“I’m biracial.” I don’t mean to snap, but I hate this conversation.
I’m fully aware that I didn’t inherit my dad’s blue eyes or freckled skin and that I look like my mom instead. Something my dad thanked god for all the time, never missing an opportunity to tell me how beautiful he thought I was. With my full lips, espresso eyes, and wide nostrils, I know I don’t look like what most people see as “mixed.” So when people make the assumption that I’m Black, they aren’t wrong, but they aren’t right either.
I know they don’t mean any harm, but what those people don’t see is a lifetime of feeling like I was just on the outside of everything. Always wanting to feel accepted, but never feeling like the world ever truly would. Always being made to feel like I had to pick one side over the other, but at the same time, being forced to pick the side that I resembled . . . not the side who actually raised me, the side that for some reason nobody can understand me connecting to.
“You know what?” Donny reaches over and turns back on the sports radio he was listening to. “As a person with some real fucked-up issues, I can recognize them pretty easily in other people. And if I know one thing, your problems aren’t with me . . . or even Q.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do,” he says. “I just hope that you can put aside whatever issues are fuckin’ with your head and start seeing Q for the man he is, not the man you think you’re supposed to see.”
I don’t respond to that. I can’t.
And thankfully for the throbbing starting to creep into my brain, Donny drops it.
All I know is this box better be the fanciest fucking box on the planet to make today worth it.
Twelve
The box is everything I expected and so much more.
The walls are covered with TVs showing the pregame shows from not only the Mustangs but all the other games from around the League preparing to start. The front of the box has a glass wall with a glass door seamlessly built in that blocks out the noise from the stadium. But as soon as you open that door and take a seat in one of the many chairs, you are right in the mix with a perfect view of the field. Then on top of all that, there’s a buffet table stocked with my favorite foods and a bar with three different kinds of whiskey.
It’s literally a dream come true.
“Why the fuck isn’t Brynn here?” Donny grumbles as he struggles to pick which alcohol he wants.
I have to admit, out of all the ridiculous First World problems I’ve ever encountered, having to pour your own free booze in a private (also free) box might be at the top of the list.
“Oh my god.” I pull the glass out of his hand and nudge him out of the way after he picks up then puts down the fifth bottle. I scoop some ice into the glass, pour in some Jameson, and top it off with ginger ale. “Take it.”
“Jame-O and ginger?” He gives the drink an approving nod before opening the glass door and picking his seat.
I almost scold him for not saying thank you. However, in my short time knowing Donny, I get the distinct feeling he’s physically incapable of not arguing back. So instead, I bite back the sarcastic remark on the tip of my tongue and appreciate the quiet now that he’s gone.
I breathe in the stillness and pour myself a Jameson and ginger as well. Just like my dad used to make us on game day before he got sick. He was definitely more of a nosebleeds type guy, but he would’ve gotten such a kick out of this. I close my eyes and raise my glass into the air, hoping he’s somewhere doing the same.
I take a deep sip and open my eyes just in time to see three boys barreling through the door and aiming straight for the food.
I’m guessing these are the Lamar boys and I’m also guessing that Donny wasn’t too far off about them eating all the food.
“Jagger, Jett, Jax, you better not act a fool today.” A booming voice I instantly recognize as Lavonne Lamar’s enters the room before she does. “And before you even think it, I don’t care what Donny says, you know I don’t listen to one word out of his fool mouth.”
And I’m in love.
I love Lavonne Lamar.
“I think you meant foul mouth,” Donny yells from his seat outside of the box.
“I said what I said, Donny! I don’t have time for any of your nonsense today.”
Okay.
So I was wrong.
Now I love her.
If only she rode in the car with us, my day would be going so much smoother.
Lavonne finally strides into the room, making her grand entrance one thigh-high boot in front of the other and—It. Is. Glorious!
Whereas two of her boys are wearing matching Lamar jerseys like probably thousands of other people in the stadium and the tallest—and I’m guessing oldest—boy is in a hoodie and basketball shorts, she is decked out to the nines. The red soles peek out from the inside of her heels as she walks, signaling that she’s wearing my mortgage payment on her feet. Like her oldest, she’s also wearing a hoodie. But instead of a Nike logo spread across her chest, there is a massive crystal-encrusted crest with a football in one corner, her husband’s number in another, the Mustangs logo in one, and a cursive L in the last.
The sparkle from it almost competes with the sparkle coming from the giant diamond on her ring finger. And even the clear plastic purse she’s carrying somehow looks designer.
There’s a new rule that says you aren’t allowed to bring a purse or backpack into the stadium unless it’s a clear bag. Not even diaper bags
