Kai did some squinting of his own, his brow furrowed as he thought about the question.
“I think ... I don’t know what he talks to her about. I don’t know how much he shares about his experiences, but I think in being my father, he understands that he needs to …”
He stopped and thought for a while. And I felt a strange tenderness toward him as he grappled with what he wanted to say, or what he could say without betraying his parents, or diminishing their relationship.
“I think my pops knows that to be the father he needs to be to me, some things maybe my mother won’t understand.” He was still speaking haltingly. “So, he shields her from it. Because I think he … believes it would break her heart.”
“What would break her heart? Being excluded, or …”
“No. Finding out the truth about what it’s really like to be a Black man in America. And knowing the full extent of what her husband and her son have to face.”
I leaned back against my extended arms.
I didn’t say what I was thinking, which was that it might be both unfair and paternalistic for him and his father to shield his mother this way. And that if she was in fact ignorant of what they faced, she had no excuse because her son and her husband were Black men, and that gave her a responsibility to educate herself.
I didn’t say either of those things because I didn’t know enough about his family to say them, and ultimately it didn’t matter. What mattered most to me were two things: one, that he had told me all this at all, and two; that he was the kind of son who interpreted things in the light most loving and compassionate to both his parents.
What I said instead was something that I did, in my heart believe.
“Well, you can never know what couples talk about in the private space of their marriage.”
Kai nodded. “Yeah. True.”
That thought seemed to reassure him in some small way because his shoulders relaxed a little.
“For all you know, both your parents are home right now talking about the fact that you’re probably out here marching for Black lives.”
He smiled and those blue-gray eyes brightened a little. “Doubtful,” he said. “But you’re right. You never know.”
“Where is home anyway?” I asked him.
“The DMV.”
“What?”
He laughed. “Not the Department of Motor Vehicles. The DC-Maryland-Virginia area.”
“Okay, but which one?”
“Just over the border where DC meets Maryland in a town called Silver Spring.”
“I’ve heard of Silver Spring. Is it nice there?”
“Uh huh.” He nodded, still smiling at me.
Our order-taker walked by and handed Kai the check, muttering ‘whenever you’re ready’ in a tone that actually conveyed ‘as soon as possible.’ Apart from the fact that we were surrounded by police officers, there was no guarantee that we wouldn’t amble off without paying at all. Things were a little unorthodox these days; carryouts transformed to sidewalk dining, and cops ignoring clusters of people eating on the street just blocks away from the jail, because they needed to go out to man a protest and bring more people to the jail.
Kai leaned to one side, to retrieve his wallet from his back pants pocket, then patted, looking perplexed and then tried the other side. Finally, he stood and tried the front pockets too.
“Shit!” he said.
“What happened? Did you …?”
“My fuc… I don’t have my doggone wallet. I must’ve …”
Anyone who had done this before would have told him that you don’t take your wallet to a protest march. Anything could happen—from outright theft to a full-on melee like we had today, where personal items get scattered, lost or destroyed. And also, you could give a false name if you got nabbed and didn’t have ID on you. Not that I had been brave enough to do that.
“Did you have it at the lockup?” I asked.
“They didn’t … No, I don’t …” He seemed to be trying to remember. “Shit. I can’t … I’m pretty sure I …”
Then he looked at me, his expression a mix of stricken and embarrassed.
“It’s okay. I can take care of …” I reached for the check, but he pulled it out of reach.
“Nah. If they take Apple Pay, I can use my phone,” he said. “Lemme go see.”
He walked away, with the check in hand, but I was already certain given the datedness of the place that they were likely to have only an old-fashioned cash register and card reader. And sure enough, Kai returned moments later looking mortified.
“It’s fine,” I said, reaching for my backpack on the curb next to me. “You’ll get it next time.”
It was only then that he looked slightly more upbeat. I guessed it was the reference to “next time” that had done it. I only meant it as a common figure of speech, but once it was out, I had to admit. I wouldn’t mind if there were a next time.
Bill taken care of, we stood awkwardly for a few moments at the curb before I extended a hand. Kai looked at it, then grinned.
“You’re just gonna shake my hand?” he said, grinning. “And walk away just like that?”
I laughed. “Well. I mean …”
“I admit, it’s been a crappy first date. Getting arrested and me stiffing you for our breakfast … or lunch. But I was hoping I could get your number at least, and maybe …” He let his voice trail off.
The fact that he called it a date was, I knew, just a joke. But it still gave me confidence that he wasn’t slotting me into the friend zone. That was when I admitted to myself that that was not the zone I wanted to be in with him. There was something a little embarrassing about knowing that even in a full-blown racial justice crisis, I was noticing cute boys and crushing on them. Like, how shallow was that? Tianna would never …
I handed him my phone.
