Minutes passed.
“I was adopted.”
He looked at her over his shoulder to catch her rocking her leg and picking her nails.
“Okay.” He reached for a yellow sponge and scrubbed the pan.
“My adoptive family is White. They’re wealthy. Not obscenely rich, but rich enough. My father was an attorney. He died. Boat accident. My mother is an attorney, too. They chose to not have children, and then I came along. I was put in the best schools. I had nice things. Regardless, I felt alone. I was one of the few Black people in my neighborhood and school. I was teased a lot, and it sucked. My parents were good parents when I was a kid, but they didn’t know how to handle racial issues. Liberals.” She laughed. “They talked about being colorblind, things like that. That’s not realistic. It’s about as realistic as ghosts and Skinwalkers are to you.”
He grabbed a dish towel and dried off the two wine glasses, then placed them into a white cabinet with glass panes for doors.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“I’m listening. Why talk and interrupt you when I’m listening to you?”
He could see her sticking out her tongue and wagging it at him through the faucet. He laughed. How ridiculous she was, but he enjoyed her all the same. She quickly stopped making the face and leaned forward in her seat.
“You can see me in the sink?”
“Yes.” He pointed at the faucet.
She took a deep breath, then exhaled.
“I tried to be the perfect daughter because I did realize these two people who were raising me were doing the best they could. I got good grades. I enjoyed school itself, just not the other students. The bullying was nonstop. I tried to let things roll off my shoulder but as the years went on, I got tired of it. They removed me from that school and enrolled me in a more diverse one. It was a godsend. As time passed, I got curious and kept asking about my biological parents. My mother claimed to not know much about who gave birth to me. My adoptive parents had been very tight-lipped about the particulars, stating that my biological mother didn’t want me to know anything after the adoption was complete. She left me a couple of pictures of her, but that was it. I was disappointed.”
“What does this have to do with you moving to Alaska? Is your biological mother here and you want to meet her?”
“No. Nobody is here. And that’s just how I want it.”
“You’re running away from something.”
“I’m starting over.”
“No, you’re a runner. I know it.”
“I’m starting over is all,” she said again, this time with a tinge of annoyance in her tone.
“You’re running. Call it what it is.” He grabbed a knife and slipped it into the warm, sudsy water.
“Don’t be that guy… an asshole. I’m not in the mood.”
“Came all the way to Alaska to escape a nice family with good intentions, yet was ignorant about Black culture.” The water splashed around his arms. “Did all of that to punish them, right? Left a great career, one most people with your skillset could only dream of, and they helped you achieve it by making sure you went to one of the best dance schools in New York. The little I saw you doing just for fun in my living room must only have scratched the surface. You’re amazing, and you know it.”
“This is why I should have kept my mouth closed. I try to talk to you, a mere stranger, about something quite painful to me, and you’re making light of it.”
“You had a hard time as a kid. Got it. Such is life. You’re in Alaska as a slap to the memory of your father, and a kick in the ass to your mother. Both sets. Working your ass off as a waitress in a place that is basically like a foreign country to you, being paid pennies on the dollar, and measly tips from drunk, racist jerks who try to rob you on your way to your car. Boy, I’m sure your parents have learned their lesson! You’re really showing them!” He chuckled.
“Don’t lecture me. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You wanted me to open up and talk to you about me. I am. Now you’re throwing it in my face and being judgmental.”
“I’m not throwing it in your face. I am repeating to you what you told me, in my own voice.” He washed the forks, working the prongs with a soaped-up rag. “Got children in foster care right now prayin’ to be adopted by someone. Anyone. And here you are, throwing a gotdamn hissy fit because your attorney mother probably didn’t know how to comb your hair right, or talk to you about things that affect you more because you’re Black. I can see that as a problem, but your reaction is way over the top. That’s how ya repay her? Jesus. First world problems.” He snickered. “I can’t relate.”