"It's not a big deal," Mary mumbles, not taking her eyes away from her magazine. "We were both drunk, and it was a wild party, and – maybe he had a little past his limit, but who cares?"

"I do." She scoffs, her misty blue eyes rolling. Judith licks her lips and grasps Mary's shoulders. "Look at me."

They exchange glances, and she takes a breath to prepare herself for what she is about to say.

"You hate me for telling David about that Mexican guy," she assumes, and her voice cracks. "Don't pretend to give a shit."

"I'm not pretending, and Andrés is Venezuelan, not Mexican. I'm upset, but I don't hate you." She turns her head to look at Jerome's empty table as her tears fall. Three brunettes and a red-haired male student are seated next to it. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I don't care, Judy." She looks at her, her tear-stained lips apart. "This happened before – numerous times, and excuse me if I can't emote like you."

"What do you mean by that? Who's hurting you, Mary?" She swats her hands away and stands up, closing her magazine.

"Stay away from me and deal with your own shit, Judith," she tells her with a stern voice.

"Okay, fine, I'll drop it." Mary sighs shakily. "Can you tell me where my journal is? It was in my bag, and when I checked, it was gone."

"I gave David your bag when he first got here, so try asking him." Her long blonde hair swings behind her as she walks toward the exit. Judy observes her as she wipes her face and exits the building.

***

Judith's face is darkened with exhaustion when she walks through her front door.

"Judy, come in the dining room," Sheryl instructs her when she hears the door thud closed. She tosses her bookbag onto the sofa, then wanders through the arches until she's standing in front of her long table.

Judy darts her confused eyes around the room at her and David's parents.

"What's going on," she hesitantly asks before locking her sights on her ex. He's sitting alongside his parents, across from a seat between her parents, with his eyes glued to his lap.

"Should I?" Walter extends his right hand to convey his approval of Douglas explaining the situation. "My wife and I received a call from not only the administration but the police a while ago. It was brought to our attention that our son – attacked you. Is it true?"

They're all looking at her except for David.

"If there was a witness and he was arrested, that should answer your question," she snarkily says, and her mother shoots her a dark look.

"Mind your tone, Judith," she corrects her, and Judy purses her lips as she crosses her arms.

"Sorry, sir." She takes a deep breath, and Sheryl turns to Harriet in front of her. Walter and Douglas study her body language. "Um, yes, it's true."

"How long has this been going on?" Judith gazes upward in thought as she takes a shaky breath.

"I would say," she drones, her right hand tapping the side of her thigh. "A week after we enrolled."

Her answer incites angry groans amongst the men, and Sheryl brings her hands to her face in shame. Harriet places her right hand to her mouth and shuts her eyes, and David slumps in his chair with sweat beading from his brow.

"When I asked if it were true, you said no," Douglas jabs his left index disapprovingly at her as he reminds her through his clenched teeth.

"And I'm here to talk if you need me, so why didn't you tell me," her father asks, and her eyes well up with tears. She glances at her mother for the answer, but her closed-off demeanor returns her face forward; she's on her own.

"Mr. Cambridge, I could never tell the truth to you because if I did, I knew you would beat him," she confesses.

"Damn straight," the two fathers say in unison, then glance at each other. She licks her lips, then folds her hands in front of her.

"As black men, why subject your flesh and blood to the cruel and unusual punishment inflicted on our ancestors? Aren't there Bible quotes that mention loving your child like you love God," she asks, and the mothers lower their hands, staring at each other in disbelief at what she said.

"Don't make me quote passages because there are plenty of them that say an unpunished child is an unruly child," Walter warns her when Douglas doesn't speak.

"No, it's okay," he assures him then they, their wives and David look at her. "Do you have children?"

"No," she says with a questioning undertone, and he brings his elbows onto the table with his hands together in prayer.

"Exactly. You're one of those people that sit in the passenger side of someone's car and complains about the heat." She averts her gaze to her father and puckers her lips to speak, but he shakes his head disapprovingly, so she listens. "I love my son, and because of that, I stuck around for him, his mother, and his sister. I also recognize that there's a shortage of fathers, and I can only hope that with the right guidance, David won't turn out to be the opposite of me."

"Then talk to him," she says with a whiny voice. She and David share a glance before his chin lowers again.

"Let him finish," Sheryl tells her, and Douglas takes a breath.

"Do you know what happens when you only talk to your child instead of punishing them for going against your teachings?" She shakes her head, and he rises from his seat, then leans against the table with his fists against the surface to hold him upright. "We have men torching churches with our black children in them, lynching the people that some of our women died to bring into this world – murdering people like Dr. King and Abe and anyone else who spoke against white supremacy. Unlike them – our skin is dark, and America never valued us. Unlike them, we're more likely to be killed unjustly, but I won't sit and wait for me or mine to be next."

"We talk to David, Judy," Harriet softly tells her, and her husband returns to his seat. Their son has tears trickling from the tip of his nose, but only Judith notices, and her eyes refuse to look away. "He has a big support system which he uses, but my husband is right; talking isn't enough, and it's obvious."

"You knew he needed help, but you subjected women like me to him," she reminds her. "There's no excuse for that. I'm probably the only one of his girlfriends who was willing to be patient with him."

