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You probably don’t even realize that you’ve been societally conditioned to see the white woman as the ideal. On some level, winning the white man’s prize is a symbol that you are now equal to him. You acquire her as an extension of your success.” “Acquire her?” I throw my voice across the desk like a blade, honed and precise. “It’s natural really,” he continues matter-of-factly. “It’s the ultimate act of defiance against those who have traditionally oppressed you. She’s an ideal to achieve, and we see that, in every aspect of your life, you’re an overachiever.” “Bris isn’t some ideal, some lie mainstream media fed me and I fell for. This is love, not politics.” “Love is politics,” he counters. “Because love is merely a function of your values and priorities.” “If you think love is politics, then I see why your marriage failed.” A storm cloud bursts on his face, raining anger. “Watch it, Grip,” he says. “You’re way out of line.” “I’m out of line?” Incredulity and fury brawl within me. “You dare to bring this bullshit to me, insult the woman I plan to marry, insult me this way, and then you say I’m out of line?” He narrows his eyes on my face at the word “marry.” “That’s your decision, of course,” he says. “Not one I would ever make. I believe the greatest expression of commitment to Black people and the Black family is the commitment to a Black woman. For that reason, I don’t date outside of Black, much less marry.” “Oh, so I imagined the vibe between you and Callie?” A mocking laugh grates in my throat. “You don’t date or marry outside your race, but you’d fuck outside of it if Callie was down.” The fury in his eyes bores into me. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” “I really have no idea who I’m talking to.” I grab my saddlebag and stand, my hands shaking with the rage I’m suppressing. “I can’t believe I moved to New York to study under a bigot.
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