“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Jaxson asks, cradling me in his strong arms.

From what I understand, he started working long before I seriously thought about future careers—unofficial, under-the-table type stuff while too young by law.

But since being the proper legal age, he’s been doing all sorts of odd jobs.

He doesn’t talk about them much, but I know right now he’s working in a car repair shop.

“Well, in kindergarten, I wanted to be a stewardess or ‘airplane lady’ because there was one that made a huge impression on me on a flight my parents and I took once. She was so beautiful and looked so cool—I thought so anyway. Crisp white blouse, navy blue skirt, immaculate updo, bright red lipstick. Not only was she stunningly pretty, she was so nice! She always had a beautiful smile on her face, and I totally wanted to be just like her. I eventually learned it wasn’t exactly an aspirational sort of career, and my parents started steering me toward the preferred occupations…”

Jaxson leans his head back and starts fake snoring loudly, his gorgeous blue eyes closed.

“I guess all that to say I’m leaning toward being a lawyer,” I finish with a playful slap on his arm.

He fake-awakens with a cartoonish shake of his head. “Is that what you want or what your parents want?” he asks.

I think about it for a moment.

“I think that’s what I actually want. I definitely don’t still want to be a stewardess—I’ve since learned the service industry is not for me. Nothing else really grabbed my interest but the criminal justice system. Anyway, once I’m in college, I’ll probably have a better idea.”

He smooths back my shoulder-length relaxed hair and kisses my forehead.

“I’m not going far,” I reassure him. “I’ll pick a school that won’t put too much distance between us.”

Not going to college at all was out of the question—it wasn’t what we Browns did. Our family lines had generations of college grads; we’ve been consistently college-educated since the fifties, at least.

Both my parents have advanced degrees—my mom a Ph.D. in psychology, my dad a master’s in business.

While an advanced degree is optional, a bachelor’s degree is a given.

“I’ll be able to support you, you know. One day, Candace, I’ll have enough money for you to do whatever you want; you won’t have to change anything.”

“I know, Jax,” I say, wanting to soothe him.

I know he’s still insecure about the differences between us, still self-conscious of dirt underneath his fingernails, motor oil on his clothes.

He is faced with constant reminders of the class differences between us, but to me, all that matters is being near him, being held by him.

I don’t think about how much money he has; I don’t have to—my family has plenty.

I know one day I’ll be sort of on my own, but I also know I have a trust fund, and my parents sorted out my college funds long ago. It’s likely I’ll get scholarships anyway.

In any case, I’ll be starting my adult life debt-free with a bachelor’s degree and immediate job offers due to my parents’ networks, and all the while, a lifesaver stashed away.

But trying to assure Jaxson we’ll be fine is impossible; he’s adamant about carving out a path that puts him in a position to provide for me in a way I’m used to. Despite everything, he’s a pretty traditional guy.

“I’m not saying you don’t have to worry about working or anything—I know you want to—I just want to make sure you know…”

“That you have no plans to live off of my family’s money?”

“Well, yeah. I’ll have my own company someday and change the generational narrative of my own family. I’m going to be rich, Candace.”

“You don’t have to be rich for me to be with you, Jax. I love you just as you are. And even if some weird tragedy takes place and we have to fight to make a living, as long as I’m with you, I’ll be happy. Don’t you get that?”

“That’s how I feel too, but…”

“Shh. My parents want me to be happy more than anything; no way they’ll take me from you. They’ll resist the idea at first, but they’ll see that being with you means everything to me.” I rest my head on his chest, enjoying the feel of his heart’s steady beat. “I hope we stay together forever, Jaxson.”

I turn to look up at him, catching his blinding smile at my earnest declaration, his blue eyes sparkling with love.

“Me too, baby. Me too,” he says softly, then plants a kiss on my forehead.

* * *

The moment I laid eyes on Jaxson Pace I knew he was it for me. 

I had a certainty in my gut that I was one of the lucky few who got to meet their soulmate early.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t come from the same social circles, that we were so different from each other in several surface ways—all that mattered was fulfilling the promise in his bright blue eyes—eyes that had remained on me even after his voice faltered as we met.

I stared silently back at him as he held the delivery my family had ordered for our junk food night—pizzas this time—managing not to look awkward in his corny uniform of blue, red, and black.

