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aleapoffaithfiction · 5 years

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VII.

"You learned to run from what you feel, and that's why you have nightmares. To deny is to invite madness. To accept is to control." ― Megan Chance

“See, Jesus was crucified, just for me.”

While leaning over to the side, I slyly slid another piece of my usual Mentos Pure Fresh “Fresh Mint” flavored gum into my mouth and sighed in relief at the immediate jolt of energy I felt as my teeth broke its round shape apart and the flavoring hit my taste buds. I had to sneak it, because like the child she often thinks that I am, but mother would have held out her gloved hand and viciously eyed me until I defeatedly spit it. According to her, it’s not ladylike to chew gum and especially in church, but I’m going to chew it regardless and I doubt God is concerned with that minuscule vice in my life.

“Give me a piece.” Celeste leaned over and whispered in my ear as she held her hand out and I dropped the bottle into her lap. She didn’t have as much of a chance of being caught as I did because I was sitting in the middle of both she and mommy.

We’re members of Emmanuel Baptist Church over on Lafayette Avenue. It’s right on the corner of St. James Place in the Clinton Hill section of Brooklyn and is under the leadership of Reverend Anthony L. Trufant and his wife Muriel. We’ve been fellows of this church for as long as I can remember and my mother is a good friend of the family; as was my father when he was living. There was even a point in time when I had somewhat of a friendship with their daughters but it was short lived because in my younger years I had far less of a tolerance for people who I cannot relate to. Celeste and I were baptized in this church, daddy’s memorial was here, and Celeste wed her now husband Preston here two years ago. Though I dreaded it, we used to come here every Sunday bright and early so that I wouldn’t miss Sunday school. I was in the youth group for a while but eventually bailed out on having to attend it because I heavily got into sports.

Every holiday season, I was forced to participate in the Christmas Nativity play, where I would play Mary no matter how much I wanted to be one of the Three Wise Men. I met the first guy I would have a crush on here, though it lasted all of a week. I was even apart of the choir for a short run and I’m not even sure why, because I’m no vocal powerhouse. I’m not even a vocal power shed if you let me tell it. Despite my lessening attendance over these last couple of years, I still consider this place to be my church home and it is where I will come back to until further notice.

“Sing it.” I glanced over at my mother as she raised a hand in response to Lucinda Moore’s voice. After days of calling and convincing me to come to Saturday night’s service simply for this concert, I finally agreed for the sake of appeasing her and I can’t say that I’m mad at it. Lucinda can sing from the depths of her gut and never fails to take a praise moment to its highest peak. She’s been in between singing and preaching for about an hour now with a sermon that calls for us all to “meet God all the way” because half-way isn’t going to cut it for anything that we do in life.

“Look at Mr. Weston.” As Lucinda continued to belt her way through “The Old Rugged Cross”, my eyes followed the direction of Celeste’s head and I instantly snickered at the sight of the older man ogling over my mother and her glimmering chocolate skin. Mr. Weston’s been trying his hardest to take my mother’s hand in marriage and yet she won’t even give him enough attention for him to take her out on a Saturday night date. I don’t think it’s her internal yearning for daddy that causes it.

Mr. Weston doesn’t even have finesse within his aging bones to woo her into sitting next to him during Sunday service. Then again, it might be the trifling aspects of who he is. When he received the phone call that his wife had been rushed to the hospital after having a sudden heart attack, he’d been out with his mistress and had the audacity to drive over to the hospital with the mistress still in the car with him. Mrs. Weston passed away that day, but every damn body sat up in here side eying the hell out of him as he wailed over her during the funeral. If it’s up to me, he’ll never date my mother because of all of that nonsense.

Mrs. Williams is the one who wants him. Or is it Mrs. Davis? Maybe Mrs. Wright? I lost count after the third husband. And then there’s her sister Denise who is about the most judgmental person I know. The woman has something to say about everyone’s kids except her own, especially her daughter Tiffany, who has made it her business and life’s mission to snag a baller. She may have secured a couple of hotel stays for some middle of the night fun, but a ring? Not even a Ring Pop. Church is where you’ll find the most hypocrisy but I suppose it makes perfect sense why that is.

“We should grab a bite to eat at The Food Sermon after this.” I’m all for healthy eating but there are just certain dishes that I’m not having in a healthy manner and Caribbean food is that. I’ll be damned if I eat pan seared jerked tofu as a jerk chicken substitute. Celeste and Preston are suddenly super obsessive with their newly started vegan lifestyle and I’m not joining them. It’ll probably be temporary anyway. He’s only doing it because she wants him to.

