Page 57 of Reggie and Delilah's Year of Falling

“Thank you for inviting us, Dre.”

“Yeah, thank you, Andre.”

In the rearview mirror I can see Mom smiling at him all heart-eyed, and it makes me smile too.

Still, the anxiety that’s been hanging around since I made the terrible choice of checking our social media earlier, a low pulsing beat, crescendos as we pull into the very full parking lot. Andre’s welcoming us, yeah, but is everyone else going to feel the same? Or is this going to be the worst-case scenario that I’m already conjuring up in my mind?

And I have a lot of inspiration to draw from, because I’ve had people telling me I’m not really Black my whole life: Kathy Williams calling me an Oreo in third grade, my cousins from NorthCarolina saying I don’t “talk Black”... and comments online now calling out my light skin and looser curls and non-Black bandmates like they’re about to start an investigation. Every one of those opinions is written on my brain in permanent marker, darker and bolder than the rest.

I’m barely paying attention as I walk a few paces behind Mom and Andre, my thoughts consumed with this identity tornado in my brain and bubble guts that may require me to make a run for the gross park restroom. And I guess I shouldn’t even be surprised when I bump right into Reggie, a bright, nose-wrinkling smile on his face.

Reggie

I’d been trying to get her attention, all the while thanking God, the universe, this magical holiday fairy—whoever is responsible for arranging that Delilah would show up right here, right now, at this barbecue. And I’d also been trying to slow down my heart rate, which started speeding double time as soon as I saw her in jean shorts and a white tank top, her golden-brown skin welcoming the sun.

But even though I’m pretty sure she’s looking right at me, she keeps right on walking. And when I try to dodge her at the last second, we collide, our heads knocking together all loud like two coconuts.

“Ah!”

“Are you okay?”

She blinks at me, and for a second I’m terrified that she was trying to ignore me and I didn’t get the message. Like, maybe our texts are the only place she wants to keep whatever this is going.

But no. That doesn’t make sense. And then her whole face lights up, knocking over all those worries like a tidal wave.

“It’s Juneteenth,” she says.

“It’s Juneteenth,” I repeat.

“Uh, Lilah-girl, who is this?” the lady standing next to Delilah asks. Because, oh yeah, we just slammed into each other and then started full-on cheesing, which is pretty conspicuous. The lady has deep-brown skin, a slicked-back bun, and the same nose as Delilah. So, this must be her mom, and then the guy next to her is her boyfriend.

“This is my friend, Reggie, Mom,” Delilah says, pointing her thumb in my direction. Friend. That fucking word again. But the way she said it... maybe I’m just looking for signs, but it sounded all fluttery. Very un-friendlike.

Okay yeah, I’m probably just looking for signs.

“Oh, good! You got a friend here, D,” the guy I’m assuming is her mom’s boyfriend says. “Who’s your family?”

“The Hubbards, sir. And also the Bennetts.”

He smiles, warm and easy. “Good people. I’m Andre Dobson. Nice to meet you.”

He reaches out to shake my hand. Her mom is clearly still skeptical, though, assessing me with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. “How are you friends? Do you go to Willmore? Or Bixby High? I’ve never heard your name before.”

Ouch.

“No, ma’am. I go to Tom Bradley Charter—”

“We met at one of my shows, Mom,” Delilah cuts in, but thatseems to make her more suspicious.

“You’re in a band? Oh no.”

“Not in a band, ma’am,” I say. “Just a fan of the bands. Especially Delilah’s.”

She lets out a dramatic sigh. “Thank god. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about this outlet for Delilah. She’s gotta get those feelings outsomehow, right? But I’ve told her she doesn’t need to be messing around with those kinda guys.”

Delilah’s cheeks go from brown to scarlet in a millisecond. “Mom! We’re not messing—”

“Oh, I’m being embarrassing. I’m sorry.” She squeezes Delilah’s arm. “Now let me go before I say anything else wrong. It was nice to meet you, Reggie, and you can call me Ms. Tyler. This ma’am stuff makes me feel old.”

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