I’m taken aback by the crowd being moved. Hope fills me up, and I’m glad I took the moment that was supposed to be about last night to focus on Daddy. When the crowd quiets, I introduce Steve and give out his number. Frantically, people take down his information. Then I end by sharing the dates for my next Know Your Rights workshops.

Pastor Jenkins closes out, using this as an opportunity to highlight the church, so I dip out into the hallway to catch my breath.

I spot Dean. I know him too well. He’s never been good about pretending things weren’t the way they were. I can see he’s burning to talk about what happened, in a lot more detail. He follows me into the hallway, catches me by surprise, and kisses me on the cheek.

I step back. “Not here.”

He bites that side lip, and his dimple appears and disappears.

“You think this will help with catching whoever was sending that message to us last night?” I say.

“I hope so. If people can stop making it about themselves. It was driving me crazy that everyone was making it about them,” Dean says. “All the complaints about the police. Why can’t they focus on you and your family? Y’all are the ones that were hurt.”

I pause. I also wanted everyone to focus on how to help my family. But I get it. Trusting someone who’s been harassing all our lives to now stop harassment from escalating isn’t easy. This isn’t one moment in time, but a longer one that bleeds in and out of all our lives. Our history of Blackness in America. Dean doesn’t get that. I watch him, wondering if he ever will.

Dean takes my hand, leading me away from the doors and around the corner, like we’re a couple. I take my hand back. Not here. Not now. I have too many questions, like will his mom make things harder for us? And really, I want to get back to the community meeting, hear what people have to say. I wish he didn’t come so I could focus on this and not him.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

I’m about to answer him, but then I realize he’s talking about what happened before our kiss—the attack. A sick billowing feeling rushes through my stomach.

I nod unconvincingly. “You?”

There’s more to what I’m asking him. It’s one word that wants to drill down to the scare last night, our kiss, my uncertainty.

Dean doesn’t answer. My eyes well; it hurts too much. I want to run from facing a decision.

“Will you ride with me so we can talk…about last night?” Dean’s eyes carry so much pain, hurt from me pushing him away. It stings to watch.