If You Come Softly: Prologue–Chapter 6

He saw the quads flexing under his dark thighs, saw his long brown arms reaching out for the ball, the way his calves moved as he flew down the court.

He knew he'd look out at the stands and see more white faces—hundreds of them, cheering him and Percy Academy on. It seemed wrong—cliché somehow. Why couldn't he have loved tennis?

I glanced down at my Percy uniform, wondering if the administration knew the burgundy jackets and gray skirts we had to wear were the same colors that many doormen in the city had.

The rain sounded soothing though, consistent. Like it would always come down. Like it would always be here.

I sat up and pressed my hand across the pleats of my gray Percy skirt before pulling it off.

I smiled, pulling a sprig of rosemary from the chicken.

I didn't like my nieces. They were spoiled and prim. Even at twelve, they insisted on dressing identically.

"You were married at eighteen, Marion. And pregnant. And I'm not even going to venture a guess as to which one happened first."

"You left us broken all open," I said. "All reeling, Marion. I didn't know it back then..."

"I woke up that morning knowing I wouldn't be able to stand another day of making breakfast and lunch and dinner, of fixing arguments between you all, of listening to Edward fret over medical school—of all the noise and mess and..."

"If there was a boy—which there isn't—I don't think he'd go to temple." I tried to imagine Jeremiah with a yarmulke, his locks springing out around it.

"I guess that's what happens when we send you to a gentile school. How do you like it?"

Jeremiah watched her lift spaghetti from the colander onto the blue plates they always ate off.

"Supposed to be a good vintage—1993 from the Napa Valley." Before they separated, his mother and father had gone to the wine country.

"How'd you know?" Anne asked. I could hear the surprise and exasperation in her voice.

"I started Percy this week," I said casually.

We're going to have a bunch of friends over and say some vows to each other. Ruben wasn't very keen on the idea.

"I don't like white guys with locks. I mean—it's so obviously an appropriation—"
"He's black, Anne."

"Look. I know it's New York, and I know things are different from when I was in high school and blah, blah, blah. But I have to be a big sister for a moment and say don't do something just 'cause you're mad at Marion or want to be radical—"

A long time ago, Anne used to talk about energy—how that was all love was—ions connecting across synapses of time and air.

Don't rationalize, she'd say. None of it will ever make sense.

In the center of it, a maroon and gray panther leaped over the Percy insignia.

"My pops does a bit of advertising, know what I'm saying? Last year he hooked Rayshon up with a gig at his firm. Just like a trial thing, but Rayshon stepped to it and my pops was like, 'Man, I'm going keep this cat on.'"

He nodded and kept going, a portfolio case bumping against his leg as he walked.

I used to think that all those babies needed was some kind of chance—and a mother's dream for them. I was so...so silly back then. Naive.