Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
touré
If the raucous response and laughter are anything to go by, the crowd is loving this interview so far.
The Yard is packed, the students spilling over its borders onto the surrounding grass.
With the gigantic screen projecting us, the campus radio team set up, and Niomi’s AM crew capturing their shots, this feels like quite the production.
It’s been a long time since I was on this campus, but I didn’t forget Finley.
I’ve supported the school financially and done promo videos to help raise money and visibility.
If my alma mater called, I answered however I could, but it never worked out that I could actually show up when they invited me.
Once it was Kabul. Another time Moscow. A coup.
A storm. I made my living as a story chaser, and I’ve always gone where the story led.
Maybe if he was home, I would.
Celine’s response was low-voiced and a low blow. One that found its target.
Me.
I spot her in the front row, surrounded by her friends I only vaguely know.
Her near hero worship of Niomi doesn’t bother me.
Hell, I’m as captivated by her as the millions of early morning viewers.
Her polished, professional veneer never feels like a barrier.
It enhances her appeal, but doesn’t guard.
So many women I’ve worked with describe their wardrobe and makeup as armor.
And God knows they need it in an industry still so overwhelmingly misogynistic and male-focused, even though we’ve made a lot of progress.
But Niomi’s shiny exterior doesn’t gleam like a shield or deflect.
Somehow this renowned interviewer sitting across from me on this stage on the Yard where we used to hang between classes is as inviting as she was on our video conference call with a ponytail, wearing her Finley sweatshirt.
“Touré,” Niomi says, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “I have an unsanctioned question to ask you.”
I would typically tense up, or as I did on one occasion, shut the interview down altogether and walk out, earning me a reputation with some as a recalcitrant asshole.
I catch sight of my agent standing just offstage.
Panic stretches her eyes. She knows I hate surprises.
Frank, Niomi’s producer, frowns, speaking into his little headset, probably anticipating that I’ll make a scene or end the interview.
None of that happens, though. I trust, not only the Niomi I used to know, but the one I’ve seen on the morning show disarming guests and proving over and over that she won’t exploit.
“This wasn’t in the plan,” I say, allowing the teasing in my voice to set everyone, including Niomi, at ease. “But for you? Anything.”
I’m shamelessly flirting with her in front of a few hundred students, several colleagues and my offspring.
When Niomi introduced Ron as her cousin, all bets were off.
It wasn’t even something I articulated to myself, but if there’s a chance she might be feeling me, she’ll have no doubt I’m feeling her.
“Alright, I’mma test that theory,” Niomi grins back at me. “You had a nickname in college.”
“Oh, no,” I laugh-groan. “You aren’t going there.”
“Enquiring minds want to know how you came to be called Big Country here on campus.”
I release a breath and shake my head as laughter rises from the crowd. The students’ energy is electric, and it makes me want to do more events with the youth.
The youth? God, I’m old.
“We’re waiting,” Niomi sing songs, a wide, teasing smile on her face.
“Everyone didn’t call me that.” I scan the crowd until I find Janelle sitting near Celine on the front row. “Only your VP of Student Affairs Janelle Hopkins did.”
As if on cue, Janelle stands and turns, waving at the applauding crowd like she’s the homecoming queen.
Niomi and I both laugh, our eyes catching and holding with mutual affection for Janelle, who was the glue for our friend group.
In a glance, it feels like the last twenty years fall away, and Niomi and I are in stitches over something Janelle said or did.
I don’t regret my career or even most of the things I had to sacrifice to achieve what I have, but I regret losing so much time with Celine.
And in this moment, on the campus where I discovered so much about myself, where my roots deepened and where I made some of the best friends I ever had, I regret losing touch with them.
I regret not ever having the remarkable woman seated across from me.
“I’m originally from Alabama,” I say once the crowd settles.
“And Janelle, who’s pretty short standing beside me, since I’m kind of tall, started calling me Big Country.
She was the only one. I don’t have much of an accent now because my professors here stripped the last vestiges of it.
