Years later, she would wonder if she’d made a mistake that night. Maybe she should have said, “No. I don’t want to talk about it,” because love wasn’t entitlement, and she had the right to decide when and if she had those conversations. But she’d convinced herself it was selfish not to try, so she’d grabbed his hand and spent the rest of the night reassuring him it was okay to ask questions if he had them—saying that she’d rarely dated outside her race before, so she was still learning too.
In hindsight, that night set a precedent for their marriage. Matt felt safe discussing race with the woman he loved, and Rachel didn’t want to discourage it because he was trying and learning. But she never told him it was exhausting, and that his staff would pepper her with questions like she was the only safe Black person to ask why it wasn’t okay to say dreadlocks anymore. And Hailey Dearwood was the worst of them. She scheduled Rachel for every event in Black neighborhoods whether she was needed or not, as if her presence would obscure Matt’s obvious whiteness.
Now, with the additional burden of selling their fake marriage, Rachel thought she’d earned the right to skip the church service. But Matt switched course and agreed that she should be there. He couldn’t look her in the eye when he said it. Neither of them had thought about the way this dynamic of mutually assured destruction would feel: the uncomfortable grossness of forcing each other to do things against their will. He mumbled something about “important depositions” and practically burned rubber leaving the parking lot.
Rachel had her car keys in hand when Hailey informed her they’d scored a last-minute profile that afternoon with the Washington Post. “We need to capitalize on the gala, and Alesha is game, but she wants to focus on the education angle. It’s at OS Elementary West. I need to make a stop, so can you meet us there?”
“Did you say Alesha? As in Alesha Williams? My aunt?”
Hailey’s eye twitched, but her smile didn’t falter. “Yes! And we didn’t even have to beg this time. She called the campaign and insisted on interviewing you herself.”
Rachel had grown up knowing that her father had a sister named Alesha and that they were estranged for reasons he never told her. But she’d never asked for an explanation. Peter Thomas didn’t keep secrets, he revealed information when it was needed. Rachel had always trusted his judgment and she knew their world was held together by the fragile strings he’d woven to ensure she would never have to sacrifice anything. She loved him for it. But when her father died swiftly, without warning, she resented him for it. Because in addition to withholding her family history, he’d never told her about his cancer diagnosis, or his lapsed medical coverage, or the predatory loans he’d been using to pay the bills. She was alone, with a young daughter, and no one to turn to for help. By the time she found Alesha’s phone number in one of Peter’s old books, Rachel and Faith had been sleeping in a car for weeks.
Alesha had sent her an Oasis Springs address, wired gas money for the trip, and told Rachel to arrive as soon as possible because as a journalist who specialized in exposing local political corruption, she didn’t have time to “wait around for visitors” during an election season. Rachel had been so grateful for the possibility of finally sleeping in a bed again, she’d ignored the rudeness of Alesha’s charity. Once they arrived, Alesha made Faith a sandwich and asked what color she’d like to paint her new bedroom. Later, when she showed Rachel the room that she’d be sharing with her cousin Mia—a home office with two austere twin beds shoved against the wall—the reality of her situation set in. While Alesha had fallen in love with Faith at first sight, Rachel was a burden she had no intention of carrying for long.
Their relationship was combative and vicious, a yearlong stream of shouting matches that Rachel struggled to hide from Faith. Once she got married, Rachel had tried to put the woman behind her. But Matt was obsessed with winning Alesha’s approval. Sometimes Rachel wondered if he’d conflated earning acceptance in the Black community with being accepted by a woman who’d made a career out of dismantling privilege. Like he needed her permission to stop flinching at his own reflection.
That afternoon, the parking lot at Oasis Springs West was virtually empty. A large bulletin board displayed little smiling faces with Our Kids Have Character in bright red letters across the top. She read the captions: Amy brings the crossing guard bottled water every morning. Max picks up the litter on the playground. Chase used a 3D printer to make an accessible staff directory for blind students. It read like a shrine to the Ivy League hopes of their parents. Meanwhile, on the other side of town was OS South, smaller with lower test scores, fewer PTA funds, and perilously close to a “failing” designation. It was also majority Black and brown kids. When Rachel first moved to Oasis Springs, Faith had attended OS South, but once she got married, their zoning changed, and Matt was aggressively anti–school choice. Faith told her years later that on her first day at West, an older boy called her ghetto and threw her backpack in the trash.
Rachel heard footsteps heading her way and looked up, expecting to see Hailey’s exasperated face, but Mia turned the corner instead.
“There you are.” Mia sat down beside her, stretched out her legs, and sighed. “My mother is looking for you.”
Rachel eyed the casual comfort of Mia’s sweatpants with envy. “She wants to interview me.”
“I know.”
“I’m hiding.”
“That’s obvious. I’m surprised you agreed.”
Rachel wanted to confess that she was in marital purgatory and didn’t have a choice. “The gala funds the art programs here,” she said instead. “Surely she’ll play nice for the kids.”
“Mom never played nice for Niles and me.” Mia looked up at the colorful display filled with tiny, gap-toothed faces. “I hate this school.”
Rachel followed her gaze. “They do look a little brainwashed, don’t they?”
Mia laughed. “No, it’s not the kids, it’s the parents. They called an emergency PTA meeting. Like those exist. Mom hitched a ride.”
“I joined the PTA,” Rachel said. “But I wasn’t…” Interested? Welcome? Half the women resented her for snagging Matt. The other half were obsessed with vaginal steaming and charcuterie in a way that felt cultish. “I wasn’t very active. What was the emergency?”
Mia rolled her eyes. “Fall bake sales are evil now. Filled with sugar and gluten and problematic messages about the gender binary. There was so much shouting.” Mia shuddered. “Mainly from me. I think I blacked out yelling about brownies. It’s embarrassing.” She shrugged. “But I won, so who cares?”
“Well, congratulations. Enjoy making all those cookies.”
“Girl, I can’t bake. I’m booking a vacation that week.”
Rachel snorted. “You yelled at the OS West PTA, which is basically an organized crime syndicate. I would leave and never come back.”
They burst into laughter. Rachel wiped her eyes and said, “Let me know if you need help.”
Mia nodded. “I’d like that. Why don’t you come to my house, and we can—” She stopped and listened to the sound of high heels clicking against the floor. Alesha rounded the corner with Hailey trailing close behind.