Chapter 7
I AM MY FATHER’S DAUGHTER
JAHLANI
Dear Ms. Jahlani Maria Jones,
For questions about your account, please reach out to customer service.
Hillman Financial
Jahlani’s foot taps the dusty blue carpeted surface as she sits in the leather chair of the softly lit hallway of the Graduate Affairs building.
She’d left earlier than she needed to, not wanting to deal with her mother’s blatant disregard for her.
Jahlani takes in the floor-to-ceiling windows as the afternoon light filters in with ease, crafting a checkered pattern against the walls.
The campus is airy and large with sprawling bushes, and the chatter of students exploring.
She made the wrong turn twice on the way over, overwhelmed at the size of the campus, and having never been good with directions.
Now, as she sits and waits, the grip she has on her phone tightens with each breath.
Her finger hovers over the contact for several ticks before she finally presses the call button.
She finds it strange, the amount of unease that is ballooning in her stomach, rippling across her forehead, closing up her throat.
It shouldn’t be like this. She shouldn’t feel like this, because it’s only—
“Jahlani.”
She releases a shaky breath, the rough polyester of her pants scraping against her sweaty palms as her knee bounces.
“Hey, Dad,” she says, her voice sounding small.
Over the years, she’s grown strategic in how she speaks with him.
She’s methodical. She breezes through the first part of her routine, mindful to keep her tone level with just enough interest to appear like she cares.
Twenty minutes into him complaining about work, she brings up what warranted the phone call to begin with.
Rolling her shoulders, she clears her throat, a nervous utterance that echoes through the muted building.
“Hey, so I was wondering if you could, you know, maybe start paying back some of that credit card debt you owe me?”
The silence weighs heavily, stretching, expanding—a suffocating pressure—before her voice, thin and reedy, offers a fragile sound.
“You know what?” she says. “It’s fine—”
“Sure.”
Sure?
“Oh,” she says, unsure of what to say next, not anticipating this response. “I really appreciate it,” she adds, already hating how formal she sounds.
“How much?” he asks.
Ah, there’s the other shoe, she thinks as she scratches her forehead, the smooth skin a familiar comfort.
“Well, uh, it’s a lot–”
“Jahlani. Stop mumbling. I can’t understand what you’re saying,” he clips.
A quiet exhale escapes her lips, a subtle release of tension. “It’s twenty-five.”
“Twenty-five hundred?”
She stifles her scoff, barely able to contain her irritation at his ignorance. The words escape her lips in a hushed tone. “Twenty-five thousand, Dad.”
Silence bears down on the other end of the line. “You’re kidding.”
She sighs, her chest tightening painfully. “Well … you told me to use the credit cards to help me through school and that you would pay me back. And then you didn’t, and the interest collected—”
“Right, but common sense would tell you to pay it back a little to avoid that, sweetheart. What happened to your big … fancy statesman job?”
She grits her teeth. “Statistician. I’m a statistician, Dad.”
“Okay … well, what happened to that?”
She scratches the back of her head. “It was an internship. I didn’t get paid much. It’s more for the experience.”
“Christ,” he says, his voice gravelly. “Jesus, Jahlani.”
She mutes the phone, pinching her nose as her eyes start to water. She knows she can just end the conversation here and now. She can placate him with her usual routine. But the notification from her bank flashes in her mind as she unmutes.
“Look, I’m not asking for all the money now, I just need enough to hold me over until the semester ends.”
“Jahlani, baby. Hold on. I—” He blows out a breath. She hears shuffling and then a door closes on his end. He whispers now. “Look, I want to give you the money. I do.”
“But?”
“Helen’s pregnant.”
She taps the mute button again, feeling the once-cold leather now warm from her body heat under her fingertips as she grips the armrest. Jahlani forces a smile onto her face, feeling the strain in her cheeks as she unmutes.
“That’s great news, Dad.” She tries to sound strong, but her voice does this strange warble. She clears her throat, exhaling through her mouth. “Congratulations. I’m happy for you. For you both.”
“Yeah,” he says, and she can hear the lightness in his voice as he drones on, oblivious to the damage he is doing. “It was totally unexpected. And we just purchased the house a few months ago, and—it’s a girl! You’ll be a big sister, and—”
And now you’ll finally have a family that accepts you.
Jahlani recalls the night that he finally left.
At that point, he rarely appeared in her bedroom.
