The Journey Ch. 06

"So many people, Janey! Are they all coworkers or friends or...?" her dad asked.

"Mostly coworkers. A few friends. I'll introduce you around after--"

"Jane!" Shirley rushed up to us again. "Ready to read? My lead publisher can't stay long and she wants to hear you read from your intro."

Jane seemed flustered, but she quickly introduced Shirley to her parents, then walked away with her little dynamo publisher, leaving me standing there with her mom and dad.

Gulp.

The bartender caught my eye and I nodded at my empty glass.

"So, Jane says you're working on your engineering degree?" her dad asked me.

"Um, yeah. Working on it."

"What are you taking this semester?" He looked genuinely interested. Her mom was watching me like a substitute teacher who'd been left a note that I was the class trouble-maker.

"Calc three, general physics, engineering mechanical dynamics and Spanish."

"Jane told us you already speak Spanish. She said she was learning it from you," her mom said. A little sharply, I thought.

"I do, yes ma'am, but I needed an elective. Taking a full course load while working full time is pretty tough, so I figured Spanish for heritage speakers would be a way to make this semester a little easier on myself."

Her dad laughed. Her mom frowned. The bartender brought my margarita and I held up my hand to keep him from running off.

"Would you guys like something?" I asked. Her dad ordered a Yuengling, and her mom a glass of white wine. A part of my mind noted that her parent's tastes in drinks mirrored Jane and my tastes, and a nervous giggle escaped my lips.

"What?" her mom asked me.

"Nothing, sorry. Look, she's getting ready to start," I said. Shirley was at the lectern, knocking her knuckles on the wood surface to get everyone's attention. The room hadn't been set up with chairs, so the crowd simply turned to face her.

"Ladies and gentlemen, most of you know her, but I'm going to introduce her anyway. Dr. Jane May is a professor at the Department of Afro-American Studies at Howard University, and the author of the new book we're here to launch tonight, Weaponized Words: How Terms of Cultural Revolution are Turned Against Justice. So, without further ado, please welcome Dr. Jane May!"

Jane walked to the front of the crowd, as confident as she'd walked to the front of the class the first night I'd met her. Her eyes fell on the lectern and her face softened. She ran her hands over something on the lectern, then she picked up what I knew was the first actual, physical copy of her book she'd laid her hands on. There had been a delay from the publishing house, and her author copies hadn't been delivered to her townhouse yet. She'd been waiting on them for weeks.

She held up the book, the back cover with her black and white author photo next to her face and the two Janes looked towards the audience. She giggled and said in one of the happiest voices I'd ever heard from her, "Y'all! I wrote a book!"

We all laughed with her, then there was applause.

She set the book down on the lectern and opened it. I knew what she was going to read, she'd had me sit on her couch while she practiced reading it to me off her laptop multiple times in the last two weeks.

"Before I start, I want to thank Dr. Harriott, my PhD advisor at Georgetown, who's encouragement started me on the journey to write this. Unfortunately, he couldn't come tonight. Also Dr. Carr, my department head for his support." She waved to a man on the other side of the room who lifted his hand in acknowledgement. "I'd also like to give a special thanks to my girlfriend, Viv Esparza."

I felt my eyes widen in surprise as some of the people Jane had introduced me to earlier turned to look at me. Jane was staring at me too, wearing that grin that slayed me every time I saw it plastered on her face.

"Viv, you became a very important part of my process during the writing of this book. You've let me bounce passages off you, helped me revise my writing, and make it more accessible. As some of you may know, I'm a pretty big egghead, and when I start digging into research and data, my writing can be a bit... dense... at times." Several of her colleagues laughed. "Viv, you helped me craft my message to be clearer and more persuasive, so thank you for that. I love you."

I felt as if a bolt of lightning came through the roof, the flash leaving stars in my eyes, the thunderclap, my ears ringing. She'd never said that to me before. And now she said it... here. In front of all these people. In front of her parents.

"Lastly, but most importantly, I want to thank my parents for supporting me throughout my career, as an undergrad student, a PhD candidate, as a professor, and now as an author!" Her voice rose an octave into a squeal on that last bit and everyone laughed. Except me. My mouth was too busy hanging open. "Mom, Dad, I wouldn't be here without your encouragement and support. I love you guys so much. Thank you!"