It was as if time had stopped just for us, giving us the opportunity to appreciate the magnitude of the event and take a mental snapshot of the exact moment we realized we’d just encountered the love of our lives.

We managed to complete the exchange, and he wrote his name and number on the back of our receipt while my family awaited my return with food for movie night in the living room.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Every moment with Jaxson afterward felt like some sort of alternate reality, a dreamlike atmosphere surrounding us, and it wasn’t just because I had to sneak out to see him, sometimes crafting elaborate deception plans for the sake of my parents.

I knew better than to tell anyone about him right away, and we saw each other secretly for over a year, stealing moments whenever we could, spending hours on telephone calls. I even had the sense to get a prepaid phone for this purpose so my parents couldn’t track the calls.

We fell in love swiftly and deeply, and in no time, began talking about the future—plans to marry, perhaps even elope. 

Nothing mattered to me but being with him—not for a while anyway.

But my mother eventually picked up that something was off and we were outed as a couple after being caught together one night.

“Think of your ancestors, my parents stressed to me once they realized how poor Jaxson was. “How much they went through. How on earth can you spit on all those before you like this? We had to fight for our place in society, and some still don’t accept our humanity. The poorest among them still hold on to some fantasy that they’re better than you, no matter how much more educated, resourceful, or talented you might be, simply because their skin is pale, and there’s no arguing with that kind of mental illness. Even those who appear to accept you doubt you in the back of their minds. Darling, you are refined, the result of immense hardship and determination; you deserve so much better than you’re willing to settle for.”

Later, when they realized their logic wasn’t getting through and I was determined to continue seeing Jaxson without even considering any of the similarly-groomed, high society black males they were happy to introduce me to, their pleas turned bitterly emotional.

“It’s not a matter of how you feel; you must stay vigilant and practical in this world we live in! Heck, if people like his family had their way, you two would have never had the chance to meet, to fall in love. Even now, living in the gutter as they are, some of his relatives think they have a right to spit on you, and there’s nothing you can do for them to accept you so don’t put yourself in that position.

“We’ve done everything we can to make sure you have a good life in spite of undeserved enmity directed your way, everything to make sure you feel safe, that you know your worth, yet you want to hand everything over to the likes of him? Their worst does not deserve our best! This Jaxson can’t help you maintain your standard of living; he’ll pull you down,” they insisted before definitively steering me toward Charles—the son of well-off friends of theirs.

In the end, my parents were right about Charles in a way—he helped me maintain my standard of living, but there was an unexpected timer on it.

Boy, do I wish they’d picked a different guy.

* * *

I knew nothing but an upper-middle-class life until about a year ago when the man I married, believed to be on the same—if not slightly better—financial level turned out to be completely broke.

Charles’s family came from the same circles as mine, so he wasn’t a complete fraud; at some point, he had access to their wealth since he was the only heir after their deaths. They had trusts, bonds, savings, owned valuable collections and pieces, and yet somehow, all of it disappeared.

Charles had charmed everyone into thinking he had it all together, that he was smart, responsible, and had no financial care in the world.

He was certainly savvy—although not savvy enough it turned out, and he had a severe gambling problem.

I had no idea our finances had been crumbling and that we were on the way down until it was far too late.

Distracted by my day-to-day activities and intermittent expensive gifts from my husband, I thought life was just peachy.

He was always busy with work, and I was happily going about the duties I’d been encouraged to fill my days with—social gatherings, town meetings, charity.

I had wanted to work at first, but Charles insisted I didn’t.

While I had some qualms about being so dependent on him and relying on allowances and such, I was used to what he suggested I fill my days with—during my upbringing, my parents always insisted on the importance of giving back, so they had me involved in volunteer work early.

Continuing that was easy, and eventually, I picked up a part-time job in an administrative capacity, which Charles approved of, as it naturally blossomed from my work with one of the volunteer organizations.

Charles and I didn’t see a ton of each other, meeting the bare minimum for marital obligations, and we became more like friends, exchanging stories of our days when the opportunity arose.

I enjoyed my time with and without him, accepting I’d never fill the Jaxson-sized hole left inside me after the breakup.

Besides, what could I complain about?

I was living the life I’d been groomed to live, lucky enough to be in a position to give back after marrying a guy who was proper.

Plus, I had friends—so I thought—things changed once everything took a turn.

