Chapter 3After dinner, I spent half an hour with my father watching the evening news. Lester Holt reported the heightened violence here and abroad, senseless acts of killings worldwide, and innocent lives lost to unwell people with guns and bombs.
The endless c*****e was churning my stomach, especially after my father’s sweet cherry cheesecake. A bitter aftertaste climbed the back of my throat. I wanted to vomit, scream, bolt from the room, and lock myself in my bedroom until the world was a safer place.
“People suck,” I exclaimed, wedged in our large, threadbare recliner and hugging my mother’s version of a rainbow pride crochet pillow. My favorite color—blue—was missing from the braided-styled weaves and substituted with a thick, dark brown stripe.
She was trying to incorporate Black
