Instead, he asks, “Where was your dad in all of this?”
“What?” I ask, my eyes growing bigger.
“Your dad. What did he do when she was doing all of this stuff?”
My shoulders tense, and I pull back into myself.
“He tried his best.”
“Did he?”
“Yes,” I practically yell at him.
Touching a sore spot, I ignore the pain. I refuse to admit out loud that my childhood was the fault of both my parents. I only have my dad now, and I can’t lose that too.
“Monty, I can say that I constantly work on unlearning my biases and educating myself. But you’re right. I’m not going to be perfect. But your kids would never go through what you went through because you wouldn’t let them. If I were even slightly discriminatory towards them, you would leave me and never look back. We would have a different life.”
I’m at a loss for words. Anything I could have said was stolen by his rebuttal.
“Look, we haven’t known each other very long, and I have a lot to prove to you in a lot of areas. But your past won’t be your future. The fact that we’re even having this conversation right now is setting the groundwork for how we will be together.” He grabs my hands again, this time pulling me into his lap.
“I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and yes, the color of your skin obviously plays into that. But what has made me stick around and keep fighting for you is the way that you are. This confidence, your humor, and the fact that you’re a bit of anerd is what is going to make me fall in love with you. I don’t want you despite the fact that you are Black, or because you are Black. I want you as you are, and love that it includes your Blackness. We are different than your parents.”
He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me tightly into him. Kissing my neck, he nuzzles his face there.
“I hate you,” I say, huffing.
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do. You are too good at words, and it makes it hard for me to stand my ground.”
“You’re just mad you found someone who can argue with you.”
“I would just like for you to be a little bit more unreasonable.”
“Sorry, I can’t do that.”
“Ugh.” I bury my face into my hands. The thought of having to talk about the other portion of my trauma has me fretting about the future.
“What now?”
“Nothing.”
He tickles my sides, causing me to fall into a fit of laughter. Trying to pull away, I’m unsuccessful as he holds me close.
“Tell me,” he says, his fingers moving up and down my sides.
“No.”
“Tell me.”
I finally lurch off of him and make a run for it. Getting about ten steps away, the constant fatigue has me slowing down. Because of this, he catches up and lifts me off the ground.
“Callahan.”
“Monty.”
“Callahan!”
