by Kiley Reid
His Facebook. His Instagram. His LinkedIn. His workplace. When Alix discovered he didn’t have a Twitter account, she crept back out to her bedroom to retrieve her phone so she could thumb through Venmo and try to find his transactions. Alix could remember when Facebook came out with a photo feature—it was 2005—and that was probably the last time she’d gone this hard. But ten years later there was much to behold. Despite what he’d said to her when he’d stepped into her home, it was Kelley who hadn’t changed a bit.
Between pictures from European trips and holiday parties, Alix located all of Kelley’s ex-girlfriends, and—surprise, surprise—none of them were white. Alix wasn’t sure if any of them identified as black (one of them had a black father but this was all she could confirm)—however, they were all ethnically ambiguous looking with names like Tierra and Christina, Jasmine and Gabi. They had light brown skin and curly dark hair or dramatic widow’s peaks and Spanish last names. They went to Black Lives Matter marches and worked for nonprofit start-ups. They did skin care tutorials on Instagram with quirky music in the background. All of Kelley’s exes started their days with intricate smoothie recipes—Alix thought, Is this a thing?—and Alix dug deep enough to see that Kelley had referred to two of them as queens (once in 2014, This queen, and once in 2012, Hey Queen). Of course Kelley was excited to now be dating Emira.
But these girls were different than Emira. They had big passions and light brown skin and punchy, colorful blogs with punny titles. They had decent jobs and vacation photos and one had a few thousand Instagram followers. If Kelley had left these women in the same way he’d left Alix—ruining her reputation, choosing strangers over her, publicly breaking up with her with a horribly pretentious line—they had obviously and easily bounced back. But Emira was different. Alix couldn’t quite explain it, but Emira was different in the same way Claudette had been different; they were extremely special people and while no one deserved poor treatment, they deserved it even less. Back in high school, Kelley wanted status, and at Alix’s expense, that’s what he’d got. But what did Kelley think he was getting from Emira? How many times had he proudly told the story of how they met? Acting performatively flustered and suggesting that he shouldn’t have? As she sat on the ledge of her bathtub, Alix’s iPad became so warm that it started to burn her legs.
Alix reached to the side of the tub and picked up her phone. She texted the girls that she wanted to meet at ten a.m., not eleven. She took her iPad and went to the restaurant’s website, moving their reservation up one hour.
* * *
—
“I’m furious.” Alix slumped. Across the table and over plates filled with brunch specials, Jodi held her coffee in both hands. To Alix’s left, Rachel broke a yolk open and it ran onto a bed of greens. To her right, Tamra salted her eggs, but she kept her eyes raised and focused on Alix. “I hate that I’m completely shocked,” Alix said, “and that I’m not surprised.”
Tamra laughed bitterly as she set the saltshaker down. “This all makes a whole lot more sense now. I knew there was something off about him.”
“Alix, don’t be mad at me,” Jodi said carefully. “But I’m having a hard time understanding. If anyone did what he did to me—telling awful kids where I live and putting people I love at risk—I would be furious too. But you’re also saying that he’s the opposite of racist? That he likes black people too much?”
“Alix is saying”—Tamra stepped in—“that Kelley is one of those white guys who not only goes out of his way to date black women but only wants to date black women.”
With kale in her cheek, Rachel chewed and said, “That’s racist.”
“It completely fetishizes black people in a terrible way,” Tamra went on. “It makes it seem like we’re all the same, as if we can’t contain multitudes of personalities and traits and differences. And people like that think that it says something good about them, that they’re so brave and unique that they would even dare to date black women. Like they’re some kind of martyr.”
Alix nodded so vigorously that the table lightly shook. “This is what he does,” she said. “In high school it was the black athletes. According to his Facebook it’s now black women. And if he’s still surrounding himself with black people just so he can feel good about himself, I couldn’t care less . . . but now Emira is on the other side of it. And this doesn’t even touch on what he did to me back then.”
“Okay. I get it now. No wonder you were so upset last night!” Jodi cut into her hash browns. “Here I was thinking you still carried a flame for him, which I wouldn’t judge you for either, but this takes it to a whole new level.”
“No no, it’s nothing like that. God, no,” Alix said. “For the record, this has nothing to do with me dating Kelley Copeland.” She said his name as if it were a myth or fickle philosophy, something to put air quotes around. “But I do care about my sitter. This guy completely ruined my high school experience, and I don’t trust him as far as I can spit. And I know, I know people change . . . but when he showed up yesterday . . . I don’t know. At first I thought, ‘How are you here?’ And then I thought, ‘What do you want with my sitter?’”
Jodi placed a hand to her cheek. Rachel looked up from her plate and said, “I just got chills.”
Tamra removed a bag of mint tea from her mug. “This is not good.”
“It makes my skin crawl,” Alix said. “And I can only imagine what he’s told her about me.”
“I’m playing devil’s advocate here . . .” It was clear Jodi still didn’t completely understand, but Alix appreciated her dedication to the topic at hand. “But is there a chance that while he may have a fetish, that fetish may have grown into something more serious? People do change, right? And call me crazy . . . but it seemed like he really liked her.”
