My dad and I stood in an unreasonably long line to order. Ahead of us, people moaned, literally throwing up their hands. I wasn’t sure what kind of service they expected from Burger King, but apparently this wasn’t it. I realized later they were probably Europeans.
At the register, I stared at the counter while my dad argued with the cashier about how burgers used to be ninety-nine cents, fantasizing about banging my head against it. When we sat, he removed everything from his patty and laid it on a napkin to make sure he’d gotten what he ordered.
“Daddy, it’s a burger.”
He slapped the one piece of iceberg lettuce back on his bun. “People will run over you if you let them.”
“These people are making minimum wage. Who are they gonna run over?”
“They used to not let your butt into these burger places.”
“Who? Black people?”
“Nope.” He took a big performative bite of his burger.
I gazed out the window. The glass was streaked with rain. “How’s the job search?”
He shrugged. “You heard of this thing called DoorDash?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m gonna do that.”
I knew my mom wouldn’t be happy about him delivering food, but at least he was doing something. “That’s great, Daddy.”
“It ain’t great being sixty-something still taking your butt to work. I just wanna be on a beach somewhere.” He looked out the window. The rain had turned to sleet like dark magic.
“I’ll make sure you won’t have to work much longer.”
He daintily dabbed the mayonnaise from his mouth with a napkin. “How you doing that?”
“I’m gonna write novels!!”
He chewed so aggressively I could see his jaw locking and unlocking. “They don’t make burgers like they used to.”
I saw an opening. “Yeah, that’s what mom’s friend Sam always says.”
He frowned. “Who the hell is Sam?”
This meant Sam was a secret, I just didn’t know what kind.
Five guys walked by the window in fake army clothes. They looked nothing like the white people you typically saw in this city—more rugged, calloused in some nameless way. My dad’s eyes slowly tracked them until they disappeared around the corner.
I got a text from my mom then saying Aunt Lisa was coming next week, that I needed to clean my room since she’d be staying in it. I reread the text with a strange feeling.
“Did you know Auntie Lisa was coming?”
He paused. “Yeah.”
He stuffed his trash into a paper bag and stood. We were leaving. It was clear he hadn’t known.
On the walk to the car, he put a heavy arm around me, tossing out the idea of moving to Brazil after the inauguration tomorrow. He spoke with such earnest hope that, feeling tender toward him, I played along. Sharing an umbrella too small for us, we conjured the golden beaches of Rio, hurrying through rain.
Chapter 40
Campus had frozen overnight. Tiny icicles hung from the railings outside like little spears. Students slipped on patches of ice then turned it into a dramatized TikTok dance with “Murder on the Dancefloor” playing in the background.
When I turned inside the humanities building, CNN was on in the lounge: The President had signed a flurry of executive orders, had told federal agencies to unwind all diversity, equity, and inclusion programs. My mom had gotten a memo from her head boss about the changes. “In my twenty years, I’ve never seen anything like this,” she’d said the other night, kicking her pumps off at the door. She was trying to hide how rattled she was, but I could hear it in her voice.
