The reality of him, the steady pulse of this connection we share— with him standing in front of me, all the things that kept me on this coast seem ridiculous now.
“I . . . um . . . I was . . .” I squeeze my eyes closed for a second, feeling ridiculous now. “I was jealous.”
“Jealous? Of Qwest?” The heavy breath he expels breaches the air between us. The demand of his eyes is louder than the word, louder than her name in the quiet room. “Because of some awkward photo posted to Instagram? How could you possibly be jealous of anyone when you know I’ve looked my own mother in the face and told her I would choose you over anyone?”
Well, when you put it that way . . .
“I didn’t . . .” I falter because it’s true; he did that. As much as Ms. James has sacrificed for him and as much as he loves her, he told her that, for me. “Not Qwest specifically.”
“Baby, I’mma need you to get specific, because not one day since we got together have I ever given you reason to be jealous of any damn body, and yet you tried to play me—”
“I did not try to play you.”
“You tried to play me,” he persists, “like I was born yesterday morning and would accept some shit excuse for you staying here when you were supposed to be with me.”
He levels a hard look at me that somehow still manages to convey his love.
“Now tell me why.”
How do I put into words this awkward thing when nothing is ever awkward between us? But this is. This fear that crept insidiously into my head after my conversation with Jade and blossomed while I watched that panel—it’s awkward.
“I’m not jealous of Qwest specifically.” I’m embarrassed to even say this, but I have to. “When I watched that panel, I listened to Angie, and even to Qwest, to the other people onstage. I listened to you, and you were so passionate and knowledgeable and . . . I’m not—not about those things. What if some morning you wake up and my curiosity feels like ignorance? And you’ve lost patience with the things I don’t know that someone else would. What if one day you decide you want someone who’s . . .”
My voice peters out because to even say it feels wrong, but it’s what I’ve been wrestling with since my last conversation with Jade, even though I haven’t acknowledged it to myself.
“What if I decide I want someone who’s what?” Grip tips my chin up again to search my eyes. “Someone who’s Black?”
I don’t nod, but he knows. What if he decides someday that the one thing he really wants, really needs is the one thing I can never be?
“Bris, I get it. The more active and vocal I am about these issues, the more some people want to focus on me being with someone who isn’t black, but listen.” He slides his hand to cup my neck, his thumb caressing my jaw. “I won’t ever want someone who isn’t you.”
I know that, or I knew it before I was on one coast and he was on the other and everyone had something to say about us and all the warning seeds Jade dropped in my ears started taking root.
“I’m sorry I freaked out.” I draw a deep breath. “I kept thinking about you guys working together on her album, having your music in common, and then both being activists . . . all I could hear were the things Qwest was saying, the things Angie was saying, the things Jade said, and I—”
&nb
sp; “Jade?” Grip’s question slices into my explanation. He narrows his eyes, searching my face for answers I didn’t mean to ever give him. “What does Jade have to do with this?”
Shit.
“Um . . .” I offer a nervous laugh while I search for a way to put him off Jade’s scent. “Nothing. It doesn’t have anything to do with Jade. I just meant—”
“Bris, you know better than to lie to me. What did she say to you?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. Tell me.”
I press my eyes closed against his questions.
“I don’t want to come between you and Jade now that you’ve cleared the air.”
“You won’t. Me and Jade, we’re good. We’ll be good. Just tell me what she said.”
He dips his head and searches my eyes for anything I might hold back.
“Tell me everything.”