff, appreciating the silence he allows me. He told me once I could take off my armor with him, and even though he can’t see me, I’m naked, vulnerable in a way no one ever sees me. I hope it’s all the hormones I’m taking and not my actual emotions.
“You know what I love about you, Kimba?”
I need to hear this so bad. “What?”
“You save all your tears for the things that set you on fire inside. Anyone who’s ever thought you were cold never got to hear your passion for people, never got to see you fight for them when it’s inconvenient or even a lost cause.”
He’s right. I do save my tears for the things that matter most. That’s why I cry for him.
“Ez, I miss you so much,” I say, my resolve crumbling.
“Tru, dammit, where are you?”
“Alabama.”
“I can come. That’s not far.”
“No.” I breathe in all the reasons he shouldn’t come. Breathe out my desire to have him with me. “I’ll be back in Georgia by noon tomorrow anyway.”