“Or we can go to Glady’s. Mommy won’t agree with you about that one, because she prefers Glady’s too.”

“Fine, brat.”

“I’ll be that.” I could have chosen somewhere that wouldn’t be in consideration of her new diet if I really wanted to be a brat, but I didn’t. Glady’s has vegetable dishes that should work out for the both of them.

“Shhh.”

I knew it was coming. If her hands weren’t covered with gloves, she might have pinched my arm. I’m always sat in the middle just so she can keep an eye on me because I’m known to find ways to distract myself in church if my mind isn’t completely focused on the sermon or choir. The Lord knows me well. I doubt he have as much of an issue with it as my mother does.

While buttoning the front of my Alexander Wang loose fitting blazer, I couldn’t help but to regret opting out of putting on the wool trench coat that I had laying across the backseat of the car. The nearly end of October air is a lot chillier than I thought it would be. Despite not being someone who enjoys extremely warm or cold weather, I always look forward to the fall because it’s when fashion is at its peak. There’s nothing like a sickening jacket with nice pop of autumn coloring in it, all entirely black look that is sleek, or heavy denim. Oh, and a thigh high heeled boot? Don’t even get me started. Tonight’s dress is a long-sleeved calf length Lowe piece with deep tan, red-orange, and white stripes cascading down it’s form. What really sold me on it is the black lace accents. It’s church friendly and yet if I were going on a lunch outing with Taylor, I’d be just as fine in it.

“Sarai.” Quinton’s hand immediately grazed my shoulder as our eyes met and though I smiled, it was in no way as big as the one gracing his caramel face. Quinton and I went to school together and yet never had any interactions until his father died in the same war that mine did, nearly a year apart. I suppose us dealing with the same level of grief is what served as the foundation of the friendship that we formed. We simply didn’t harbor it as life went on. We barely speak nowadays but I’m sure he’ll say that it’s my doing.

“Quinton. How are you?” We shared an appropriate hug and the fume of his strong cologne instantly made me draw back. It’s not pleasant.

“I’m well. How are you? I see you doing big things.”

“I’m the same. And I’m doing big things? Is that so Mr. Councilman?” He was elected a year ago and is over the Fort Greene, Clinton Hill, Crown Heights, Prospect Heights, and Bedford Stuyvesant neighborhoods. I definitely consider him to be a man of the people, because he could have run for a position within areas like Williamsburg, Dumbo, and Fulton Ferry and won. He’s that well celebrated within these streets.

“I’m not on ESPN though.”

“That’s nothing in comparison to the news coverage about you, the mentoring that I’m hearing you’re receiving from President Obama so that you can run for the Senate, and maybe even the Presidency later on down the line? I think you just want me to brag on you a bit.”

“I won’t stand here and pretend like I’m not flattered.” We shared a laugh that attracted the attention of a few others. I could see my mother eyes lighting up from the corners of my eyes. She’s barely paying attention to what Denise is saying to her.

“You know we’re all proud of you.”

“But you’ve yet to be proud of enough of me to allow me to take you out to dinner. You know we have history.”

That history he speaks of is not our friendship. The summer before we went off to college, we pity fucked one another after having had a conversation about our daddies that left the both of us emotionally drained. Though he wasn’t a virgin, he might as well had been because it was far more of an awkward encounter than it was anything else.

I won’t hold anything about that hot summer evening against him though. No seventeen-year-old boy has the stamina of a stallion and the skills of a veteran porn star within the bedroom. Quinton barely knew who he was personally, so how could he have known who he was as a pleaser? The same could be said for myself.

It was me who decided that we should go on as if it never happened. Hell, it still feels like it never happened. While Quinton is a nice-looking man, I’ve yet to have even the slightest interest in him beyond our occasional run ins.

“Here you go. It’s a timing issue more than anything.” See? I’m a hypocrite too. First, premarital sex. Second? I’m lying right here in the house of God. No matter what the circumstances are, a person will make time for who or whatever it is that they want.

“It can’t always be timing right? We should plan it out so that we won’t run into scheduling issues. I know you’re up there in Bristol a lot and your schedule can be just as crazy when you’re not and you know I’m quite busy myself but I’m willing to make the time for you Sarai.”

