What's Mine and Yours(59)

Andrea had made a big salad full of squash and red onion and raisins, and a creamy pasta filled with vegetables Gee couldn’t recognize under the thick yellow sauce.

“I hope nobody’s got any allergies.” Andrea had the baby in a sling now. “This has got soy and nuts and all the things that will make you sick if you’ve got an allergy.”

“But no seafood,” Mr. Riley said with a smile. “Andrea is vegan. Kept it up all during her pregnancy, too.”

Gee felt his stomach turn. He gazed down at the pasta, which had smelled appealing, like hot cheese, a moment ago. They didn’t say grace or anything, so they all ate up, and it was quiet, until Jade asked what had brought them to the area.

The Rileys mentioned Jersey smog and too much rent. They said this was a good, growing city, where you could still find free parking downtown. You never had to wait for a table at a restaurant. You could drive west to the mountains, east to the coast. And there were black people, which mattered to them both. Andrea explained her job at the university to Gee: she took donors out to play golf and to watch football games, and, in exchange, they wrote the checks that built new dining halls and science labs.

Gee wasn’t surprised anyone would write Andrea a big check. He imagined her playing golf in a striped shirt and pants, a little white beret. He felt himself go hard, and he was washed over with guilt. She had been so nice to him, waiting on him, asking how he liked the food. She was too good for Mr. Riley, too beautiful. Gee liked her big, soft body, her thick eyebrows, how her daughter clung to her. It was almost too much when she slipped a breast out of her dress to feed Katina. When he looked up again, he was relieved that he couldn’t have seen anything even if he tried.

Was this what his mother had wanted him to see? Mr. Riley’s big-breasted wife, his apartment with fogged-up windows and a bedroom hidden upstairs? Was it supposed to make him grateful for Central, for the chance to go further than she’d been able to, as far as someone like Mr. Riley? It didn’t seem like that exceptional a life, but it was still more than he had ever imagined for himself and more than he knew how to get.

Jade was the one stoking the conversation now, explaining how relieved she’d been to meet Mr. Riley at the town hall.

“I knew it would make a difference,” she said, “for my son to have someone to look up to at Central. Somebody who looks like him.”

Gee glared at his mother. She sounded so corny. He hadn’t heard her flatter anyone ever in his life. What was so special about Mr. Riley anyway?

He thanked her, beaming, holding up his wineglass, as if he were going to propose a toast to himself. “You know that’s why I went into education,” he said. “For our boys. When I was in school, I was always looking for a vision of a successful black man. I didn’t know my father either.”

“I knew my father,” Gee said. “He died. But I knew him.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Andrea said. “How long has he been gone?”

“About ten years,” Jade said, skimming over how he’d died. She never told people that Ray had been killed, and Gee had gleaned it was the kind of thing he shouldn’t mention either. He felt heat pooling in his chest, his hands. He needed to find a way to empty himself, to discharge his embarrassment and rage, but he stayed put, his teeth clamped together.

“He was a baker,” Jade went on, “like my motherin-law, who made that pie.” Linette had sent along a plum pie that was cooling on the counter. “Like I was saying, it means a lot to me that Gee’s got someone at Central looking after him. Those concerned parents have been quiet since school started, but the rumor is they’re working on something. I don’t think they’ll get the program reversed, at least not until after Gee graduates. It’s the environment I worry about, the messages he might get.”

For all her boldness, Jade was good at citing risks, naming all the things that could sabotage a life. In the weeks after a homicide in the neighborhood, elementary school kids did worse on tests. Teenagers without fathers were more likely to wind up parents before graduation. Black boys got sent to the principal’s office more. He’d been listening to her spout these facts for years, as if they were land mines he could avoid, if only he knew where to look.

“Gee is lucky to have you,” Mr. Riley said. “My mother didn’t know how to guide me. She wanted to, but she didn’t know how. I had to figure things out for myself, especially in college and ed school. Over time, I came up with this mantra that got me through—”

“Oh, Lord.” Andrea rolled her eyes. “Here he goes.”

“I don’t mean to preach, but maybe it’ll help the young brother.” He pointed his glass at Gee and cleared his throat. “You ready?” They were all quiet, even the baby, waiting for his grand pronouncement. “If they’re going to look at you, then you’ve got to give them something to look at.”

“Come again?” Jade said, but Mr. Riley went on, speaking to Gee.

“They’re always going to be looking at you. To see if you measure up. To see if you’ll make a mistake. They’ll try and see if you’re really as smart as they’re afraid you are. And you’ve got to answer their question. You’ve got to show them what’s what. Don’t hide your light under a bushel—that’s in the Bible, but it’s the same as what we were talking about in class. A torch. You’ve got to be a torch.”