Her parents were both beaming with pride next to me.

"So, thanks out of the way, let me read from the introduction so everyone can get back to the bar," Jane said. More laughter. She had the crowd in the palm of her hands, just like she did every class I'd sat in with her.

She loves me? She loves me! Why did she wait to say it here? In front of everyone? I thought. Does that mean something? Does it mean more? Less?

Jane cleared her throat and began. "The term 'Woke' is generally attributed to the blues singer Lead Belly, who sang in the thirties, 'I advise everybody, be a little careful when they go along through there -- best stay woke, keep their eyes open.' Since then..."

Jane's voice faded to a low buzz in the background of my mind.

She loves me. Jane loves me. She said it right here in front of everyone. At least a dozen times in the last month, I'd thought about saying it to her. But there was no way I was going to say it first. Because I hadn't thought that she'd say it back.

"Black Lives Matter activists took up the phrase 'stay woke' in the two-thousand-tens..." Jane was saying.

I glanced over at her mom. She noticed and for the first time, the smile she gave me was warm. I looked back at Jane... and was drawn into her face. I watched her lips move without hearing the words. Those lips. Those lips that kissed me. Kissed my neck. My body. I flushed at the thought, acutely aware her mother was standing right next to me. Those lips that talked to me, laughed with me, made me laugh. Made me feel... wanted.

She loves me. Her words started to penetrate my brain again, and I realized she was wrapping up. I'd missed almost her entire reading. Not that I needed to hear again, she'd read it to me so many times while editing it, refining it. She said I'd helped her. That I'd been important to her writing. I felt a thrill of pride run through me.

"And now, woke has been co-opted by the right as a pejorative, implying political-correctness run amok, lack of seriousness or even anti-white racism. The pattern has repeated throughout American history, whether it's 'wokeness', or 'critical race theory. CRT is not taught in any grade school anywhere in the country, but now the term is being wielded as a cudgel to prevent kids from learning of injustice, racism or inequality in American history. White supremacists tried to keep Ruby Bridges from attending a white's only school in nineteen-fifty-four, and now, today, white supremacists are using the words 'critical race theory' as a bogey-man to try and stop children from learning about them trying to stop Ruby Bridges from getting an equal education in nineteen-fifty-four."

Holy shit. I think this might be real, I thought, as Jane concluded the excerpt she was reading. This relationship could be the first real one I've ever had. I felt a huge grin split my face. Podría ser el momento de hablar con la abuela, Esparza.

After her reading, Jane received a nice round of applause and many handshakes and hugs as she came back to us at the bar, but I didn't get a chance to talk to her, as much as I wanted to. She gave me a quick peck on the lips, her dad a hug, then she collected her mom and rushed off to introduce her to Professor Hannah-Jones, who had shown up after all, much to Jane's delight, leaving me with Jane's dad.

"Well, I think they'll be a while," he said, watching the two of them scoot across the room towards the woman with hair dyed bright, fire-engine red. "My wife was more excited about Jane publishing her first book than about meeting Professor Hannah-Jones, but it was a close call. She's a huge fan."

"I made the mistake of not knowing who she was the first time Jane mentioned her."

"And you're still together? Jane must really like you!"

I laughed pretty hard at that, while he turned and ordered another beer.

"How did you and your wife meet, Dr. May?" I asked him.

"Please, call me Mark. Whenever someone insists on being formal around my family, everyone just ends up confused. There's going to be three Dr. Mays at dinner."

"Oh... thanks. Mark."

"We met in medical school. She couldn't stand me at first. We were competing for the top spot every semester, it seemed like.

"Yeah? How'd you win her over."

"Who says I won her over?" He said with a smile and a wink, then took a sip of his beer. "It was a gradual thing. Early on in an anatomy class we were in a group sharing a cadaver and I thought I was helpfully explaining the superior cavoatrial junction for her and she told she'd let me know if she wanted to enroll in the school of May, but that since she hadn't I could keep my tips to myself. I think you kids today call that mansplaining."

I snorted into my drink.