Whenever he asks me out, I find myself pondering if we share anything in common beyond what we already know or what we’ll speak about while sitting across from one another at some upscale restaurant of his choosing and I always draw a blank. From there, I snicker at the thought of whispered words about Brooklyn’s fiscal year preliminary budget or development with the deeper urban areas being his dirty talk or pillow talk within the bedroom. That aside, I’m not interested in being his First Lady. I don’t want to play that role, because that’s exactly what it is. Politics is full of actors with empty promises. I’m not saying that Quinton cannot be genuine, but even those type of politicians are just as good of liars as the crooked ones.

“You have my number. Call me. We’ll figure it out.”

“I will. Just make sure you pick up.” That was a cheap jab, but I’ll take it. Out of all of the women within this church who are vying for a chance to be Mrs. Quinton Jeremy Marshall, he constantly comes my way. Maybe that’s something? I don’t know. Only time will tell, but right now, it’s not saying much because I don’t feel anything.

“I will.”

“Hopefully I’ll be able to convince you that we’re a good match before some NBA guy does.” And there it is; the assumptions about what goes on in my life pertaining to athletes beyond work obligations.

“I don’t date athletes.”

“I’m not saying that you do, but there’s no denying that they’re interested in dating you. Unfortunately, I don’t catch the show often, but sometimes I do catch a couple of those one on one interviews you conduct on YouTube and they usually feel like one big lust fest. Doesn’t that make you uncomfortable?”

“I don’t notice it. Also, I feel like people overexaggerate things. These days, you can’t sit a male or female of no relation in the same room without people creating sexual scenarios. That just shows you how screwed up people’s mentalities are.” And that includes you Quinton. I’m not sure if it’s jealousy or indifferent written all over his face, but it’s something. And this is yet another reason why we cannot date. He’s the worst version of an alpha male because there are plenty of sexist undertones within the way he thinks and what he says. He’d expect me to diminish enough of myself in order for him to feel like the man when he’s parading me around some fundraiser or while I’m standing in his shadow as if he gives some speech.

“Or maybe you’re downplaying things. I watched Odell Beckham Jr. stare at you like you’re some type of rare species. I know what those type of looks are about. I am a man after all.” Are you?

“Maybe I am a rare species. We’re not all cut from the same cloth, right Quinton?”

“Maybe so.”

“I’ll see you around though. My stomach is growling and my folks are waiting for me.”

“Don’t forget what I said”

“About timing? I won’t. As I said, give me a call. We’ll figure something out.” And with that, I left him to stare at me as I walked towards the back of the church.

I didn’t feel compelled to hug him again because it would have been lingering on his end and easily would have attracted more attention than I would’ve liked. Despite there being a number of women around here who would love to be claimed by him, oddly, there are people who advocate for us. Even Reverend Trufant snuck in a joke about being willing to officiate our nuptials when the time is right. I’d rather not give Quinton or anyone else any false hope tonight or any other.

Rather than taking three cars, I drove everyone from mommy’s house over to the church. While it may have sounded pointless to them, I insisted that we go back and get Preston’s car so that I’ll be able to drive back to Edgewater right after dinner. I’m tired, cold, and I’m not staying out here tonight. She may have convinced me to come to service but spending the night at either one of their houses can quickly turn into a night of aggravation. I’m so used to living on my own that personality clashes happen as soon as my element is interrupted.

“That Quinton sure is fine.” I knew it was coming. It’d been on the tip of her tongue the entire time she sat in the passenger seat of my car, but I purposefully drowned her out with a couple of classics from Richard Smallwood. I knew she’d quickly began to sing along and forget about hounding me about him, but I should have known she’d only briefly put the thought aside. I can’t even enjoy this peppered shrimp and side of plantains now. Within a couple of minutes, the know it all will add in her warped opinion.

“Isn’t he?” How can she agree with her husband sitting right there alongside her?

“Is he still running for the Senate?” Preston directed that question to me as if I should know. I’ve only heard the rumors and it makes sense. I’m sure councilmen is only a stepping stone for a long running career in politics.

“I’m sure he will at some point.”

“And he’s looking for this one here to be his Michelle Obama and yet she’s running from it.”

