The logic was terrifying and flawless.
"Did you ask him?" I insisted.
"Not yet. I wanted to tell you before. »
"What if I refuse?"
At that time, my father's face was ten years old. "Then I will continue to look for a white husband, we will both know that I will fail, and you will spend your life after my death in boarding houses, dependent on the charity of parents who consider you a burden."
He was right. I hated that he was right.
"Can I meet him? Talk to him before you make this decision, for the sake of both of us. »
"Of course. Tomorrow. »
The next morning, they brought Josiah home. I was near the living room window when I heard heavy footsteps in the hallway. The door opened. My dad walked in, and then Josiah leaned over—really leaned in—to walk through the door.
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