Professor Caruthers, may he rest in peace, used to say, ‘Boy, you won’t be on anybody’s TV sounding like you just fell off a watermelon truck. ’”
“That was him,” Niomi agrees, her smile fond for our old professor. “He took the country out of a lot of us.”
“There wasn’t much left in me because my family had been living in Germany for my father’s job. My parents actually still live there. I came back to the States for college. I’m a legacy. My father, mother, grandfather, and grandmother all attended Finley.”
The students explode with cheers and applause and chants of “Fin-ley pride! Fin-ley pride!”
I shift, crossing an ankle over my knee and settling more deeply into the chair and into my story.
“It was kind of disorienting to be back in America at first. Disorienting and amazing. I hadn’t been surrounded by people who looked like me in a long time, so coming to Finley was like fresh air.”
“Did your time with your parents in Germany play a part in deciding to spend your senior year abroad?”
“Probably. I loved being back here, but I’ve always enjoyed varied cultural experiences and knew I wanted to report from around the world.
When the offer came to work with a foreign press that last year, I jumped at it.
I wouldn’t trade that time working as a reporter in Paris for anything.
It revealed a lot about what I wanted for my career, for my life. ”
“Well, speaking as one of your friends here for three years,” Niomi says, her smile a little wistful. “We missed having you around. When you couldn’t even make it back for graduation, we were all disappointed.”
“I wanted to, but by then I had a daughter on the way.” I point to Celiene. “Your homecoming queen.”
The camera grabs a shot of Celine, briefly flashing her on the large screen.
The crowd erupts, some making the connection between us for the first time.
Celine grins, pleasure and pride seeming to burst from every pore.
I’m glad I came back for this, for her. That I get to see her this way.
Happy, even if I do have some making up to do.
“I didn’t get to walk for graduation,” I continue. “My diploma arrived in Paris the day Celine was born. It was a good trade-off. I was in the right place, but there was a lot I missed spending senior year abroad. I didn’t get to enjoy that last homecoming with my friends.”
This is a weekend to recover and repair. I knew that was the assignment with Celine. Obviously I have ground to make up with her, but maybe I can start making up ground with Niomi, too.
“There was one thing I’ve always regretted not getting to do senior year,” I say.
“Yeah? Are you gonna share with the class?” Niomi gestures to the large crowd surrounding the stage.
“There was this girl.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, an oooooh rises from the crowd. I look out at them with raised brows and a wolfish grin. When I swing my look back around to Niomi, though, the smile has frozen on her face. She blinks about ten times in two seconds and licks her lips before she goes on.
“A girl?”
“A girl I liked. A lot. I’d had a crush on her since freshman year.”
The audience sends up more whoops, and if Niomi’s cheeks weren’t that rich shade of brown, I’d bet my next book advance we’d see her blushing.
“Why did you . . .well, you had three years. Why didn’t you ever tell this girl how you felt?”
“I thought there would be time. At a party celebrating the end of finals right before we went home for the summer, I kissed her.”
Her chest rises with a sharply-indrawn breath and every trace of a smile disappears. Her eyes are alert and wide and locked on mine.
“You-you did?”
“Yeah, but it couldn’t go anywhere. She was dating someone else. We were both a little drunk,” I aim my words at the crowd and chuckle. “But I remember every moment. It was perfect.”
“It was,” she agrees softly. Her startled eyes ping from my face to the crowd. “I mean . . . it was? Was it?”
“I don’t kiss and tell, but—”
“And yet here you are telling.”
“Just the best parts.” The look I level on her blocks out the crowd so she has no doubt this is about her, about us, not about this interview or our spectators. “I told myself senior year if she was free, I would ask her out and let her know how I felt. I even had a grand gesture planned.”
I give the crowd a wry look. “And I ain’t the grand gesture kind of dude.”
I check Celine’s expression to make sure this isn’t awkward for her.
She’s always known there wasn’t some great love match between her mom and me.
We’ve never been a couple. We’ve always been her parents who, though we didn’t love each other, loved her very much.
All Celine’s life Annette and I have dated other people.
Not that I had much time to date much. Fortunately, Celine’s beaming, seemingly as eager for the next details of the story as the students around her.
