I shrug and throw my hands up in the air. “Okay, let’s be real. Franklyn, I don’t know if you’re dating Chloe because you want her or because you’ve been conditioned to think she’s who you should want. It’s damn near impossible to gauge what you feel and what you’ve been made to feel. I have no idea what’s going on inside your heart or your head, but the sad part is, neither do you. The fact is, you may never really know what percentage of you is with her because of love and what percentage is with her because it’s programmed to view white as better. Again, I don’t know. But here’s what I do know:

“If you gave a damn about Chloe, you’d talk to her before you took her out of her comfort zone. You didn’t think enough of her to school her on her casual racism and microaggressions. Had you dared to have that conversation, maybe she wouldn’t be standing here spewing lies about not seeing your color. What the hell does that mean? How could she not see your color? Black is a strength, not a weakness. Why would she not want to recognize it?”

Franklyn starts, “Ayo—”

“I’m not done! Dating Chloe isn’t wrong. But there are a lot of things about you she won’t know. Things us Black girls were born knowing. No matter how kind, caring, and smart Chloe is, there are things about you she will never understand, like why it’s essential you keep your kicks fresh and clean, all day, every day. She’ll wonder why you brush, shine, and even fight to protect them—after all, they’re only sneakers. But us Black girls know that they are much more than that. We know you cherish your kicks because they are the closest you’ll get to owning property in America.

“Chloe doesn’t know why your body stiffens when a cop car passes by, even though all you’re doing is sitting on the steps of your building. But us Black girls get it because our bodies stiffen too.

“She doesn’t get that your grandmother’s mac and cheese is medicinal or that shea butter is currency. She’ll never understand the swagger in your stride because she can’t hear the beat you walk to. But us Black girls hear it, and we should—we created it.

“She’ll stand with you in the middle of a high-end department store, gaze into your eyes, and hold your hand lovingly. She’ll watch you give a slight nod to the only other Black guy at the other end of the store. She’ll think you’re greeting someone you know. But in truth, he’s a stranger. You give the nod as a way of checking in, because Black people have to check in with other Black people.