The women I had so happily bonded with, that I’d enjoyed so many leisure activities with, treated me like I had some sort of contagious disease once the descent began.

I’m not clear when exactly Charles pissed away all our funds—he did such a stellar job of keeping up appearances for such a long time and told so many lies over the years, I’m not sure what to believe.

Was he really still flushed until about two years ago when he made a terrible investment that eventually led to an even worse decision that quickly wiped us out?

All I know is it began with a rejected credit card in a jewelry store, resulting in my temporary indignant outrage and humiliation, but leading to his first admittance—that our accounts were empty, our funds depleted.

And that wasn’t the worst of it.

Apparently, what really did Charles in was getting involved in a penny stock scam.

He had gotten a tip—one he’d thought could boost us back to our comfort level in no time once he cashed out, and the minute he told me, my stomach dropped.

I knew in my gut he’d been had.

Not only were we broke, but we were suddenly in deadly debt to a loan shark.

Before he could pay up, he was charged with six felonies related to commercial gambling violations and jailed.

I pat myself on the back for having the sense to squirrel away some of my own money so that, by the time my husband informed me we were completely broke, I had no need to panic completely—not even after he got whisked away to jail and most of our assets—liquid and otherwise—got seized by federal agents or sold for debts.

I learned more details of our quiet descent after he was already gone; John Barone helped fill in the gaps on one of his courtesy visits “to check up on me and make sure I was okay,” which was sort of nice, but mostly creepy.

I learned about other details while communicating with Charles as we set our divorce in motion.

Because we had no children or property, things ended up moving faster, and it was the first time I was ecstatic he had insisted on not having children.

My parents disowned me after providing the divorce attorney to help me make a clean break; in fact, they had cut me off even before everything went down the toilet since they could see what was happening with Charles’s gambling problem and warned me to get out sooner.

But I turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to their advice—I didn’t want to hear from the people who forced me into this position in the first place.

I think I wanted to punish them in a way, but ultimately, I was punishing myself. I let myself get talked into the whole thing; I gave up what meant the most to me to maintain my standard of living, agreeing with them that I owed myself a man who could buy me things I didn’t need.

I deserve every bit of this misery.

I don’t blame my parents for not helping me out these days; they think anything they give me will go to some other cause—debts to pay or even a hidden nasty habit of my own.

They can’t trust me after I’d gone along with Charles’s shady activities for so long, no matter how much I protested that I didn’t know—in which case, they couldn’t believe a daughter they’d raised to be smart had been so oblivious, so stupid. I’d offended them with my blissful ignorance.

On the bright side, though my younger sister grew up watching me and emulating me, when things went south for me, I imagine she learned from my mistakes.

My parents’ hopes and dreams are now pinned on her, and in the end, she’ll get everything.

As for me, I’ve lost my parents’ trust and love, I now work for a man whose trust and heart I shattered a long time ago, and my ex-husband has been remanded to prison, leaving me a bounty of debt to claw my way out of.

As I hustle toward my apartment door—perhaps for the last time—I avoid eye contact with whoever is burning a gaze through me, my head down as I ignore the hairs raised on the back of my neck.

* * *

Jaxson guessed right about packing up time.

I lived so minimally over the past year that packing up clothes and shoes and such took less than an hour.

I never knew how much I didn’t need until I could no longer have all of it, but lucky for me, I learned quickly that I didn’t need a lot of stuff.

Whatever remaining ‘expensive’ clothing I had disappeared once I started using a public laundromat—items of clothing I hadn’t thought twice about until they were gone. They were supposed to be dry-cleaned anyway, but dry cleaning had become a luxury I couldn’t afford.

My current studio unit was furnished with Craigslist freebies—from the furniture to the entertainment items—things I’m fine to leave behind since they served as daily reminders of how far I’d fallen.

Younger me never would have imagined having to click the ‘free’ button on a website in order to get supplies.

I’d grown up in a household that donated outdated items, but I still found it amazing the things people dumped once they were done with a place, the word ‘FREE’ written on a perfectly good printer page taped to some item or other.

My best find was a small black shelf on which I stacked the free books I’d selected from a pile left behind by a moving party.

With my bags now packed and no interest in bringing along a tube TV (free, of course, courtesy of Craiglist) or the old couch I still side-eye despite how many times I sprayed it with disinfectant and having given it a sofa cover, the movers pop by and have me moved out in less than twenty minutes.