“Are you actually going to eat anything?” The perfect breeze cooled without freezing our skin while we enjoyed an intimate dinner prepared by the chief stewardess, a Michelin-starred chef.
He looked skeptically at the caviar and the white spongelike dish, neither of which we could pronounce, on my plate as he sipped on red wine. “I asked for a gourmet meal for you. I gobbled down a sandwich before I left. I can’t take a chance.”
“Is it really your stomach? Ms. Murielle told me you’ve always been a picky eater. I mean, who doesn’t like pizza?”
“The cheese is too gooey,” Canaan explained it as if it were a fact.
I put down my fork. “Seriously? That’s when pizza tastes the best. Hot and cheese oozing off the slice. Perfection.”
He only wrinkled his nose.
I squeezed his thigh that rested against mine. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“First, for embracing my idea about inviting fans to your practice. And then you sweetened the pot by gifting fifty fans and their guests. That’s freaking amazing, Canaan. Do you know how many of us wouldn’t get this opportunity if you didn’t offer it? Who really gets to see a Formula One race?”
Canaan ducked his head slightly. “Tell Saraj he’s invited too. He can bring someone if he likes, on me too.”
I leaned against his shoulder, my heart bursting with joy. “You’re a good man. Do you know that? I’ve given you a hard time about the past, but you’ve shown up for me and others.”
“Nah . . . It’s easy to be generous when you have plenty. Be more impressed with the poor man who gives away his last penny. I know I’m more fortunate than most. My father’s business acumen transformed our family’s low-income status into generational wealth, and I played a role in making our family even richer. We might not see eye to eye on most things, but I have to give him his props for what he built from nothing.” He nudged my shoulder, clearly uncomfortable receiving praise when giving gifts to others.
I kissed his cheek. “I can appreciate what you’re saying. I just need you to accept my thanks because there are plenty of selfish, rich people in the world.”
He lifted one brow and reluctantly replied, “You’re welcome.”
“See, was that so hard?”
Canaan grudgingly smiled before he took another sip of wine.
“Is your father coming to Miami for the race next month?” From this angle, resting on his shoulder, his enviable lashes appeared long and curly.
“He probably doesn’t know I have a race,” he replied somberly.
I asked quietly, “What about your mother? Maybe this can bring you closer.”
“She’s a piece of work. Caught up in her public administration job for Chicago, and being a mother and wife to her new family keeps her too busy for anything else. Haven’t spoken to her since Christmas. We speak during the holidays, and she’ll send a text congratulating me on a race my younger sisters probably told her about.” His lips curled, “I do speak with my sisters from time to time since they’re now teenagers, and I want them to come to a race one day. They, at least, seem to be proud of me.” He glanced at me. “What about your parents?”
“My parents don’t really travel. We didn’t have much, and the only vacation I remember was a trip to SeaWorld in San Antonio, and my parents argued the entire time.” I reflected, “I’ve never known a more miserable couple.”
He tilted his glass toward me. “You might not understand it, but on some level, they want to be together and probably love each other deeply. You’ve been gone for years. Plenty of time for them to divorce if the love wasn’t there.”
I contemplated his statement. “I guess I never thought about it like that. Their example is one reason marriage hasn’t been the end goal. I’ve been happy by myself these last few years. Why would I mess it up by insisting on marriage?”
“My fighting parents are the reason I never wanted to be married. I’m sure at some point they at least liked each other since they did marry and had sex at least once.” He gestured to himself. “But I don’t believe they’ve spoken since I was ten, when he cursed her by phone in front of me for leaving me with her parents to raise instead of him. My father has never remarried, and my mother seems happy enough with her new family, I guess.”
Only the soft sounds of the yacht’s motor and the night waves filled the air as we held each other, locked in our own thoughts.
Canaan kissed my temple after a while. “May I ask how your career is about relationships, and you don’t believe in them?”
“I do believe in them. Just don’t believe you need one to be happy in life.” I lifted my head from his shoulder and stared out at the dark ocean lit by the orange moon. “I used to envy my friends’ parents growing up. They would talk about how embarrassing their parents were when they kissed or touched each other, and I remember thinking that my parents never did that. Then I noticed the love stories on TV and how happy people seemed. I wanted to study that and understand if love can make you happy or if you can be happy alone. The more I studied, the more I became interested in cultivating love and maintaining it, especially within the Black community, where many homes are broken. Then when my own heart was broken, I wondered if we could be happy without love. I have a hard time believing that God would only allow happiness inside a relationship.”
“What have you found out?”
“People are happier in a relationshipifit’s a healthy one. If it’s not, some research suggests you die younger than you would have had you remained solo. So, you’re better off physically and mentally being alone if you’re not in a healthy relationship.”
“That makes common sense.”