“I’m not running from anything. I’m simply not interested. Michelle Obama is amazing and I admire the hell out of her, but not to the point of wanting to mirror her life. I doubt she’d want that for me either. This is a woman who has advocated for women to work hard to be exactly who it is that they want to be.” Michelle was never caught up into the dated traditionalisms of a woman needing a husband in order to look proper in society. She was already a lawyer when she met her now husband.

“And yet here she is, pushing away the one man who actually wants her enough to continue pursuing her.” If I were some tacky reality show chick, I would have made a scene in this restaurant but I won’t for the sake of my reputation.

“The one man who wants me?” I had to made sure I heard her correctly.

“That’s not how I meant it and you know it. You barely put yourself into situations to find someone.”

“I’m not looking.”

“And that’s the problem right there.” As soon as my mother interjected, I dropped my fork into the plate and rested against the back of the seat.

“For who? You?”

“She lives in a house about three times the size of mine and yet she’s in it alone.”

“I live in a house three times the size of yours because it’s what I worked for. I didn’t have to find a man to give it to me. I wanted it and went and got it. It’s not my fault that you can’t relate.”

Initially, I didn’t want to take any shots at her because I respect her lifestyle. She has a career, but it’s no secret that Preston is the breadwinner in their marriage and it works for them. They’re settled, happy, and are beginning to work on trying to have a baby. I rarely if ever label myself with the feminist title, but if I did, I wouldn’t be the type to frown down on women who want to be in the boardroom closing deals or at home raising their children and keeping the house put together. For as long as it is a choice, there is no judgement from me. But Celeste? She takes me there.

“Well lucky for me, I have a man who loves me enough to want to give me amazing things and the best part of it is we enjoy it together. I don’t live in a house three times smaller than yours alone. I don’t go to bed alone. I don’t travel alone. I don’t celebrate my birthdays alone. I don’t have to do everything for myself, whether I’m tired or not, because I live my life without anyone else in it. I have a life partner here with me. Where’s yours? Or did you have hopes that dad would always be the man in your life?”

And this is why whenever people ask me if we’re close, I laugh it off and shrug. I don’t know what we are. After the tragedy within our lives, we continued to grow further apart from the once closeness that we used to have. Even with her gravitating towards mom, we didn’t clash as much then as we do now. Our clashes are typically started by her. It’s the manner in which she seems to pick apart who I am that instantly rubs me the wrong way. It’s not even constructive criticism. It’s simply her being a bitch.

“Your dependency on men has always been at the forefront of your life. If it wasn’t Preston, it would have been someone else. And if it wasn’t that someone else, it would have been another person. I don’t ever remember any point in my life when you were single. So, I’m not impressed. Ya’ll can have this shit, honestly.” I dropped my napkin into the barely halfway eaten plate and immediately stood to my feet. I’d already paid for everyone’s meal as a treat, so I didn’t have to wait for some server to come over with the checkbook.

“Sarai, sit down.”

“I’d rather go and I am. Enjoy yourselves.”

“And this is why I call you a brat. Whenever someone says something that you don’t like or calls you out on your shit, you run.”

“Goodnight.”

“Sarai!” Not even my mother’s stern summoning could influence me to turn around as I walked out in the night. My car served as my solace and the sounds of a Musiq Soulchild Essentials playlist from Apple Music was my soundtrack for my drive home. A blessing of no traffic at any point allowed my arrival time to be just a couple of minutes under an hour.

Let me ask you something. You really think I can come back from this injury? It’s not even a matter of getting back on my feet again because I’m sure that’s possible, but will I be the same player I once was? I’ve been thinking about it and the more I do, the more I really don’t know.

I hadn’t even gotten out of the car when his message came through and as I sat in my seat reading it, I immediately scoffed because I know that is nothing more than his own sulking with a couple of droplets of Scott’s ridiculously biased and purposefully controversial take about some players never being who they once were within their respective sports after surgeries that don’t exactly fix what may be permanent damage.

You’re going to be even better than you were before. We all know that everyone gets a thrill out of a good comeback story but this is more than that for you. You have something to prove to yourself more than anyone or anything else. Your determined spirit will carry you through this and next year, we’re all going to celebrate what you worked so hard for more than we’ve ever celebrated you before. You got this and you know you do. It’s what we’re all a fan of when we speak of Odell Beckham Jr; your keen awareness of who you are and what you’re capable of.

And just like that, I was starting the car. I hadn’t even gone inside to get out of the pumps that are now starting to cause my toes to ache.

Have someone open the door for me. I should be there in about twenty.

