Chapter 12
BITTER AND TWISTED
JAHLANI
The Graduate Affairs Event for Data Science and Statistics is a large gathering for statisticians, computer scientists, data scientists, and anyone else interested in learning more about current research in the field.
It also helps undergraduate students learn more about graduate school admission requirements and potential career opportunities.
In other words, it’s one giant white, cisgender, male nerd fest.
Jahlani had come to terms with the fact that no matter where she went, there was a high probability that she would always be one of the few Black women in the horde.
The hulking downside to her industry is the constant requirement of having to prove that she deserves to be there as much as the next person.
That no, she isn’t in the wrong class, and yes, she knows the difference between Binomial distribution and Poisson distribution. Yes, she graduated from her university summa cum laude with a faultless grade point average, but it was something she hadn’t yet learned how to wear as a badge of honor.
The watchful gazes and upturned noses never quite screamed ‘We’re happy to have you here.’ She attended several of them in New York during undergrad, and eventually learned what type of people to avoid to survive the night.
Jahlani brings a glass of water to her lips. So far, only ten students have shown up. Checking the time on her watch, she sees that the event ends soon.
I’ll be there. At the event.
She cranes her neck around the room, looking for a familiar pair of forest green eyes and chestnut hair, but when she comes up short, she’s suddenly reminded of when her parents had promised to show up for a presentation in high school.
It was her senior research project about the impact of stress on high-achieving students.
She spent the whole year on the paper, practicing her speech in front of the mirror, with Imani, with her teacher.
Of course, neither of them showed.
And of course, they both had a shitty excuse.
She knows that Roman isn’t her parents, and truthfully, he doesn’t owe her anything.
Given his track record for class, his words held no comforting syllable.
The probability of him making an appearance was low to begin with.
People don’t just change overnight, and certainly not for some random person. Certainly not for her.
Even so, the bitterness that clouds her mind is hard to stop. It was the conviction in his voice that made her believe him. And his eyes.
And that’s the problem.
The memory of them continues to afflict her thoughts for the rest of the evening.
Even as she indulges in petty conversation.
Even as she treks to the bus stop. Even as she unzips her dress and washes the makeup from her skin.
Even as the silken comforter rests against her cheek.
Even as she drifts off into a soundless sleep, the shine—their depth—still haunt her.
The weekend passes by in a blur. And Jahlani is sure that she’s over it. Over Roman not showing up.
She has a hundred other things weighing on her mind, so there’s no reason for her to be checking the class roster to see if he’s still active, and there’s definitely no reason for the relief that washes over her when she sees that he is.
And there is absolutely no reason for her chest to hammer as she watches the clock for their meeting to start during office hours on Tuesday.
Her phone vibrates on the desk, and she leans forward to pick it up. Her stomach pivots when she sees his contact name flash across the screen.
“Hello,” she breathes out softly. Wary.
“Hey Jahlani,” her dad says. “You busy?”
She checks the time again. Roman was officially late. Moving the phone to rest between her ear and shoulder, she checks her inbox for a message from him.
Nothing.
“Nope.”
Her father clears his throat. “So, Helen and I were talking, and we think it’s better to send the money when everything is done.”
We?
She exhales slowly as a mounting pressure starts to build behind her eyes.
She shifts to hold the phone, and it happens subconsciously.
Suddenly, she finds herself transported to his Tudor-style home in New Hampshire.
She’s only ever caught glimpses over the years through static-filled video calls and low-quality photographs, but the open space layout is clear as day.
Helen is in her early thirties. She’s nice.
And as Jahlani grips it tighter, she realizes she can’t even hate the woman.
“Dad, I’m not asking you for the full amount right now.” Her voice is tight and restrained.
He clears his throat. “I—okay. Okay. I can send you half soon, and then I’ll have the rest for you another time.”
“When?” she asks, her tone stern.
“Jahlani, it’s hard right now, baby. Helen’s IVF treatment was more expensive than we anticipated, and we started to renovate.”
Jahlani’s head tilts at this. “IVF treatment?” she asks, adjusting herself in the chair. “I thought you said it was unexpected?”
He blows out a gust of air, and the static sends an unwelcome chill across her skin. “Yeah, well. I mean that, with how long it’s taken, you know.”
