“It wasn’t a competition, son,” Ezra says dryly, brushing a hand over his hair.
“I tried to explain,” says an attractive woman around our age with dreadlocks pulled into a regal arrangement just behind Noah. “But he wasn’t having it. You’re a winner in his eyes.”
I remember Ezra’s wife vividly, a petite woman of Asian ancestry. This woman doesn’t look anything like that, but she does look vaguely familiar.
“All that squinting,” she says, turning laughing dark eyes on me. “And you still haven’t figured out who I am?”
“We have met, right?” I ask, hating to admit I don’t recognize someone, but too curious to pretend.
“He was Jack,” she says, nodding to Ezra. “You were Chrissy, and I was—”
“Janet!” I shout, pulling her into a fierce hug. “Oh my God, Mona.”
Tears prick my eyes, and I’m probably holding her too tight, but I’m overcome with how good it feels to see her again. When her parents decided she wouldn’t bus into our district for high school, we kept in touch at first, but didn’t maintain the friendship, caught up in new schools, new friends, and all the changes that came with growing up and inevit
ably growing apart. Eventually, with Ezra and Mona both gone, I found a new circle of friends, and so did she. I heard snatches of news about her until I left for college, and then nothing—until now.
“I’ll let you off the hook because it’s been so long since we saw each other,” Mona says, pulling away to look me up and down. “Well, that and you gave us one of the best presidents this country has seen in recent memory. Congratulations, Kimba. When I saw you on CNN, I couldn’t believe you were the same girl who hated reading out loud in class.”
My cheeks go hot, which hasn’t happened to me in years. Sometimes I’m shocked to hear my own voice, my words strong and clear and flowing. Who would believe the girl rattling off stats and details in front of a camera, for millions of viewers, used to hate reading in front of her classmates?
I look up to meet Ezra’s stare, and I know he’s remembering that day in Mrs. Clay’s class. I’d forgotten this kind of telepathy we share, seemingly conducting thoughts between our minds with nothing more than a glance. There’s a disconcerting intimacy to it that feels wrong when his mind isn’t mine. Neither is his face, which settled into a roughly hewn beauty that I can barely tear my eyes from, or the big body standing like a tree offering shelter. I’m not his to shield. He’s not mine to shelter. We’re not each other’s anymore.
I guess we never were.
“Wait,” I say, looking between my old friends. “So you guys stayed in touch?”
“Not until we ran into each other a couple of years ago at a teacher’s job fair,” Mona says.
“I was staffing the school,” Ezra says. “And there was Mona. She practically runs the place now.”
“Now, we know that’s a lie.” Mona tsks. “This one’s a control freak. It’s bad enough I have to put up with him at school. Then we bought houses next door to each other. Aiko’s a good neighbor, even if he isn’t.”
“Aiko’s your wife?” I ask, looking from him to Ezra to Mona. “Where is she tonight?”
His expression freezes and his eyes widen. “Oh. Aiko’s in Tanzania on safari,” he says. “She’s a photographer, but—”
“They’re not married,” Noah interjects. “Mommy says marriage is a social construct like gender and race.”
A tiny startled silence is broken by us three adults laughing. Noah divides a puzzled look between us.
“It’s not funny,” he says, his little face earnest. “It’s fact.”
“Noah’s right,” Ezra says, turning to me. “Aiko and I aren’t married.”
Damn the breathlessness that seizes my lungs. I assumed they were married when I saw the three of them at the funeral and heard Noah call her Mommy. But it doesn’t matter if he’s married or not. He’s taken.
“Just because they’re not married,” Mona says with a smile, “doesn’t mean you aren’t a family, right? Your parents have been together longer than a lot of married couples.”
“I know.” Noah grins, showing a missing tooth. “Mommy doesn’t want Daddy to put a ring on it.”
“And Beyoncé shall teach them the way that they should go.” Mona laughs.
“I didn’t realize you’d started a school,” I say. “That’s amazing, Ezra.”
“Thank you.” He shrugs, a gesture I remember from when we were kids to downplay praise and attention. “Like I said at the funeral, your father convinced me I should when I ran into him.”
“Then it’s only fitting you’d receive an award in his name.” I twist the gold ring on my thumb Daddy gave me years ago. “It sounds incredible, what you’re doing at the school.”