"Yeah, all med students are arrogant. I was no exception. But after that I think I slowed my roll a little. I never tried to 'help' her again, that's for sure. Mostly because I realized she didn't need it. Then a couple years went by of us being in classes and study groups together and... I don't know, it just kind of organically grew into... well, true love."

"That's sweet. I see where Jane gets her positivity from."

"What, from me?" He laughed. "No, her mom is the positive one."

"Hmm," I took a sip of my drink.

He glanced at me. "Don't worry about Ayanna, she'll warm up to you."

"I get the feeling she'd rather I be someone else."

"Ayanna's family is from rural Virginia, in the southwest part of the state. They can be pretty socially conservative. Not her fault she picked up some of that. She took a long time to be okay with her daughter being gay. She can be a little cool to Jane's girlfriends when we first meet them, but I usually point out that it took her parents five years to finally be okay with me coming to Thanksgiving dinner and she relaxes a bit."

"Yeah?" I doubt her problem is that I'm a woman. It's that I'm a thirty-year-old woman who's still working on getting a lousy associates degree. I wondered how many of Jane's girlfriends they'd met. Seemed like maybe it was a lot.

He laughed. "Yeah her mom absolutely refused to believe I liked her greens. Thought I was being polite any time I took seconds."

"Were you?"

"Heck no! I grew up in Charleston. I may have grown up a rich, white kid, but I've always known how good authentic Southern soul food is. I finally won her over by making my family's sweet potato pie recipe in her kitchen one Thanksgiving. Just the fact it was sweet potato and not pumpkin was worth some points, but also my pie is damn good."

"Looks like Jane and your wife are wrapping up with her celebrity professor. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to find the ladies room before we head to the restaurant."

I left a twenty in the tip jar (no sense in stiffing a working dude because the drinks were free) and made my way to the fancy lady's room in the back of the bar. It was all black walls and gold fixtures. The stalls were empty so I picked the far one, shut the door and sat down, pulling my phone out of my jacket pocket to check my texts. One from my brother, a couple from mama. I touched the last text Jane had sent me, asking if I was almost at her house to get ready with her that afternoon. I pulled up her profile picture from her text, the goofy photo she'd sent me when I'd gotten upset at her joke about El Escondite on our second date.

The fish-eye lens picture with the curls drooping over her head wrap to cover her forehead and her exaggerated pouty lip made a happy sound escape my mouth, right there in the bathroom. She loves me. Part of me was incredibly frustrated that her parents were going to spend the night with her. I didn't know when, or even if, I'd have a moment alone with her tonight to tell her that I loved her too. I do love her. She's so amazing, and--

My thoughts were interrupted by voices coming into the bathroom. Loud, obnoxious, tipsy sounding voices.

"Honestly, a first-year professor getting a book deal?! How many publishers have I submitted my extract to? And nothing. Nothing!"

"Jealousy doesn't look good on you, Renée. She's only first year at Howard. She taught elsewhere before here."

"Pfft, at a community college," said the voice, dripping with scorn.

I'd thought I'd recognized the voices, and the name Renée rang a bell. I was sure she was one of the many professors from Howard that Jane had introduced me to at some point that evening.

"I just get so tired of her fake, peppy personality. No one is that positive all the time. She's clearly had everything handed to her. No one who's really had to work to get where they are is that full of sunshine."

"So, why'd you drag me to this then?" the other woman said. I hadn't put a face to the second voice yet.

"For the free booze, of course." They both laughed. "Plus, I never pass up an opportunity to schmooze Dr. Carr."

I stood up to buckle my pants. I wasn't going to sit here and let them trash my girlfriend (My girlfriend!) behind her back.

"Do you think her girlfriend gets how dumb Jane thinks she is?"

I paused, my hand on the door handle. What?

The other voice laughed. "'You helped me make my writing more accessible!'" she said in a crude imitation of Jane's voice. "The secret of Jane's success must be to write down to her lowest common denominator girlfriend." More laughs.

"Pamela told me she heard her little Latin sex toy didn't graduate high school. She's a bus driver."

"Really? Dr. Jane May, all-honors everything is slumming with a G.E.D? If she even got a G.E.D."

A bus driver? Fuck you! I fumed. I... graduated. Maybe not with honors or anything, but I wasn't stupid!

"Do you think she's only using her to help her make her writing readable by anyone with less than a post-grad degree? Or is it because her little sex toy is a tiger in the sack?"

