He moves on to the second braid after running his fingers through my loose hair for a moment.
“And I told him his life does seem perfect. That he’d gotten adopted by some really cool people and that the rest of his family—your dad, I guess—seemed pretty dope too. I told him that people love him and he doesn’t really have to try in school and he seemed to be functioning pretty well in terms of life stress and, like, he’s the only person I’ve ever met who hasn’t had an issue with coming out to people.”
I don’t even have words for that. Kai’s sexuality isn’t a thing we discuss. It’s just another way I don’t know him. I don’t know if Mémé and Pépé and Merrick know he’s bisexual, and I don’t know if he has so much “come out” as he’s just doing whatever the hell he wants with whomever the hell he wants, no questions asked or answered.
After my last braid is out I say, “Thanks.”
Cole nods. “I can’t tell you what to do with him, Tasia. And even if I knew, I probably wouldn’t, because if it comes down to you or me, I still want it to be me. I guess that makes me selfish, but … .”
I don’t say anything else. I don’t thank him for his honesty or smile or offer a truce or anything. I just get up and walk away, certain that—now—I definitely am a bitch.
Chapter Forty-Four
CHAMPIONSHIP GAME – EL CAMINO REAL VS. CLEVELAND CAVALIERS
The day of the championship game isn’t as heavy as I’ve always imagined it would be. As a senior who’s played varsity football since ninth grade, I thought I might have invested more in this game than I actually do.
And, in probably the strangest turn of events, I’m pretty okay with that. I’m okay with it because I get it now. Football is part of who I am. Always has been. But there’s room for more. I’m just getting started, and the next new part of me is in a box somewhere waiting to be mailed.
Still, the weather is heavy and warm and dry, and the Santa Anas sing both through the leaves that’ve fallen off the branches and the ones still clinging to their trees.
A little shiver of excitement tickles along my scalp and then comes to a rest in the palms of my hands. I look around at the college stadium we’re at as the crowd trickles in like ants. And it’s enough for me, to know I get to play here at least once. To dance up and down this field like it’s mine, as the sun sets and the stadium lights hit their marks.
It’s louder than I imagined it would be. I’ve been to college games with Mamma plenty of times, but I’ve never been on this level, on the turf, feeling like gravity is working overtime on all my vital organs. When Beyoncé’s “Formation” comes on over the speakers, I know for sure tonight’s gonna be the peak of my healing. Not an end, but a crescendo.
I’m stretching my hamstrings and running through some footwork when I hear, “Choowwwww! Get it, Teez! You look super hot in your pads, girl, worrrrrrk!”
My head snaps in her direction and my eyes zero in on Slim. She’s wearing my heart-shaped sunnies and my away game jersey, and her big-ass head full of curls is free and dancing in the wind.
I pull my helmet off and walk in that direction, and everything opens up.
They’re all here. Slim, Josiah, Israel. Next to Is, I see Trist, Daddy, Mamma, Merrick, Mémé, Pépé. Even Emily.
Things dim a little when I notice who’s missing. Until he isn’t.
Kai makes his way up to the bleachers on Slim’s side. Victory, Sam, and Dahlia trail him and take their seats. I watch as Mamma leans over and waves at Kai.
They’re here. All my people, they’re here. For me.
I shouldn’t be shocked. This shouldn’t shock me, to know that these people who are supposed to love me really and honestly do.
After shaking my head, I put my helmet back on and then run back onto the field to finish warming up. I’m immediately anxious about the game. But it’s a good kind of anxious. The kind that means pressure and fire and movement.
I’m more than familiar with it.
We’re down by twelve with three minutes and a handful of seconds left in the game. Half the team has already decided they wanna just take a knee, but I think Adrian, Cole, and I are having too much fun watching my family be dorks in the crowd. Tristan’s got this huge-ass sign with my name and jersey number on it, followed by a list of five reasons I’m awesome. Number one is RELATED TO TRISTAN QUIRK and the rest pretty much follow that line of thought. Slim’s up there calling out random sports terms that have nothing to do with football. And Mamma, well, she’s just loud, like every Black mom at her baby’s football game.