This observation made Alix’s ears burn.
“Well, there are plenty of misogynists out there who are obsessed with a certain type of woman,” Tamra said. “Despite the fact that they use women to validate themselves, they think they aren’t sexist because they love to objectify women so much. And you’re right. People do change . . . but it’s not like he was twelve.”
“But even so, what can we do about it?” Rachel, as usual, bent the conversation into another direction. “Because think about it. How difficult is it to tell someone, ‘Hey, your boyfriend likes you for the wrong reasons?’ If someone told me that I’d be like, ‘No he doesn’t. Mind your business.’ It’s not like Alix can tell her to not be with him.” Then Rachel added this as if it were an unfortunate fact: “Emira is a grown woman.”
“But she’s not, though! She’s . . .” This outburst surprised Alix as much as it seemed to surprise her friends. Her face suddenly felt hot as she remembered Kelley’s hands on Emira’s backside. The text he’d sent her. Is basketball something you’d be interested in? The way he’d turned to her when the video was mentioned. That’s Emira’s property now. “Emira is still so young,” she said, and with this, Alix felt her eyes begin to water. When she let her voice crack to say, “What the fuck is he doing with her?” a tear dropped into her napkin. The idea of Kelley truly having feelings for Emira seemed slightly worse than him using her for his own gain. Just the thought of it put a sharp buzzing sound into her head. Alix also realized that sitting here at brunch with her girlfriends, with a legitimate excuse to discuss Kelley Copeland, might have been the happiest she’d felt since she moved to Philadelphia.
Tamra put her napkin at the side of her plate and touched Alix’s back. “Let’s go outside,” she said. She scooted her chair back. “Come on, let’s get some fresh air.”
Out front were a dozen or so Philadelphians in down parkas and boots, bouncing with their hands in pockets as they waited for their names to be called. It reminded Alix of New York and she thought, One more day and you’ll be there. She and Tamra walked down the street and stood underneath a drippy bridge passover. Snow and ice droppe
d down and collected in puddles on the asphalt. Tamra’s boots echoed as they hit the concrete.
“I’m sorry. I’m okay. I’m fine.” A breeze whipped Alix’s hair into her mouth and she pulled it out with two fingers. “I’m just scared for her. He was a bad guy back then, and now that we’re older I don’t trust him even more.”
“Then I think you need to tell her,” Tamra said. “Don’t tell her about what he did to you because that needs to stay separate. And if you tell her about the letter and that night, the rest of it will come out like you’re still trying to punish him. But tell her what you know about his dating record, and that he’s been like this for some time. Just be honest with her and say, ‘If it were me, I’d want to know.’”
“Would you want to know?” Alix felt certain that Tamra knew what she meant by this question. That as her closest friend, her word already carried a massive amount of weight, but as a black woman, in this scenario, Tamra’s outlook would dictate the moves Alix made next.
Tamra twisted her lips to the side. “I think this is less about what I would want to know, and more about if Emira should know. And Alix . . .” Tamra shook her head. She breathed deep as if she’d just climbed a ladder to a rewarding rooftop view. “I think you’re the best thing that ever happened to that girl. You should step into her life in any way you can.”
Alix stuck her hands into both of her front pockets. “What do you mean?”
“Well . . .” Tamra stood with a face that seemed to be asking, Do you want the good news first or the bad news? She zipped up her jacket high against her neck. “I like Emira. A lot. I actually think it’s quite lovely how she and Briar complement each other. It’s incredibly sweet to watch.”
For a moment, Alix couldn’t tell if this was a slight to Emira, Briar, or both.
“But,” Tamra said slowly, “that girl is very lost. She’s twenty-five years old and she has no idea what she wants or how to get it. She doesn’t have the motivation to maintain a real career the way our girls will have, which is probably not her fault but it doesn’t make it less true. What I’m saying is . . . there are a lot of jerks like Kelley out there, but when they get hold of girls like Emira? Someone who’s still trying to figure herself out? That’s when I start to really worry. And the more that I think about it, it makes a lot sense she ended up with a guy like this. He’s looking to validate himself through someone else. She hasn’t caught on because she doesn’t know who she is.”
Alix shook her head and brought a hand up to her face. Her voice split again as she asked, “What am I gonna do?” The tears came so easily that through her sobs, Alix thought, Thank God. It felt like Emira really was hers. And that Alix’s intentions must be good after all.
“Sweetie, hey.” Tamra hugged her from the side. “Look at me. This will be fine. It’s only been a few months and there’s no ring on her finger. Emira is so lucky to have you worrying about her . . . but you gotta take care of yourself too.”
“Oh, I’m fine, though. I’m fine.” Alix took a tissue out of her pocket and swiped it underneath her nose.
“Alix. I’m gonna say something to you and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.” Tamra stepped in front of her and held her elbows. “When you were in New York you were Go go go, all the time. You can’t expect to feel like yourself when things have slowed down as much as they have.”