“So about this grand gesture,” Niomi says, her mouth curling at the corners with a soft smile. “What was it?”
“I’m not telling.”
The crowd raises a chorus of cheers and boos and whoops and hollering, but I shake my head, laughing and adamant.
“That’s all you’re getting,” I tell them, shifting my gaze back to tangle with Niomi’s. “For now.”
I’m signing copies of my book, paraphernalia, sweatshirts—whatever students thrust at me to sign.
Niomi has her own line of people wanting pics and autographs.
Celine stands a few feet apart, looking over her shoulder every few minutes like she’s about to make her escape.
After a few seconds, she does, heading across the yard and toward the parking lot.
“Celine!” I shout, scribbling my name on one last book and spreading an apologetic smile around. “I need to go.”
“Will you be here all weekend?” one student asks.
“I will. Catch me if you see me,” I say over my shoulder as I jog after my daughter.
“Celine, wait.” I catch up with her and take her elbow gently, turning her to face me. “You’re not leaving are you? I was hoping we could have dinner.”
She gestures toward a float on the other side of the parking lot. “We’re finalizing stuff for the parade tomorrow morning.”
“Maybe after that?”
“After that I have to hit a few parties. You do remember what homecoming’s like, right? The homecoming queen has to make the rounds the night before.”
“And I guess tomorrow is really hectic, huh?”
“Yeah, it is.” She releases an exasperated sigh. “I know what you’re trying to do, Dad.”
“And what’s that?”
“Make up for lost time, but this weekend isn’t for you. It’s for me, and I don’t want to make it about easing your guilt for not being around.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
She angles a wry look up at me.
“Okay, maybe that’s a little bit of what I’m doing. I am sorry I was gone so much.”
“It’s fine. I mean, it’s actually not cool. You missed a lot, but I knew you were doing important things.”
I lift her chin, making sure she looks at me when I say what I need to get out. “Nothing is more important than you, Celine. It may not have felt that way sometimes, but I mean that.”
“I guess next thing you’ll say is you did it all for me,” she laughs with a trace of bitterness and not a speck of humor.
“No. Well, yes, especially in the beginning, I took any assignment I could get because I had a kid to support. So, yeah, in that way, a lot of it was with providing for you in mind. But, no. I have the career I wanted. I sacrificed a lot to find and tell stories I thought were important. I’m just sorry if our relationship suffered.
” I cup her face and smile ruefully. “I turned around and it feels like you went from a little girl to this beautiful young woman overnight. I want to know you now, Celine.”
After a second of searching my eyes, she nods.
“Okay, but don’t try to stuff it all into two days. I worked hard to be voted homecoming queen, and I want to make the most of it. So maybe tonight you go to the hotel with all the other old folks.”
“Old?” I choke out a laugh.
She gives a smirk that turns into a giggle. “Do the electric slide with your college buddies. Have fun.” She tilts her head toward the float and the students working on it. “I gotta go, but I’ll see you at the parade in the morning.”
“I’ll be at the step show tonight.”
“I know.” She scrunches her nose. “but let’s just pretend we don’t know each other.”
“I can do that. I’m sure I’ll find something to amuse myself with.”
“Or someone,” she says archly. “You think I didn’t pick up on how you looked at Niomi Spencer? You gotta tell me. She was the girl, right?”
“What girl?” I deadpan, playing dumb.
She sucks her teeth, one hand going to her hip. “The one you kissed at the party.”
I stoneface her, pulling an imaginary zip over my lips.
“Daddy.” She stomps her foot. “Tell me.”
“Okay, okay,” I finally release a laugh. “Yeah, it was Niomi.”
“You have to talk to her. Have dinner with her. Something.”
“Is my daughter giving me advice on my love life?”
“What love life?” she asks dryly.
“You got a point. How about you leave the old folks to figure our stuff out and you focus tonight on being Finley’s new queen, huh?”
“Okay.” She tips up to kiss my cheek.
I pull her close and kiss the top of her head. “I love you, kid. You know that?”
She looks up at me and nods, the smile on her face sweeter—at least for me—than I’ve seen in a long time. “I know.”