Cleveland’s receiver is scrappy, and even though I’ve been on him like white on rice, he keeps shaking me. True to form, our offense runs through Adrian, our running back; he’s the one to score most of our touchdowns. I’ve notched five tackles and two pass breakups, but as soon as I step back on the field after that, their offense sniffs me out.
Their QB lets off a pass and it’s beautiful. Arcing. And as soon as I see it line up and reach their receiver’s hands—not at all where I thought it was going—I position myself and head full force directly at the ball carrier.
My training kicks in. All I can hear is my own breathing. Coach’s voice carries, but only barely. “Like you know, Tasia! We been here!” he’s screaming.
I do know. I shorten my long stride and widen my base to come in for the tackle. The ball goes flying, wild, and I take off fast to recover it and pick it up ten yards before I’m taken down.
Sound comes back in like blood spreading on concrete—slow and thick.
Coach is screaming and Adrian peels me up off the turf and then grips me by the mask to bash his helmet into mine.
“YEAH, BABY! YEAH! THAT’S RIGHT!”
My brain is fuzzy. Holy hooker, the adrenaline.
The offense takes over, and I watch from the sidelines as our QB takes the snap. Adrian sheds his block, fakes like he’s running a vertical route, and then fakes back inside. That’s where our quarterback finds him. Wide-ass open like a cloud-free sun. Streaking across the middle of the field. With a quick juke move, he dodges a would-be tackler, and then he’s off. Making for the end zone like a bat out of hell. He’s across the goal line so fast, he has no choice but to literally catapult his body, so he does—reckless and stupid—falling on his back and then hopping up on his feet.
I run up toward him, jump in the air and meet him in a full-body chest bump before we both come back down.
And that’s game. And we lose! And it’s still so beautiful. And my entire body hurts, and I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until Adrian shouts, “Shit! Mine too, girl!” with a grin.
It’s such a personal victory to feel the way I do right now. I’m awake and I am alive and I feel so light. I’m the sun that dances between the leaves. The wind that kisses the skin of all those people—God, there are so many people—in the stands, watching me dance.
Once, I felt so heavy. So recently. Some days I still do. Sometimes I’m all sink and seep and don’t swim. Sometimes I’m like the darkest piece of the ocean. Sometimes I’m heavy rain.
But today, right now—I am flicker.
I am flight.
I am free.
And, Christ, I’m so grateful for this little place of love. I wish I could stay in it forever. Maybe, in some ways, I can. With the right people around.
They surround me—all those right people. I’m trying to differentiate hugs and who says what and who promises to kick my ass later for not winning the game—pretty sure it’s just Josiah and Is.
But it’s not until I grab Slim around the neck, thanking her, and squeezing the life out of her that she whispers, “Kai. It was all Kai. He got us all together. Made sure we were all here. It was all him.”
I kiss her cheek, let go of her, and scan for him in the crowd. I open myself up completely to the fluid lifeline that is him, to the heavy sadness, to the sunflower boy that I’ve come to know. To the turbulence and the opulence and, in that moment, I feel like I
cross an ocean trying to get to him, though he’s not far. I don’t waste time or words. I don’t even give hesitation a chance.
My arms are around him and I don’t ever think I can let go again.
Chapter Forty-Five
I do let go. Eventually we all end up North again, back at the McMansion.
Mamma has some elaborate foods catered and Tammy puts together all my favorite nutless things, which I love her for, because an allergy flare-up right now would seriously kill my vibe. Kai, drink in hand, eyes me from across the living room, which has been rearranged and opened up. The chandeliers—only ever used for holidays—are blazing. I guess now we use them for the prodigal daughter’s return, too. I jerk my head in the direction of the front door and hold his gaze only long enough to steady my nerves.
I walk, and he follows, closing the front door with a small click. That small click sends a blip of anxiety running through my chest, up into my throat.
“You did great today,” he says, so softly. Like he knows I need the equivalent of an emotional Alka-Seltzer.
