“I’ve heard a few of the bands you’ve mentioned but I listen to a lot of current stuff.” Though, my current stuff is pretty wack compared to what Savior listens to. No wonder everyone complains about mumble rappers and trap music. You could actually understand what someone talked about back in the day. “Migos, Future, Cardi B., to name a few.”
Savior nods. “They’re pretty good. Not my cup of tea but I don’t knock anyone’s tastes in music. I listen to some crazy stuff myself.”
“What’s crazy about LSG?” I chuckle. “Other than you listen to it.”
“Well, that’s not all. I love Hozier and John Mayer. I can dig some Ed Sheeran.” He smiles. “They’re great to research cases to.”
“There you go,” I chuckle.
Savior grabs my hand and places a soft kiss on it. “Have you heard anything from Andrea about last night?”
“I haven’t heard from her nor do I expect to. I did find out I’m all over the blogs.” Which is not a surprise. Witnesses from last night’s kerfuffle gossiped about what they saw. Everyone said the same thing – Andrea mouthed off to me, I was crying, she forcibly grabbed my face, and I gladly punched hers in.
It’s not something I’m proud of. If anything, I’m quite ashamed of what transpired last night. I never thought Andrea and I would get into a physical fight nor did I think she would say those horrible things to me.
Our relationship is irrevocably broken and I doubt I would ever hear from her again. I took the liberty of deleting all of my social media pages so nobody has to wonder what I’m doing or why I’m acting brand-new. If there’s not a reason to gossip, people won’t pay attention.
That wasn’t the only reason why I deleted all of my pages. When people found out where the fight took place, Savior’s name naturally came up. No one made the connection he was my boyfriend but the whispers already started. Eyewitnesses confirmed they saw us together.
Savior and his family may not care about what black gossip blogs say about them, but I’m pretty sure they care about what the society pages think of them. It’s one thing to be black famous; it’s an entirely different ball game when you’re legit famous.
“Do you really want to risk your reputation just to be with me?” I ask. “People have started to make the connection between us.”
“So.” he replies.
I incredulously look at him. “So? Savior, you may not care about how it looks but I do. I know how people gossip in high society. Sure, they act like they don’t care but then they won’t give you any clients. They won’t send any cleaning ladies to your home.”
Savior chuckles and I feel that deep rumble down to my punani again. We just had sex and I want him again. “Gorgeous, if any of that was true, no one would have clean homes and no one would be rich.”
“But you have to care about your family’s reputation?” I push. “Everyone knows the contribution your parents made to the Civil Rights Movement. Gossip bloggers already said how your family went from classy to ashy based on that fight.”
Savior’s face looks amused. I don’t know why he’s so amused by any of this. I’m horrified and he’s acting like it’s another day in his life. What in the Caucasian hell?
“Keisha…” he turns a corner, “what did my mother tell you about her marriage to my father?”
The mistresses. The Little League game. The constant reference to Thomas as her ex, though there was no record of a divorce. “He wasn’t a good husband and not really a good father.”
Savior confirms his mother’s report. “It’s an open secret about my father’s affairs. He was on the road a lot, traveling and fighting for equality and freedom for everyone. When people hear about the Civil Rights Movement, they naturally think of the 1960s. What they don’t think about how it’s still active today. Redlining, not being hired because of your ethnic name, being paid less simply because of your race and gender, loan sharks in the form of payday and online loan scammers that specifically target minorities. We may not be singing We Shall Overcome, but there’s a lot of work that needs to be done. That’s where my father comes in.
“Whenever there’s a police shooting, he gets the call first. Whenever there’s discrimination, he’s the first one that knows about it. My father will find all of this out before there’s even a press conference, before there’s a viral video. He doesn’t seek it. People tell him what’s going on and he uses his discretion on whether it’s something he wants to pursue.
“While my father was everyone’s champion, he was never home. He used to be gone for days at a time. Then it became weeks. Soon, it was months. Then, we only saw him on major holidays. A marriage can’t survive on that. My mother was also gone a lot fighting for women’s rights and she still travels quite a bit. The difference between the two was my mother was never gone more than a weekend.
“My mother isn’t innocent, neither. She’s had her fair share of lovers and I’ve met quite a few of them. Some even helped me with homework and took me out for ice cream.” He gives a sad smile. “That’s when I knew how dysfunctional their relationship was and how I would never want to have one like it.
“My parents never officially divorced but they’ve been separated for quite some time. They announced the separation about 10 years ago and neither of them have actually filed for divorce, nor do I think they ever will. They still live on the same property, just in different wings of the home. Their home is big enough where they can be there every day of the year and still not bother each other at any given time.”
He pulls into a parking garage and parks the car. He unbuckles his seat belt and turns to me. “So, while you’re concerned about my association with you, trust me, with my family history, you’re actually small potatoes.”
