I Don't Always Fold
I slip off my boxing gloves, feeling the rough leather against my overworked hands, “The one thing I’ve learnt from being a lawyer is that there’s two sides to every case, and the truth always lies somewhere in between.” I sit on the ground, leaning against the black wall, which mirrors the black theme of the entire gym, “But I don’t need the truth to win a case; I just need to be right.”
Tariq rolls his eyes as he lazily kicks the punching bag, “Which you always are, right?” My eyes follow the back and forth movement of the punching bag.
I shrug, “Yeah.”
“You know, Moses, you make it look easy.” Tariq leans against the wall beside me, running his fingers through his black wavy hair. “Being a lawyer.”
I think back on the years of law school and having to make a name of myself afterwards. Mum and Dad’s connection helped but I still had to do the work. “It’s not as easy as it looks.”
Tariq laughs, “Tell that to my Mum. She likes you better than me.”
“That’s because I’m more charming.”
“Oh, shut up.” He says. My head turns up to the boxing ring in the centre of the gym when I hear a blow followed by a groan. Two men are in the ring, but only one is standing with confidence. “That guy will be on the ground for a while.” Tariq chuckles.
“Think you could knock someone out like that?” I wipe the sweat off my forehead.
“Well no. But you know who I can knock out?” Tariq pulls out his phone from his shorts pocket, and shows me a girl’s instagram. She’s got flashy pictures with cars, designer bags, and fancy holidays. Reminds me of many of my clients who are getting rich in all the wrong ways.
I sigh and slowly stand up, feeling the ache in my strong biceps from today’s work out. “What’s her name this time?”
“Hear me out.” Here we go. Tariq lifts his arms by his head as if he’s already set to defend his point. “We met at a party last weekend.”
I searched for my towel in my duffel bag, “Uh huh.”
“And we just… I don’t know; connected.”
I wipe the towel over my face and smooth down my short cut coily hair. “So in other words, you slept with her.”
“So what if I did? We’re still hanging out though.”
“Tell me how she’s different from the last one?”
Tariq pauses for a moment, “She’s Asian instead of white.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, “The only distinction is her race?”
“Well, it’ll make my Emiratis Mum happier if I come home with an Asian girl, so at least that’s something.” Tariq huffs. “I know you get it Moses. You’re a black dude, with white parents.”
“So?”
“And you’re dating a white girl. I’m sure you rich-ass parents are elated.”
I give him a straight face, “Look at you using your big words.”
He kisses his teeth, “I’m just saying, you know parents are quietly wishing we bring a certain type of girl home to them.” Tariq gives me a sly smile, “Even if those girls are annoying.”
“Skye is not annoying! She’s a delight.” I grab my duffel bag and head to the door.
Tariq is close behind me, “Who calls their girl a delight?”
We walk to the nearby coffee shop, and order our usuals. An americano for Tariq and a matcha for me. Of course, Tariq tried to flirt with the girl behind the counter, but she didn’t seem to be interested in his nonsense. The shop is small and cozy but always has this nice smell of pastries and highly caffeinated drinks
Once we leave, I look down at the perfect green and white swirl in my cup, scared to ruin its grace. I allow the blend of the sweet and savoury flavour to calm me down as we walk through the quiet noon streets of Oxford.
“You’re really enjoying that matcha.” Tariq notes.
“It’s my drug.”
“Right. Cuz Moses is incapable of doing something horrendous like real drugs.” I clear my throat and take another sip of my matcha. “Oh, sorry, mate. I forgot about your mum. Well not Claire, your mum, but your mum mum.”
I wince and take a deep breath. I’m unsure how to respond and silently praise God when my phone rings. It’s Mum. Well, not mum mum, like Tariq so gracefully put it. “Hold on.” We stop. I picked up the phone, “Hi, Mum.”
“Hey, darling.” Oh no. She’s excited. Which means she’s either come up with a new crazy idea or has something she needs me to do for her, “Remember when we agreed we’d have dinner tonight at that new restaurant?” Both, then.
“No.”
“Really?” Her voice goes up an octave, “Just you, me, your dad, and Skye.”
“I have a case I need to work on tonight.” I try to sink into the noise of the car honking as it passes us.
“Please, Moses.” She says, “It’ll be so lovely. We haven’t had family time in so long.”
I roll my eyes, “We went to Zanzibar like two weeks ago, Mum.” Though, that in itself was quite the experience. Mum and Dad always want me to stay ‘connected to my roots’, thus the ridiculous amount of trips to Africa growing up. I love being Angolan, but they try too hard to prove they accept my heritage.
“Two whole weeks! Remember back when you were a kid, we’d do things together everyday. We’d play outside, we’d make crafts, we’d–”
“Okay.” I interject, “Fine. What time?”
“8 pm. Thank you, darling.” Mum sounds happy– great for her. “You’ll love it, I promise.”
“I’m sure I will.” I mutter as I hang up.
Tariq is snickering beside me, “You always fold.”
I click my tongue, “Let’s just get out of here.”
