Page 122 of Fiery Romance

She cuts me off. “You have such a beautiful family.”

“We’re not—”

“You know, I just came back from a spiritual awakening in India and I had a vision. A crowd of black single mothers being warmed by the sun.”

I bristle, already not liking her cutting me off. Andreallynot liking where this is going. “Ma’am—”

Island lifts a hand at me, indicating I should stop.

I do.

“Black single mothers?” Island’s wearing a crap-eating grin. She thinks this woman is as whacko as I do, but she’ll let the girl bury herself in her own hole.

Since Island wants to play with her food before she eats it, I stand back and let her.

“I’ve got such a big heart for the people who finish last,” the woman says.

“Oh. The people who finish last?” Island’s smile is getting icier and icier.

“And I just feel that more black women with kids, like you,” she gestures to Island and Regan, “are about to have their own awakening, you know? Once you align your chakras and tap into your feminine energy, all the love is possible. The leftovers will be,” she raises a hand dangling with bracelets, “liftedoverothers.”

Island starts laughing humorlessly. “Clay?”

“Yes, Miss Hayes.”

“Hold Regan for a minute.”

I accept my daughter into my arms and watch as Island takes a step forward. Her eyes are more black than honey and her lips are firm.

The smile’s got an edge now.

“So… let me tell you what we’re going to do and what we’renotgoing to do, okay, sweetie?”

The woman steps back nervously.

“We arenotgoing to stand here and call any black woman a leftover. We arenotgoing to disrespect the beautiful, diligent, hardworking, resilient single mothers who chose to stay and take care of their families despite the waste-of-space, shameful men who chose to dip. And weare notgoing to pretend that you know anything about that experience enough to judge it with such condescending callousness.”

The woman blinks, only now realizing the mistake she’s made. She takes a bigger step backward and trips on her sandals. Hands whirling, she balances herself on a lamppost and turns her head away as if she expects Island to slap her.

But Island stops and smiles instead. “Here’s what wearegoing to do. We’re going to turn our flat little backside around and walk out of this park unless Mr. Bolton has any objections…” Island twists her neck and gives me a pointed look.

“No, I think we’re done here.”

“Great.”

“Great,” I agree.

The woman’s pants flap so fast I expect her to take flight. Pretty soon, she disappears from the park.

Island huffs and whirls around to face me. “DoIdraw the ignorant comments or was it worse when it was just you?”

I shrug.

“I’ll take that as a ‘this isn’t the worst you’ve seen’.”

“People mostly mean well.”

She blinks up at me. “That’s a surprisingly optimistic take.”

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