Loves Redemption

conversation with Jordan. “Maya, we’ve talked about so many things in our lives. But we’ve never spoken too much about race.” He wasn’t sure how to start.
“What do you mean?” When she looked at him, he saw a spark of something in her eyes
before she looked back down at her plate.
“Well, I know you and Ally were raised in foster care. How was that? Were you treated
differently?”
“Because I’m black?” she asked bluntly.
“Yes. Because of that.” He didn’t shy away from the bald statement.
Maya brought the coffee to her mouth and took a small swallow before answering. “To
be honest, Melissa treated us both pretty badly. But I believe she had more issues with me
because of my heritage.” Even though she wasn’t looking at him he could feel the pain come
through in her voice.
“Because you’re biracial?” he guessed.
She nodded her head, her expression thoughtful as she answered. “She’d make fun of my
hair. She was constantly threatening to cut it. She’d call it a nappy nest, all kinds of things. ”
“But your hair is beautiful,” Mark protested. He reached across the table to finger one of
the curls, before letting it fall back into place. Maya’s hair was one of the first things he noticed when he first saw her sitting outside the lieutenant’s office.
“I hated my hair because of her,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Mark looked
away from her hair when he heard the anguish in her tone.
“Do you know what it’s like to be raised by someone who hates you, calls you hateful
names no child should be called, and makes you feel worthless and ashamed?” She tore her gaze away from her plate and finally looked at him.
The anguish of her past was reflected in her eyes. The soft flaring of her nose and
clenched teeth gave testimony to how deeply Melissa’s abuse had affected her as a child. And the long lasting affects it obviously had on her as a grown woman.
“When a child is told they’re ugly, a burden, or stupid enough times, they start to believe it. Even if they’re lies. Just like if you tell them they’re wonderful and capable, despite what’s going on in their life, they’ll believe it as well. It’s like food. Give a child healthy food, and they grow up strong and confident, full. Feed them junk, and they’re still hungry, looking around trying to find something to satisfy their tummy. Something to fill the void.”
“Is that what you did? Tried to ‘fill’ the void?” he asked, more pieces of the puzzle of
Maya falling into place for him.
“I did. I still do.” She made no other answer, and after eating for a few minutes she asked,
“What about you. Do you cook?”
It took him a moment to adjust to the change of topic as Maya brought the conversation
back to his earlier question. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or disappointed.
“I learned out of necessity too. A little later than you had to,” he said around a forkful of food. He decided to return to lighter topics, knowing there would be a time when it would come up again.
“Growing up, neither my brothers nor I had to do any of the cooking. My mother didn’t
cook too much either. Our housekeeper, Maria, did the cooking and baking.” As he spoke, he
could feel his smile split his face as her remembered the smell of her baking.
“She made the best deserts I’ve ever tasted. She would make these cookies she’d call
junk cookies, and they must have had everything under the sun in them--all kinds of nuts, candy, chocolate chips. The real kind of chocolate chips, not those fake rubbery kinds,” he said with the conviction of a man who knew his cookie ingredients .
“So if you didn’t have to cook growing up, when did you learn?”
“When I left home for college. I spent a couple of years in the dorms, and then moved out
into my own apartment. My parents lived too far away for me to go home every day to eat. I got tired of PB and J. So I guess I did what you did and experimented and eventually it was
palatable. Now I kind of like to cook,” he told her with a smile, adding, “something else we have in common.”
Although he made light of his ability and why he’d learned, Mark felt ashamed. He’d
never looked at his life of privilege as anything but convenient. Working as a cop, he’d seen poverty at its worst, and it had altered his perception of humanity in ways it never would have if he’d joined his father’s law firm. Being a part of Maya’s life made the issue of poverty and race personal for him.
After they’d finished their meal, she started clearing the table before he put out a hand to stop her. “I can do that for you. It’s the least I can do. The food was delicious, Maya,” he complimented her.
“Thanks, but it’ll only take a minute. I’ll put the dishes in the dishwasher. If you’d like to, you could use my shower,” she subtly reminded him of state of dress.
With a laugh, he gave her a short fiery kiss and went in search of the shower. In the short time of their acquaintance he had kissed her more than she’d ever been kissed in her life.
Turning her attention back to her work, she put the dishes away and wiped down the
counter and breakfast table. Maya thought back to his questions on how she was treated my
Melissa. As they’d grown closer, she’d opened up with him more than she had with anyone.
She’d shared her feelings on many topics. The one they’d never discussed was race or racism.
With everything else going on, from Allison’s murder, running the house, and learning
about Mark, she’d never bought the topic up. When he asked her about race, she’d been shocked, and not prepared