Jahlani licks her lips, shaking her head slowly. “So, you had the money for IVF treatments for months, but you couldn’t spare a single cent to pay back the loans you told me to take out?”
“Jahlani—”
She squeezes her eyes shut. “No,” she says in a whisper. Then louder, “You can’t keep doing this to me.”
“End of next year, I promise.”
This time, she laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. “I need you to do better than that. You told me you would have this money once I graduated the first time. That was almost two years ago, Dad.”
She releases a shaky breath, rubbing her temple. “Look, I understand that you have another family that you have to take care of, but this is your responsibility.”
He kisses his teeth, his tone turning cold. “Why are you acting like this, huh? Did your mother put you up to this?”
She exhales. “Like what, Dad?”
“Greedy. Money hungry.”
Jahlani blinks rapidly. “You’re kidding, right?”
“You’re like a child throwing a tantrum. You’re twenty-six, Jahlani. Grow up and handle your own problems. You’re not a kid anymore.”
“But I’m yours,” she says, her skin heating.
“I’m still your responsibility. No matter how old I get, how far you move, how many kids you have with Helen, I will always be there.
I’m not the one acting like a child here.
You are, Dad. And that little gnawing feeling that you have inside right now, that’s your guilt talking.
Send me my money,” she says, ending the call.
Leaning back, she takes several long, drawn-out breaths.
Her eyes flit to the clock again before they scan the length of Professor Jackson’s collection of books.
Since Jahlani’s position is funded through a grant, they didn’t have the money to spare for her own office.
Standing up, she notes that Roman is officially fifteen minutes late.
Of course he is.
Realizing that she has time to peruse Jackson’s aged library, she skirts around the desk and up to a row of books lined in dust. As she skims the titles, she’s surprised to see that none of them contain his name.
A particular text catches her eye, and she hooks her finger on the edge of the binding, pulling it out.
“What are we reading?”
She gasps, and the book tumbles from her hands and onto the floor. Roman bends down to pick it up, handing it to her. Her eyes take in his hunched figure, and for a moment, she forgets she’s irritated that he’s late, her body betraying her when their fingers brush as she takes it from him.
Shrugging her shoulders to ease her nerves, she returns it to the shelf, not making eye contact.
“Don’t sneak up on people like that,” she mumbles, moving toward the desk with a hand over her chest.
“Sorry.” Her eyes snap up at the deep rumble of his voice. She takes in his flushed cheeks, wind-tousled hair. Effortless ability to look so …
No.
She clears her throat and drops into her chair as he simultaneously sinks into the one opposite her. She rubs her hand against her temple, glancing at the clock.
“Forget to drink again?” he asks with a carefree smile, extending his bottle to her over the desk.
“No,” she says, her tone more clipped than she intends. “I’ve just had a long day.” She says, but his fingers are fast at work on his phone screen.
You’re kidding.
Her eye twitches as she takes in his relaxed posture. He should be opening his laptop, apologizing for being late, thanking her for staying, for waiting. Her hand fists by her mouse as she resists the urge to throw a wad of paper at him.
Instead, she sighs. “Do you have everything?” she asks, typing. There’s no reply from him so she looks over the screen. “Roman?” she calls out, eyebrows raised.
He looks up, clicking the phone shut. “Everything?”
In her head, she mocks him. In real life, she nods slowly as if she’s talking to a five-year-old.
“For the exams?”
“Shit. Yeah, um—”
She leans back, running a hand over her mouth as he jerks his bag around. His phone vibrates again, and he checks the screen. “It’s here somewhere.”
Her eyes fly to the clock again, her body starting to grow heavy with fatigue.
His hand stops moving. “Shit.”
She shakes her head, her lips flattening. “You don’t have it, do you?” She crosses her arms across her chest, staring hard.
He slides a hand through his hair. “I must have left it on my desk. Fuck.”
“Of course you don’t.” Jahlani scoffs, shaking her head as she closes the laptop, standing up abruptly. She grabs the stack of papers in front of her and starts shoving them into her bag.
“Jahlani, I’m so sorry.”
Her hands work more quickly to pack, the sincerity in his voice making her stomach twist.