Page 57 of Pride and Protest
“What?”
“Oh, you think little brother don’t see, but I do, and ol’ boy has had his eye on you all night.”
“Maurice, you think you know something, but you don’t. Could you sit down somewhere?”
“You fight Ma all the time, but you’re just like her. You’re destined for side-chick status, big sis. A man looks at you like that for one reason, and it ain’t to plan the wedding.”
“Seriously, Maurice, you are theworst. Please sit and don’t get up again, or Iwillplan your funeral.” Maurice’s mouth popped shut.
Liza shuffled across the floor. The night was ruined. She was completely deflated. Guilt already ate at her for shouting at her brother. Was she so pissed because his words had a pang of truth to them? She was not naïve enough to ascribe anything innocent to the way that man looked at her. Was she setting herself up to be hidden away? As his secret shameful desire?
She yelped when Chicho tapped her shoulder.
“Uh, chill.” Chicho laughed. “What’s up with your sister?”
“Oh god, which one now?”
“Janae.” Chicho shoved the canapés on her plate into a Ziploc bag.
“Janae is fine. She looks great.”
“She doesn’t seem that interested in David,” Chicho said.
“Well, she is,” Liza said, annoyed. Liza made her way over to the food table as well, intent on filling her own Ziploc bag with hors d’oeuvres. Chicho always thought the only way around something was straight through it. She was mostly right, buther ruthless practicality could make her very black and white in a gray world.
When Liza returned to the table, she continued. “You know how shy Janae is, and she’s not a public-display-of-affection type of person.”
“She needs to display something, because she’s looking real sometimey right now.”
“Chicho, you know—”
“I know, and you know, but doesDavidknow?”
“She’ll open up and tell him on her own time.” But Liza examined her sister’s coolness. Janae looked like David’sfriendup there. Liza wondered if her sister could ever truly open up to anyone ever again. If sweet, kind David couldn’t get her to do it, perhaps no one could.
“Liza.” The partygoers moved around them and feigned disinterest, but at some point, every eye in the place had turned to her. That voice behind her made her stomach twist. She turned and saw that the dance floor had cleared behind Dorsey. A middle-aged Black man checked the mike, and the smooth opening bass guitar of Smokey Robinson’s “Cruisin’ ” started.
“I love this song,” was all Liza could say. She hated how breathless her voice sounded in her ears. Dorsey held Liza’s hand as if she were made of glass. He drew her to the middle of the floor, never taking his eyes off hers. He smelled like lemongrass and deep red wine. She was sure if she kissed him now he would taste of some vineyard in Argentina.
Don’t you dare look at his lips, you basic heffa. Remember the oxtails.
He wrapped his left arm around her waist, and she looped her arms around his neck. Still, Dorsey said nothing. He only looked at her. Liza could somehow read his gaze as a charged mixtureofHow are you? You look lovely. I want you.Liza’s throat was dry, and she swallowed. It was almost the chorus, and Dorsey had still not said a word. She had to escape those eyes, bottom-of-the-ocean-black and teeming with life. Oh great, Billie Eilish’s “Ocean Eyes” was looping in her head.
No fair.
Liza cleared her throat—anything to break the intensity of his gaze. “Um, normally at these things, people have something to say.”
Dorsey pulled her closer. Her body was flush with his. It was indecent. Everyone could see it. “What do you want to hear?”
“In these types of instances, people have remarked on the weather outside or the song they’re dancing to, like ‘Dang, girl, this is my jam,’ or something like that,” Liza offered.
“I’m not as gifted as you are in small talk,” he said dryly. They fell silent again before he made an attempt. “So... how often do you walk through blizzards to take care of your sister?”
“Can you believe it was my first time?” She smiled tightly. “I was already on the train because I went to a rally in Greenbelt.”
“A rally... where you met Isaiah?” Dorsey said, taking her by the wrist and twirling her slowly. The chain at her back caught on his tuxedo button. And the jerking sensation made them both gasp. They were always finding themselves entangled. Dorsey quickly unlooped the chain from his button.
“WIC, yes.” Liza turned to face him.