It took five minutes over the twenty I estimated because I stopped at Dunkin Donuts for a hot chocolate. I wasn’t cold anymore because the heat in the car had already warmed me up, but I had a taste for it. I even grabbed Beckham a cup.

“Why are you the one answering the door?” I rang the doorbell about two minutes ago. No wonder it took so long for anyone to come and get it. As he leaned against the crutches, Khan and Blackjack were standing alongside him in a protective stance as Mowgli lingered around in the background.

“Nobody’s here but me.”

“I find that hard to believe. You’re never home alone.”

“You’ll be surprised how much I actually am home alone.” As he crutched himself backwards, the dogs moved alongside him in unison to allow me entry into the home. I think they’re starting to get used to me and I’m not sure if it’s a bad or a good thing. I’ve found myself bonding with Eris, who is technically the lady of the house.

“I got you a hot chocolate from Dunkin.”

“Thank you.”

“Uhm.” I noticed we weren’t going downstairs as I trailed behind him. Instead, he made his way into the living room and flopped down on the couch. He’d been playing video games before I arrived.

“Why are you so dressed up?”

“I’m coming from Saturday service.”

“Church?” His eyes widened and he couldn’t mask the few chuckles that followed. What’s so hard to believe about that?

“Why is that so shocking to you?”

“It’s not shocking, but I just can’t picture you going to church on a Saturday night. Maybe Sunday service, but Saturday night? No one under forty is going to a Saturday night service.” Alright. He got me there.

“I went with my mother, sister, and brother-in-law.”

“What’s your sister’s name?”

“Celeste.” I tossed my jacket on the arm of the couch right after placing the Styrofoam cup filled with hot chocolate on the glass coffee table.

“Lace? You sure you just went to church? Lace is more date night.” The lace is in places that most wouldn’t consider sexy. There is no cleavage on display; not even a bit of thigh. I would have been scolded endlessly had I done that.

“Why does lace have to be for a date night? Lace is universal. I used to wear white lace gloves to church when I was about five.”

“You’re certainly not five now.” Our eyes met and I took yet another sip of the warm sweetened drink. Suddenly, I wish it was a frozen hot chocolate.

“Someone did try to take me on a date though.” I’m not sure why I’m sharing this, but we’ve developed enough of a connection to the point where we share a lot of random and sometimes private information with one another.

“Who?” He hadn’t taken the game off of pause yet; didn’t reach for the hot chocolate either.

“Remember the friend who I mentioned to you? The one whose father died in the same war that mine did? Him. His name is Quinton.”

“I figured he was more than a friend when you mentioned him.”

“Why?” We were kids at the time. I didn’t emphasize much more than that.

“I don’t know. I just felt it.”

“Well, believe me when I tell you that we’re just friends. I’m not interested. There was a point in time when we crossed a boundary but nothing more came out of it.”

“Okay.” I was surprised that he didn’t question me about the boundary but then again, he’s just as intuitive as I am most times. He knows what boundary that was.

“He’s a councilman in Brooklyn now. He’s going to run for a seat in the Senate soon enough. Politics are his thing. He’s been trying to take me out for a while. For whatever reason, he thinks we’re a good fit for one another.”

“And you don’t?” As he stretched out his lengthy fingers, I could hear the sounds of a few of them cracking.

“No. I don’t think we relate much. We gel well as distant friends more than anything else. He’s looking for a wife. I don’t want to be that.”

“His wife or anyone’s wife?”

“I don’t know. Marriage isn’t something that I’ve made a part of my plans when I mapped them out. It’s not something that I’ve ruled out, but I’m not necessarily yearning for it either. It’s more of an it is what it is situation for me. You?”

“Initially, it was a big ass no. I wasn’t pressed for it. I watched my pop marry someone and I knew he didn’t want to get married. Ultimately, it didn’t work out for him. Now, I’m not against it. Whenever that day comes, it’ll come. I just want to do it one time when it does come. When I get down on one knee, I have to absolutely know that this is it and this person is going to be the one I’m growing towards wrinkles and diapers with. That shit has to work out.”

I’m sure everyone who stands at an alter and vows their life to someone feels exactly the same way he does. It’s supposed to be final; that moment to seal the deal between your soul and someone else’s. It’s tricky though. That honeymoon bliss eventually turns into tests of tolerance and plenty of trials and tribulations. In being around my parents, I was exposed to many of their friends’ marriages. Sure, they were in love, but I’m not sure if a few of them were genuinely happy.