"You're not." They all look at Harriet, and she takes a deep breath, aware of the long story that she'll have to shorten. "Before he met you, he was placed in an asylum because he attacked a girl named Juliet. She was similar to you in the sense that she thought that she could fix him, but she obviously couldn't."

"Knowing this, why would you try to get him married instead of getting him help?" Harriet looks at Douglas for help. "He's unstable, and you know what? He tried to kill me."

"When was this?" She looks at Walter when he asks.

"It was today, Dad." He shakes his head and scoffs as he turns to face Douglas. "By the way, now that we're on the subject, he and I split yesterday, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"All right," Harriet says through the thick layer of tension suffocating them, swallowing more words she desperately wants to say.

"You two just – stay away from each other when you get on campus tomorrow," he tells them as he rises to his feet with his wife. He takes a step behind his son's wheelchair, and Judith and her parents' expressions are reasonably puzzled.

"What do you mean? He's expelled, right?" She looks around the room for someone's face to tell her the truth if their mouths refuse.

"We talked to the Dean, and after mentioning our lawyers, he allowed David to carry on with his studies so long as you two stay away from each other," his mother explains, and Judy stares into her dark eyes with her lips agape. She looks at David, and he's snidely grinning at her.

"You three have a good night." They watch him steer his son through the dining and kitchen arch with his wife in tow, and Judith snaps out of her trance. She sprints toward the doorway separating the living room from the kitchen.

"Hey, David," she calls for him, and they come to a halt in front of the closed door. Douglas veers him around to see her, and Harriet turns with them. "Do you have my journal?"

"What journal," he asks with his lower lip pouted, and his eyes squinted at her. Walter and Sheryl walk to their daughter.

"Mary said that she didn't have it, but she gave you my bag. So where is it?" They look down at him as he shrugs. She knows that he's lying just from his sardonic tone and calm attitude, but to avoid further conflict, she says, "Nevermind. Goodnight, Mr. and Mrs. Cambridge."

The trio watches them leave, and once the door shuts, Judith sighs defeatedly.

"Why did you go to the administration?" She flinches and yelps in response to her mother's stern voice, then turns around to face her parents. Her eyes are wide, and her heart is racing. "We could've sat down with them and talked about this like adults instead of getting the authorities involved; you knew they'd have him arrested, and you know how dangerous that is for us."

"Us? There is no us." Sheryl folds her arms to avoid striking her daughter, and Walter tucks his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. "You have your happily ever after with Dad, but I haven't found mine yet. You're made in the shade, and I'm struggling to survive."

She turns away from them and steps toward the staircase. Sheryl drops her arms.

"You have to not only be socially ignorant but selfish to assume that my life is peachy keen just because I'm married." She stands on the first step with her left hand against the railing and her gaze fixated on the next one. "We're all dealing with unfortunate things in life, but part of being an adult, Judith, is learning to cope appropriately. Trying to ruin a young black man's future is the opposite of that."

They lock gazes, but her mother's expression does not soften as she notices her daughter's tears falling. She tightens her grip on the banister, inhaling a shaky breath through trembling lips.

"I hate you." Sheryl blinks and jerks her head back, taken aback. Walter shifts his gaze between the two of them, but before he can correct her, she says, "If I could go back in time, I wouldn't have stopped myself last December."

"Don't walk away from me," she finally says as Judith rushes up the stairwell. She takes three steps forward before her husband grabs her left hand in his right and pulls her back, causing her to turn to face him.

"Hey, let her air out," he says, and she makes a fist with her free hand. Sheryl closes her eyes when Judith slams her door shut.

She trudges toward her bed, tears streaming down her cheeks and her lips quivering with her legs, slowly stepping out of her shoes. She slips her overalls off her petite frame as she approaches her bedside, then settles into the warmth of her thick blanket.

She hears a knock at her door after her head has slowly landed on her pillow, but she doesn't speak or look at it. It creaks open a crack, and she rolls onto her right side, her back to her father before he enters.

"Are you decent," he asks, and again, she merely cries into her pillow. Her chest hurts with agony, her eyes sting from the heat of her tears, and her head pulsates from the inflicted pressure.

Walter sighs and walks past the door, closing it behind him. He stands in front of it, hands under her backpack, watching how her body racks when she sobs.

"I don't want to talk to you or anyone else, Dad," she tells him, and he nods his head, his eyes on the bag as he drops it onto the floor to his left.

"Yeah, well, I don't want to have this talk with you, Judith," he approaches her bedside, then sits beside her legs. Her face is reddened, and the skin under her eyes is puffy, but he doesn't acknowledge it.

"Then why come in here," she asks without peering at him. "You don't want to be bothered with me, and I won't make you."

"First of all, I would never say that I don't want to be bothered with you because that's far from the truth; you're my daughter, and I love you," he assures her, and she squeezes her eyelids shut, wailing harder. His left hand rests on her left forearm, just below her elbow, his thumb caressing the fading bruise. "You made a good point about talking, so here I am. I'm trying it out, and it may be uncomfortable for me, but if it means I can finally understand you, then so be it. Tell me what's going on."