The last time he set foot in there was to build her four large white bookcases from IKEA that took up the length of the wall.
His frame filling her doorway set alarm bells ringing, and when her eyes drifted to the metallic suitcase and duffel bag by his feet, she knew.
At that moment, she was torn. The angsty, hormonal teenage part of her was flustered.
But the rational, pragmatic, sensible part of her knew her parents arguments weren’t traditional, and the way her aunts and grandmother would turn their nose up and speak to him whenever they would go over was debilitating, and so instead of throwing herself at him and crying in his arms like she wanted to, she slipped out of her bed, gave him a squeeze around his midsection that she swore wouldn’t last more than ten seconds, and resumed her original position, typing away.
Her father’s voice carries her back to the present. “And, anyway, Jahlani, you see how this isn’t the best time for me financially. But I promise you once the baby is born and Helen’s back at work, I’ll send over the full amount. Okay, baby?”
No. Not okay.
“Dad—”
“Jahlani, I have to go. It’s Helen. We’ll talk soon, yeah?”
He ends the call, the dial tone seemingly mocking her as she drops the phone into her lap.
“Jackass,” she says under her breath, rubbing her forehead. Tossing it into her bag, she slumps back against the chair.
A door opening at the end of the hallway causes her to stand up.
She runs her hands down her shirt, smoothing out her blouse as a woman in heels walks toward her.
Her hair is in a neat updo, and her eyes are a crescent blue that are hard to miss.
She extends her hand to Jahlani, giving her a polished smile.
“Ms. Jones. I’m Dr. Evangeline Hunt,” she says, taking her hand with a firm grip. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please, follow me.”
Jahlani slips her bag onto her shoulder, falling into step with her as they pass several offices and meeting rooms. She takes in the woman’s floral scent, confident gait, and tailored pantsuit. When they get to the end of the hallway, they make two rights before finally reaching her office.
Dr. Hunt gestures for her to sit, and Jahlani clears her throat, sinking into the chair across from the desk. Her hands get clammy, the reality of not knowing why she is here to begin with making her stomach twist.
“You have a lovely … office,” Jahlani says, unable to come up with anything of substance. She’s never been adept at small talk. She watches as Dr. Hunt moves around the large space with gentle but hurried movements.
“Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Water?” Dr. Hunt asks.
Jahlani nods. “Water is fine, thank you.”
She shifts in the chair as she watches Dr. Hunt pour them both glasses. She gives her a comforting smile when she presses it into Jahlani’s fingertips. She’s thankful for something to hold on to as she raises the glass to her mouth with shaky hands.
After sipping, Jahlani sets it onto the tiny coffee table next to her chair. Interlacing her fingers, she waits as Dr. Hunt settles across from her.
“I have to ask: why the transfer? You were close to completing your program in New York, right?”
Jahlani’s palms grow clammy as unwanted memories of Micah flood through her mind like a broken dam. It had only been a few weeks, but Jahlani had already compartmentalized everything that had happened to her. What was the point in dwelling over things she couldn’t change?
She crosses her legs, giving a tight-lipped smile to Dr. Hunt. She didn’t feel like spilling her guts if she didn’t need to. She’d give the abbreviated version instead.
Jahlani inhales through her nose, spinning the ring on her finger. “The university dropped the last course I needed to graduate.”
Dr. Hunt nods, pressing some keys on her laptop.
Jahlani looks down at the ground as she says the next words, not fully believing them as they fall past her lips. “And I have family here.” She shrugs, toying with the gold bracelet around her wrist. “I wanted to come back home,” she says with as much enthusiasm as she can muster.
Dr. Hunt seems to buy it as she taps a finger to her lips. She unbuttons her jacket before shrugging it down her shoulders.
“Well, I’m thrilled to have you here. I know the program is in desperate need of more enrollment. Especially a woman of your aptitude,” she says, sending a smile her way as she wrangles her hair out of its bun, dark waves trickling over her shoulders. She leans forward on her desk.
“So, Ms. Jones—”
“Please, just Jahlani is fine.”
Dr. Hunt’s lips turn upward. “Jahlani, I called this meeting because I have a proposition for you. Unfortunately, because you turned in your transfer paperwork so late, there aren’t any more internships available that are similar to the work you were doing in New York.”
And so it begins.
Really, it shouldn’t matter what type of internship it is as long as she gets the credit to graduate. Except for her, it does.