“Yeah, not really my best, but … .”
“Okay. Yeah, if you say so.”
I sit on the porch steps and he sits next to me and my heart goes wild, a fan in the stands. “You didn’t really know any of what was going on during that game, did you?”
“No, not a frickin’ lick.” He chuckles. I love his laugh, how it comes out like a surprise to him. “You know, when I sent that box, I didn’t know who you were. I wasn’t, like, in on this thing or trying to be malicious or anything. I sent it because it sorta sucks to be in the dark about your family. I mean, I’ve had a good bit of that myself, so, knowing there was some girl out there who maybe didn’t know about the truth of who she was … it hit me a little hard. So I sent the box and didn’t think twice.”
“Yeah,” I say. I guess I knew that.
“Yeah, so. I mean, once I found out, though—like, really found out what I had caused—I kinda thought it was … I don’t know. Bringing it up felt weird, and I thought I could just help you move through it and help you where it really mattered. I should have told you. And I could have. But I didn’t. And I’m sorry I didn’t.”
It makes sense. It does. I remember the Forgiveness list I made with Tristan. How he said forgiveness could be whatever I wanted or needed it to be. Right now, I think I need it to just be … love, the verb. And healing. A cocktail of the two, plus Kai. I feel good about this remixed definition.
“Thank you for being honest.” I reach for his hand, but he pulls it away.
“Hold up. I’m not done.”
Oh.
Maybe this is it. Maybe he doesn’t want to be with me. Maybe he’s just being a good person and trying to help me like he said he’d intended to and maybe I screwed myself out of this perfect thing we had by jumping without really looking at things, by reacting without first pausing to assess the situation. I did it with Mamma and the box, I did it with V, even with Merrick.
“I was jealous. A little. I mean, your truth was just sitting there. In a box. A perfect little box. And there are these two sets of families who care so much about you. I kinda had to fall into a caring family by way of the government, and that shit sucks.”
“Kai, you know we can try to find your family if you want to. I just want you to have—”
“I know. You’re right. And I honestly don’t want to. Or need to. I have Adam and I have Merrick and I have you and Mémé and Pépé, and that’s enough for me. I swear it is. Family is such a sore fucking wound for me and, you’re right—I’m not entirely comfortable with who I am, because I don’t know all of who I am. And I never will because I’m not willing to deal with all the emotional trash fire of finding out and connecting myself to people who don’t want me.”
“I want you.”
His head turns my direction, finally looking at me. God, I love the way he looks at me. Like I am everything. Like I created the sun and he is Icarus.
“You just want me for my body.”
“True,” I say.
I pat my lap. “C’mere.” And he lays his head softly there, his honey-wheat blond undercut sharp and angular, the longer strands falling over my thighs.
“Can I tell you something?” I say.
“Is it sexual?”
I smack him right in the stomach. “No! You asshole. It is kinda corny, though.”
“Tell me.”
“I want to know you, Kai. Not just the quiet, joking, boy-of-few-words version of you. I want to know who you are and how you feel. I want to know you better than anyone you’ve ever loved before. And, like, maybe that’s kind of selfish, but I want to be special and set apart from everyone else you love. My mamma used to say that the people we owe the most love to are those who not only put up with our shit, but those who go out of their way to tell us our shit isn’t, in fact, shit. Your shit is not shit to me, Kai.”
“She has a good point. Your shit’s not shit to me, either.”
“Okay.”
“All right.” He nuzzles into my lap.
“Good.”
I press my lips high on his cheekbones. I kiss him six times in the same spot and whisper, “I’ll always want you,” between every one.
Kai turns his head until he’s looking up at me, reaches his hand up, presses his callused palms into the back of my neck, pulls me down until our lips meet. This kiss—oh, this kiss—it’s a hot, blue swirl, a nebulae swallowing us up.
“You moving home?” he asks once we break.
“I don’t know. Probably not just yet. I’ll want you either way, though. Home. Away. I’ll want this with you for as long as you’ll let me have it.”