"Why not, both?" More laughter. "Seriously though, she must be amazing in bed or Jane wouldn't bother with her."

Enough. I threw the door open against the wall of the stall with a loud crash.

The two African American women at the sink jumped and turned to look at me, one of them with an eyeliner pencil in her hand.

"Jane is twice the woman either of you two shrews could ever hope to be, puta de mierda. You can talk shit about her behind her back all you want, but she's the one with a book out today, not you."

I expected them to be embarrassed or surprised, or even intimidated by the way I came at them.

The taller one looked at me with the same expression I might have used looking at dog shit on my shoe.

"Well, well. The little chihuahua barks, even when she's not holding your leash," she said. She was the one whose voice I'd identified as Renée. "I hope you're better with that mouth at things other than talking, or Jane will get bored of you and move on to her next butch plaything faster than even I'd guess."

"Fuck you!" I hissed, taking another step toward her.

She leaned back against the sink away from me, but the sneer didn't leave her face.

"Do you mean to tell me you're actually going to threaten me? How ghetto." She glanced over at her friend, who had taken her phone from her purse and was pointing the camera at me. "Go ahead, take your shot. Jane will really enjoy having her..." her eyes raked over my suit and ended at my haircut, "...boy-toy getting stuffed in the back of a police car in front of her parents, her publisher and her department head."

I ground my teeth, fists balled at my sides. My vision was a red haze, I couldn't come up with anything resembling a comeback. Renée saw the realization on my face, that I couldn't do anything. She was right. As much as I wanted to punch her teeth down her throat, it would mean a night in jail. And probably losing Jane if I embarrassed her in front of her parents like that.

Renée stood up straighter and gave me a mockingly fake look of sympathy.

"Don't worry about what I said while you were in the stall, chica. I'm sure Jane wuvs you," she said in a cloyingly sweet voice, "for your witty repartee and not because you have nice shoulders and a man's haircut. You probably don't have to worry about her getting tired of sleeping with a bus driver and moving on."

"I drive fucking Metro trains, bitch." I could hear all the confidence had drained from my voice.

She rolled her eyes hard at me. "Oh dear, my bad. I take back everything I've said about you. Now run along back to your sugar-mama. I'm done with you now."

She turned away as if I had melted into the floor and continued to re-apply her eyeliner while the other one smirked at me from behind her phone which was still trained on me.

I stood there for another ten seconds fuming, then turned on my heel and stalked out of the bathroom, their laughter hard on my heels.

Fifteen minutes later Jane found me at the bar as the bartender sat my fourth margarita of the night in front of me.

"Baby, are you ready to-- What's wrong?" She stopped as she saw my face.

I took a slug from my glass. "I... nothing, just... this sort of shin-dig isn't really my scene. I feel really out of place." I took another drink.

"Hey, you might want to take it easy on those," Jane said, a concerned look in her eyes. "We're still going to dinner with my parents."

"I'll be fine."

"Are you sure you're okay?" She asked, slipping her arm around my waist.

"Yeah. Some of your coworkers... aren't very nice."

She followed my gaze to the other side of the room where Renée and the other woman (whose name I still didn't know) were laughing with several other women.

"Oh no, you didn't talk to Renée Whitaker, did you? She's a cast-iron bitch."

"Yeah, she kinda is."

"I'm sorry baby. She hates anyone on the tenure track who might get ahead of her. I had to invite her because she's in the department, I didn't think she'd actually come. What did she say to you?"

I looked into Jane's eyes. Am I just a plaything to her? That can't be right. She said she loved me. Is she eventually going to get tired of me? Move on to... what did that bitch say? Her 'next butch plaything'? How many of me have there been?

"I... nothing. She's just not very nice."

"No, no she's not. C'mon, leave the rest of that drink and let's go to dinner. Mom told me she's looking forward to getting to know you."

"She did?" I couldn't conceal my surprise.

"Of course. Why would you say that?"

"She was, ah... a little cool to me when you left us alone."

"That's just mom. She'll warm up to you, promise."

"Okay... Hey babe?"

She folded her hand through the crook of my elbow as we headed towards her parents. "Yes?"

"I love you too, you know."