“That’s fair.”

“So, this Quinton guy, he’s never getting a chance to prove himself? Not even one date?”

“Probably not.”

“What about me?” I didn’t expect it to go that route, but I know it’s been lingering on his mind since we began to bond with one another.

“Everything about us will never make sense and we both know this. Even what we’re doing right now wouldn’t go without question. I’m not supposed to be here or anywhere near you.” He sighed, not in defeat, but in disappointment at the words that I’d chosen as a response.

“How is that?”

“Because it’s a conflict of interest. Did you think that I was speaking in jest when I said that the night, we all hung out after your game? Having a personal relationship with you will easily have me viewed as someone who has a bias towards you and all that you do. I already catch hell for what I said about you, so can you imagine what would happen if TMZ happened to catch up the two us leaving some restaurant or nightclub together? Do you understand what would happen if you were to post or say anything about me on social media beyond whatever it is that I say about you in a professional setting? I would not only be ripped to shreds, but I’d be fired. Why do you think I kept stressing you and the guys about not post anything whenever I was visiting you at the hospital? Why do you think I was sneaking in, so bundled up?” The pictures and videos that are on his phone and everyone else’s are for personal memories. I don’t mind that. I figured they’d be something to put a smile on his face whenever he needs one, just as they do for me.

“Does it say in your contact that you will be fired for any of this?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t against the ethical code and conduct of the company? I would be forced to resign. Not only that, but do you realize how hard it is to be taken seriously as a female sports journalist? If you let the public tell it, I’m screwing every single athlete that I’m standing within five feet of. I’m not supposed to know about sports. You know how many ‘get in the kitchen’ comments I get? Hell, the NFL fans are the harshest. They tell me that I don’t know shit and I belong on my back for a living.”

“Because they’re fucking ignorant.”

“And yet it’s my reality. I’m not trying to nag you about this because I know what I signed up for and I can handle it, but how do I handle standing in front of the president of ESPN and him telling me to write my resignation letter before they’re forced to publicly embarrass me by firing me?”

“Within all that you said, you know you’re also saying that we can’t be friends and yet here you are, sitting here with me. I didn’t tell you to come here tonight. You came on your own.”

“Because I figured you were a bit upset. It’s the vibe I’d gotten in the text messages.”

“That’s the excuse you’re going with? You could have kept texting me. You came because you care and because you wanted to.”

“I do care about you. I just have to wonder how much do you care about me if you’re okay with me jeopardizing everything that I have and everything that I am for you and only you.” Instantly, he turned his head in my direction and narrowed his eyes.

“Me and only me? So, I’m in this alone?”

“In what?” I had to stand up. Not only had the tension in the room thickened, but my legs refused to remain settled. I kept bouncing them in an anxiousness that I couldn’t comprehend.

“Sarai. Seriously? And I’m not asking you to jeopardize your career.”

“Then what are you asking me to do?”

“I don’t…” His ran his hands threw his blonde curls and tightly closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry about it. I was only dropping by to check on you. I’m going to go.”

“Sarai.”

He frowned as I grabbed my jacket from the arm the chair and threw it over my shoulders. The quicker I leave, the better off we’ll both be in terms of riding ourselves of the steam. I’m tired anyway.

“It’s fine. I’ll give you a call to see how you’re doing soon.”

“You don’t have to go. That’s not what any of that was supposed to cause.”

“But I do. I need to go.”

Once my clutch bag was secured under my arm, I grabbed my keys off of the table.

“Sarai.”

“Be safe in here. Stay off of your foot.”

I was out of his door before we could exchange another set of words with one another and quite frankly, I’m not sure when I’ll ever walk through it again. I don’t have much, despite whatever people may see or believe. There are plenty of question marks next to a lot of the emotional aspects of life’s necessities but I do have my sanity and everything that I worked damn hard for. If that’s suddenly snatched away from me, then what’s left? A mother who doesn’t know much about me beyond what she assumes or wishes I were and an older sister who doesn’t take me seriously? Much like Beckham, I’m chasing a legacy and I have a lot more to do to make it eternally standing.

One date. We’ll do it somewhere around our old stomping grounds; it’ll feel nostalgic. Next week. I’ll get back to you with the day. Here’s your time.

If I have to choose right now, that’s the choice that makes the most sense.

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