Alix looked back to the awning of the restaurant as her eyes filled with tears again. She both hated and loved Tamra for bringing her lack of fulfillment into a harsh light. “But what am I supposed to do?” Her voice went into a tragic falsetto and she took her volume down even lower. “Peter is so supportive and the fact is, I do work from home. I thought the Clinton campaign would want me more, but this event next week is the only event I’ve had in months. I used to have my team, and my phone used to be blowing up all the time . . . and I know it’s because I had a baby. I know. And I’m so glad because she’s so perfect. But now I don’t even know how to begin to have the same life I had while I’m living here.”
Tamra pulled out her phone. “Let me work on this.”
Alix sniffed into her tissue and from underneath it she asked, “What are you doing?”
“We need to get you back in the city.” Tamra continued to type an email, most likely to herself because she did this all the time, and said, “Gimme two seconds,” as Alix waited. “I know a woman who is looking for someone to facilitate a class on Tuesday nights at the New School. You’d actually be perfect and I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner.”
“Tam, no. I can’t leave Peter like that. He’s doing so well and this was always the plan. This was what we agreed to.”
“Then use Emira.” Tamra said this slowly and like a song. “No one said you couldn’t come to the city once or twice a week. You and Emira? You two need each other. I feel very strongly about this. You need a release, you need to get back on top of your business, and Emira? The more time she’s spending in your house, the better. Let me help you fix this.”
Tamra breathed into her ample chest and it almost felt like she was taking a breath for the both of them. Alix knew then that she was done crying and ready to put her feelings into action. This moment, this was why she had missed her friends so much. They knew how to bring her back to herself. “Thank you,” she said.
“You don’t have to thank me for anything. Now listen.” Tamra put her cell phone in her pocket and grinned. “We’re gonna go back in there and order some mimosas. We’re gonna get you back in the city and feeling like yourself. And when you get back, you’re gonna tell your sitter what you know, and do whatever you can to protect her.”
Twenty
On Monday morning, the Chamberlain house was empty and charged with possibilities. Mrs. Chamberlain and Catherine were another state away, and after standing in the heat of Peter’s gratitude for coming to Thanksgiving, and for looking after Briar so much this week, Emira sat next to Briar’s big-girl seat. In her hand she held the forty dollars that Peter had left on the countertop. Emira leaned in to the three-year-old and said, “You wanna do something special today?”
Emira took Briar on the train for the first time and they rode between passengers with bags of presents and gift wrap and bows. On the street they held hands and walked two more blocks, until Emira opened the door to the House of Tea. Beneath a wall of hundreds of teas from all over the world, at a tiny table for two, Emira asked the waitress to bring out an arrangement of different tea bags but no mugs (the waitress said, “Umm, das weird, but okay”). For over an hour, in a puffy purple jacket and rain boots, Briar arranged the teas in an order that made sense to her, across the table and on top of her legs. “This is the baby tea.” Briar introduced a packet of English Breakfast. “No, no, you have to wait,” she told a decaf cinnamon spice. “And you have to go in the potty like a big girl.” Emira sipped an iced water and watched.
Tuesday was for sledding. After several trips up and down a snowy and slight hill—Briar expelling a happy screech the entire way down—the little girl fell asleep over a Dixie cup of hot chocolate that Emira poured from a thermos in her purse. Emira woke her up to make a snow angel, which was very cute but not as fun. Briar lay in the snow with a confused expression and said, “Mira, this isn’t a bedtime party, okay?” She insisted on pulling the sled for the entire walk home.
On Wednesday, Briar and Emira went to the mall located next to the hospital where Zara worked. In her scrubs and holding a plastic Subway sandwich bag, Zara ran to the front of the Santa Claus line, where Emira and Briar stood. As Zara stepped over a plush velvet rope, she grinned at Emira and said, “You are so stupid right now.” They walked away with three different card holders that read Santa and Me! in red across the top. One photo showed Santa and Briar midsneeze; one was with Santa, Emira, and Briar, all of whom were magically smiling; and one featured Emira, Zara, and Santa. Next to Santa’s lap, Emira crossed her le
gs and put her hands in her hair, a doe-eyed expression on her face. With her back to the camera, Zara squatted in front of Santa with her hands on her knees, and her face turned profile (when Zara Instagrammed the photo, the caption read, Ho Ho Ho, Up To Snow Good). Briar’s head could be seen in the corner as she waited and asked an elf if she felt scared of Santa sometimes.
And on Thursday, Emira took Briar to Camden, New Jersey. By then, she didn’t even think to ask. She and Briar were a unit, Mrs. Chamberlain wasn’t there, and Briar fucking loved fish. At Adventure Aquarium, Briar struggled to keep her mouth closed because so much wonderment kept spilling out. Emira was reminded of the insanity of being a child: seeing all the things you learned about in books as actual breathing creatures, swimming right in front of your face. Briar marveled at hippos and sharks and penguins and turtles. And somehow, magically, Santa made an appearance at the aquarium to say hello and talk about recycling. Emira told Briar to whisper as she asked over and over, “Who picks Santa up from the mall?”
In a reflecting blue hallway of glass and water, Emira and Briar walked beneath angelfish and guppies, eels and bottom-feeding sharks. Briar stood at one side and tapped the glass lightly with her hands, her little fingers in front of neon algae and rocks. “Mira, yes yes yes.” Emira bent down next to her.