EZRA
I s t e p p e d o u t of the car and felt every muscle in my body tighten. In front of me stood a mansion so white and clean it looked like something straight out of a fucking TV drama.
The lawn was perfect with expensive landscaping and cars parked neatly along a winding driveway. The sound of soft jazz drifted from the backyard, weaving between conversations and polite laughter. My sneakers felt out of place against the polished stones beneath my feet. My tattoos felt even more pressed against my skin.
Yaya glanced at me, eyes wide with nerves. “You ready?” she asked quietly, reaching for my hand.
“Let’s do it,” I said, more confident than I felt.
We walked through the side gate into the backyard, and the first thing that hit me was the sheer elegance of it all. White tents, fairy lights draped tastefully, gold accents shimmering in the fading sunlight. Servers moved around with silver trays of appetizers, while people who looked too rich to sweat laughed gently behind expensive sunglasses and summer linen. This shit wasn’t a gathering. It was a carefully curated event.
I kept Yaya’s hand tight in mine as she led me toward a group near the bar. I watched as she slipped into a version of herself I’d never seen before. Her shoulders straightened, her voice rose just slightly in pitch, her laughter more polished. She was still my Yaya but dressed in armor I never knew she owned.
“Yavanni!” a woman called, stepping forward with a big smile and flawless makeup. “We thought you’d never arrive. Congrats!”
“Thank you, Aunt Lucy,” Yaya greeted warmly, leaning in for an air kiss. “This is Ezra.”
Her aunt looked me up and down with her gaze lingering a fraction too long on my arms before she offered a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, Ezra. What is it that you do?”
“I’m a poet,” I said, keeping my voice even.
Her brows rose, the polite smile widening stiffly. “A poet! How lovely. And what else?”
“Just poetry,” I said, calm. “Performances, writin’—”
“A true creative,” she cut me off smoothly, dismissing me with a nod and turning back to Yaya. “Your parents mentioned you got the Hollis Medical offer for an interview. Incredible opportunity.”
I stood there silent, feeling my chest tighten. Yaya nodded, looking uncomfortable. “Yes, Aunt Lucy, it’s very exciting.” I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of the eyes moving over me. “Come on,” Yaya whispered, gently tugging my arm. “Let’s keep moving.”
As we drifted deeper into the crowd, I noticed the same interaction on repeat. Family member after family member, same polite greetings, same barely-hidden judgments. They praised Yaya’s accomplishments and asked me polite but pointed questions about my poetry, always with undertones of skepticism.
Eventually, we reached the heart of it all. Her parents stood near the main tent. Yaya’s Pops, tall and commanding in his perfectly tailored cream suit, watched us approach with sharp, assessing eyes. Her moms, elegant and controlled, smiled with a quiet grace that somehow felt colder than if she hadn’t smiled at all.
“Mom, Daddy,” Yaya began, her voice subtly higher now, carefully placed. “This is Ezra. Ezra, these are my parents, Leonard and Evelyn Sinclair.”
Her Pops extended his hand first. “Ezra.”
I took it, matching his firm grip. “Mr. Sinclair.”
He looked me directly in the eye, steady and unblinking. “Yavanni tells us you’re an artist.”
“A poet,” I clarified, holding his gaze. “Yes, sir.”
He nodded slowly, releasing my hand. “Interesting career choice. Does it pay the bills?”
“Enough,” I said calmly, although it was a lie. He didn’t need to know that I survived off old drug money.
Yaya’s moms intervened smoothly, her voice a soft buffer. “Ezra, are you from the area originally?”
“Born and raised in East Hollis,” I replied, forcing a calm smile.
“And your family?” she continued, probing gently.
“My mom's passed when I was comin' up and I don’t know my Pops,” I admitted, noticing the slight shift in their expressions.
Yaya's Pops gave her a look, as if to silently question her choice. “Ambition is important. You understand that, don’t you, Ezra?”
“Yes, sir, I do,” I replied firmly, trying to keep my tone respectful despite the heat rising in my chest.
“And you think poetry will provide the stability my daughter deserves?” he asked, voice quiet but dangerous.
My fists clenched. “I’m buildin' somethin’ solid and it’s not just 'bout money.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked coolly.
“Daddy, please,” Yaya said softly, almost pleading.
Her Pops ignored her, still holding my gaze. “My daughter has options. Many of them. I just hope you’re prepared to offer her more than just nice words.”
I took a deep breath, feeling my jaw tighten. “I’ll do right by ya daughter. You can count on that.”
There was silence, thick and charged until her mom's finally broke it. “Well, it’s lovely meeting you, Ezra. Please, enjoy yourself.” As they walked away, Yaya’s grip on my hand tightened. She tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
The rest of the evening blurred into tense small talk and fake laughter. I watched as Yaya shifted even deeper into that unfamiliar armor, distancing herself from the woman I’d fallen in love with. By the time we left, every part of me felt strained. The moment we got back into the car, the silence exploded.
“You could’ve handled that better,” Yaya finally said, her voice quiet but sharp.
“How?” I demanded. “By frontin’? By pretendin’ to be someone I’m not?”
“I didn’t say put on a front,” she shot back, driving away. “But you knew how important this was. They just needed reassurance.”
“No, they wanted me to apologize for existin’,” I said bitterly. “They judged me from jump, Yavanni, and you just stood there and let 'em.”
“What did you want me to do?” she snapped, turning sharply to face me. “Make a scene at my parents’ house? It’s complicated!”
“Nah, it’s clear as hell,” I fired back as she gripped the steering wheel tighter. “You wanted me to change. To fit their mold. You knew who I was from the start, but suddenly that shit ain’t enough.”
She huffed, voice trembling slightly. “It’s not about changing you. It’s about navigating two worlds. You don’t even want to try.”
“I showed up!” I exploded, anger and hurt flooding my chest. “I stood there and took it. For you.”
“And I appreciated that,” she said, eyes glistening, “but you made it obvious how miserable you were. You barely tried to hide it.”
I stared at her, the words feeling like a slap. “So this shit my fault now?”
She shook her head, voice strained. “Forget it. You don’t get it. Maybe you can’t.”
“Nah, fuck that. Say what you mean,” I demanded.
She turned to me, eyes blazing, tears threatening to fall. “I mean... maybe this isn’t gonna work, Ezra. Maybe we’re too different. Maybe… love or whatever this is isn’t enough.”
Silence filled the car, heavy and sharp. I swallowed hard with my heart hammering in my chest. “You mean that shit?”
She didn’t answer, just looked away at the red light, staring out the window as if the answer was written in the night.
The rest of the drive was quiet as hell. By the time Yaya pulled up to my apartment, my chest was hollow. I opened the door to get out and she blurted, “I need some space. I think we both do.”
I glanced back at her, narrowing my eyes, not believing what the fuck she just said. But still, I nodded and climbed out, slamming the passenger door behind me. I watched her pull away from the curb and drive off down the street and I never felt further away from her than at that moment.