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)
“He was such a great man. I know we haven’t seen each other in a long time, but I would have come to the funeral if I’d been in town. Glad Ezra made it. I was surprised you two didn’t keep in touch after seeing each other again.”
“We were both really busy, I guess,” I tell Mona, turning to place dishes in the sink because I don’t know what my face would give away. “Lennix and I had just released our book. It hit the New York Times, which neither of us expected. Between the book tour and running a few campaigns, I didn’t have much time for going down Memory Lane.”
“What a fabulous life you’re leading,” Mona says, her smile pleased, proud. “And now, if Congressman Ruiz is smart, you might help Georgia elect its first Latino governor.”
“It’ll be quite the fight. If I get the job, it won’t be the best time to be pregnant.”
“Oh, yeah.” Mona’s expression falls. “You have a lot to think about.”
“I’m hoping this time off here at home will help me figure out what I want, what’s right for me.”
“Well, while you figure it out,” Mona says, tipping her head toward the window overlooking the backyard, “there’s a fine biker dude who might take you on.”
“I don’t know about a summer fling. My life’s too complicated right now for anyone to get the wrong idea about what I’m expecting.”
“Maybe just a few dates.”
“Nah. I don’t really like to date. I just like to fuck.”
Mona’s eyes widen looking over my shoulder, and then squint as she laughs. “Oh my God! If you could see your face, Ezra.”
I swing around and Ezra’s standing at the door holding an empty tray. He doesn’t look at me but walks past us to place the tray in the sink.
“Just like old times,” he says. “Me walking in on some conversation I wish I could un-hear.”
I wish I could un-say that last comment.
“Where’s Noah?” I ask, changing the subject quickly.
“Beating another victim at chess.” He doesn’t look at me as he continues loading the dishwasher.
Is he judging me? I shouldn’t feel self-conscious about what I said. It’s the truth. I do prefer just fucking. I don’t like strings, to be tied to someone emotionally or socially simply because we had sex. By and large, sex has been physical with very few side effects on my heart. I’m fine with that, and Ezra doesn’t get to judge me for it.
The silence that settles between us doesn’t have the chance to grow awkward because laughter and shouts reach us through the window. I peer out to the backyard. Overhead lights strung in trees lend the scene a warm glow. Two lines form, people facing each other, and Marvin Gaye’s “Got to Give It Up” drifts into the kitchen, the dance standard that no cookout is complete without.
“Oh, it’s on!” Mona says, hips already swaying, fingers already snapping, arms already in the air. “Soul Train line! Come on.”
“You guys go on ahead,” Ezra says, giving Mona an indulgent smile. “I’ll finish up in here.”
“You sure?” I ask, meeting his eyes for the first time since my awkward comment. “I can help.”
“Nah.” He extends his smile to me, though it’s less natural. “You know I never met a dance floor I liked, even if it is grass.”
A memory takes shape. Me dancing with Jeremy, and Ezra swaying awkwardly with Hannah, our eyes meeting over their shoulders. Boyz II Men singing “I’ll Make Love to You” before we even knew what it meant to make love. We had no idea our first kiss was right around the corner and down the hall. No idea it’d be with each other. Breathless innocence. The first taste of passion. My heart pounding through my training bra, and Ezra’s hands so strangely certain even at that age of how to touch me. Not in bases, first or second or third, but in stages. Exploring, easing, caring.
“Girl, he hates dancing,” Mona says, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the door. “You know that.”
I shoot one last look over my shoulder as we’re heading out back, and he’s watching me again. I don’t have to wonder if he’s remembering that night, that dance, that kiss.
That ending.
I know he is.
Chapter Nineteen
Ezra
I’ve always had two left feet.
My father tried teaching me to dance. He used to say my mother’s genes took all my rhythm in the womb. I used to think black people just knew how to dance. It was something I missed out on. A stray piece of my puzzle I never found.
My parents were shocked when I decided after high school in Italy that I wanted to attend Howard University. My mother didn’t know how to ask it, but she didn’t have to. The but why was all over her face. I’d received acceptance letters from Cornell, UCLA, and Columbia, my father’s alma mater. I didn’t even have a scholarship to Howard, but I chose it; I wanted to immerse myself into the unique experience I could only have at an HBCU. I needed to explore that aspect of myself, that black part of myself, in a place where it was affirmed.