“You love me.”
“You’re all right, I guess.”
He chuckles. I really love his laugh.
“You should come back down here and kiss me again. It’s been at least a minute since,” he says.
“Make me.”
And he does.
Sometimes I wonder if I just sped through the important stuff. Sometimes, when I’ve got Kai’s lips on mine or when Victory and Slim fall asleep at my house, I think maybe I made up the whole big struggle.
But then, on a wave of remembering, on a wave of Mémé’s watered-down Frenchness, on a wave of unraveled football braids, on a wave of stop-and-go traffic on the 405, I know that I worked for who I am, chopped at it like an ax on wood. That it was infinitely harder because I didn’t think I’d survive it.
I know with a cold sort of certainty common to the drop in temperature from an L.A. summer to its shakiest fall, that progress—healing—comes as slow as, if not slower than, a change in the seasons. I still have a lot to learn, still don’t know what my opinions are on politics or carbon emissions or even what I want for breakfast tomorrow. And I still walk around with Trist’s Forgiveness list in my pocket, just to help me remember.
But I do know that it’s okay to define what forgiveness means to you, to only make it halfway through the things you put on that list. I know that I’m loved unconditionally, widely. I know how to love that way, too. And I know what Kai’s kisses taste like after he’s cried, after he’s flossed, after he’s said “I love you” six times. Kai El Khoury still kisses me like every word in the world fits inside his mouth.
And I feel like I just scored a game-winning touchdown on fourth down.
Acknowledgments
ak-NOL-ij-muh nt
—noun
• recognition of the existence or truth of something: the acknowledgment of a sovereign power.
• an expression of appreciation.
Here’s to all the sovereign powers in my life—
To the most sovereign, Jenn Laughran. Thank you, lady bug, for kicking my ass in the right direction constantly. They say making a book is a labor of love. Well, whoever “they” are was right. From day one of our working relationship, it’s been a literary love affair.
To my editor, Ashley Hearn. Girl, thank you for believing in
#TEAMTAZE, thank you for getting it. Thank you for welcoming me to #TeamPageStreet with enthusiasm, love, dedication, Darth Vader GIFs, and football wisdom. I approached publishing with my heart half caged, half winged, concerned that my girl Taze wouldn’t get the eye or the attention we deserve. Smash, with you, I never had to worry.
I’m striving to learn to live my life in joyous, grateful service of writing stories that need to be told. That’s been possible for me to continue because of my Page Street Publishing/Macmillan family of hardworking sovereigns. Thank you from the bottom of my creme-filled heart to Will Kiester, my publisher, who may not remember—BUT I DO!—the very Merrick-esque Dad Joke he told the first time we spoke over the phone. I’m not saying that solidified things for me, but I’m not NOT saying that either.
To Marissa Giambelluca, Meg Baskis, Laura Gallant, Meg Palmer, Lauren Wohl, and Deb Shapiro—you little buncha sunflowers, thank you a million and six times over.
To Tashana McPherson, thank you for creating the illustration on my beautiful cover. Seeing it for the first time was the only time I’ve openly wept during this entire process. My chest cracked open upon seeing a Black girl with her wild hair and even wilder spirit displayed so fiercely.
To my person, my platonic life partner, my soul sister, my one good thing, Tehlor Kay Mejia. I love you, okay? This book is better because of you and my heart is more whole because I’ve got you in it.
To my team of cheerleaders in leather skirts/the mothers of my East Coast Godchildren. Emery Lord and Dahlia Adler, you two queens of my life have been the glue holding me together for what feels like eons. Here’s to a few more.
To Lauren Billings, Christina Hobbs, Karuna Riazi, Ellie Woofinden, Aisha Saeed, Jay Elliot Flynn, Katie Locke, Eric Smith, Chasia Lloyd, Ryan La Sala, Nic Stone, Alyssa Furukawa, Sarah Spicer, and E.V. Jacob—thank you. Name the price and I’ll pay it to know how you babies got so frickin’ amazing.
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