“You’re a fantastic father.” She tosses her head back, sending the hair dancing around her face. “I mean, it appears. You could be beating him at home for all I know.”

“Only at chess,” I say, chuckling. “Okay. You have to tell me. How’d you break with three generations of Spelmanites?”

“Very carefully.” She shrugs, cupping her neck and tipping her head back to look up at the stars. “I didn’t tell my parents I was applying to Arizona, but I needed options. The higher my father’s profile rose here in the city, coupled with my grandfather’s legacy, the more I felt the weight of it. I just wanted to be myself. To be seen for myself, and not through the filter of my last name. I couldn’t find a place in this city, much less on Spelman’s campus, where that could happen. I was suffocating.”

She pauses, leveling her eyes on me briefly before looking away again. “Did you ever find out what caused such a huge rift between our parents?”

I have my theories, but I’ve always kept them to myself. What I think happened can only cause problems that should remain buried with my father and with hers. “No, never.”

“My mom was adamant that we not have any contact. I defied her at first and searched for you. I mean, the internet wasn’t anywhere near what it is now. There was no Facebook or Instagram, but I did try. Your bubbe had passed away, though, and she was the only relative of yours I knew.”

“I wrote you several times. The letters came back return to sender. And when I called, your number had been disconnected.”

“Daddy did a lot of work in the city that wasn’t always popular,” she says dryly. “When we moved, we got an unlisted number.” Her laugh is husky, hollow. “Driving here today I passed through the old neighborhood. Our houses are still there. Mrs. Washington’s house. The park, though it’s been upgraded.”

“You’d go there sometimes by yourself when you needed to clear your head.”

“Like at that age I had so much that needed clearing.” She laughs. “I was never there by myself long, though. You’d always come find me. Sit with me. Not talk, but just swing back and forth. You were such a quiet kid.”

“Not with you.”

“No.” Our gazes lock, cling. “Not with me.”

The silence deepens, but neither of us seem in a hurry to fill it. I soak in this moment, soak in her company, relishing it like the luxury time has proven it to be.

“You remember that old ice cream truck?” she asks after a few more seconds, a smile coming to life on her lips, in her eyes. When she smiles it’s like a sunrise, spreading warmth as it ascends.

“That little song was so creepy now that I think about it.” I chuckle.