In His Arms. Yasmin Sullivan Y.

representation of multicultural women uniting or something like that. And— Never mind. I’m just yammering on.”

      “No, don’t stop. I like it when you’re excited about something,” Rashad said. “I want to hear more, but everyone’s leaving. Hey, do you have half an hour? We can stow supplies in my car and walk along the waterfront so that we can talk a little more. If not, I understand. Your son’s waiting.”

      “No, I can stay for a while. Let me just check on the little one and update them that I’ll be running late. I’ll be back here in two minutes.”

      Michelle headed to the restroom to make her phone call and found that she was as excited about the prospect of walking along the waterfront with Rashad as she was about finishing her piece and, she hoped, getting it accepted somewhere.

      “Hey, honey. It’s Mommy....I know. I’ll be on my way soon....You let Mrs. Miller put you to sleep now, and I’ll carry you home when I get there. And brush your teeth well, young man....Let me talk to Mrs. Miller.”

      Mrs. Miller was fine keeping Andre for an extra half hour, so the night was set. Michelle found herself checking her hair in the mirror and applying more lipstick. Yes, she was excited about being out somewhere—and out with him. But that wouldn’t do, would it? He hadn’t actually shown any interest, at least not that kind of interest. She took a breath and went back to the classroom to collect her things.

      “Do you know whether we have to turn in our portfolios at any point?” Rashad asked.

      “Yes, we do. Three times. That’s why we’re supposed to number the assignments.”

      “You’re right. I remember that now from last week. That didn’t make it into my notes. How’s the little one? Do you have time now, or do you need to get home?”

      Rashad’s voice dropped on the last question, as though he’d be disappointed if she had to leave. It was just a hint, but it made Michelle smile.

      “I have time,” she said, gathering her things. They started toward the elevators. “I bought an extra half hour, which is actually an extra hour, as I already gave myself half an hour of leeway—just in case.”

      “Excellent. My car is in the lot across the street again, and you can follow me to Greenbelt instead of using a street map, so you’ll get home quickly.”

      Rashad chuckled after he said it, and so did Michelle, but she also rapped his arm with the back of her hand.

      “No teasing the directionally challenged art student.”

      “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. But I can lead you home.”

      “You don’t have to, but it would be nice of you. My car’s in this lot, too. I’m the used Ford Fiesta over there. I’ll be right back.”

      While Rashad went over to his Kompressor, a Mercedes-Benz, Michelle headed to her Fiesta. It reminded her of the differences between them. Their ages were close, but he was finished with school and obviously doing well. She had gotten off track and was just starting over. He was where she wanted to be. No, he was where she would be one day—her and her son.

      After storing their supplies, they recrossed the street and joined the groups sauntering along the Potomac. Michelle looked down at herself. She had on her usual bargain casual clothes—this time it was a green chiffon tank top with a green sweater, jeans and her usual flats. If she’d known they were going to hang out, she’d have dressed up a bit.

      It was late September and a bit cool, so Rashad had put on his blazer when he’d dropped things off at his car. His tie was probably still in the car, but even without it, she could tell from the cut of his suit that he wore good quality to work. His black wing tip dress shoes gleamed. Again—the differences between them.

      “What are you thinking?”

      Rashad stirred her from thoughts she didn’t want to express, but she didn’t know what else to say.

      She took a breath. “I was thinking that you’ve made it, and I haven’t as yet—as yet being the operative words. I wanted to be finished with school by now, to be in my career. I guess I’m a little jealous.”

      “Don’t be. You’ll get there soon. And you have something to show for your time that I don’t. A son, a family.”

      “That’s true. And that’s part of the reason I’m not finished as yet. But I’ll get there. I have to.”

      It was just after ten and had gotten dark. The lights from the promenade were reflected on the water, and boats moored along the harbor bobbed slightly in the flow of the Potomac. There were fewer families out now and more couples. Michelle and Rashad walked close together in the quiet that had sprung up between them.

      Rashad broke their silent interlude. “What were you saying before about the piece that you’re going to paint this weekend?”

      “I was thinking that I’d check with a few women’s shelters and places like that—Women’s Space, Agatha’s House, that kind of thing.”

      “I think it would fit perfectly. It will be in your real portfolio sooner than you know.”

      “Thank you for the confidence.”

      “Don’t forget I’ve seen it. Hey, I can help with the graphics if you need it.”

      “No.” Michelle chuckled. “I wouldn’t be able to add it to my portfolio then, could I?”

      “I see your point. Do you know how to import photographs and stuff like that?”

      “Enough to do a project, and I have some classmates to call when I need help with directions for things like that.”

      “Count me in, as well.”

      “Okay. Thank you.”

      They had passed several boats anchored along the waterfront and had now gotten to the Chart House, which was still open, at least for the next twenty minutes, so they decided to get a seat on the upper terrace overlooking the Potomac and have virgin daiquiris, as both were driving.

      “How old is your son?”

      The thought of her son made Michelle smile. “Andre is four. He’s my whole heart.”

      “Aw. But four? You seem too young to have a four-year-old son.”

      “I’ve just gone back to school, but I’m twenty-five.”

      “I thought women weren’t supposed to tell their ages and that men weren’t supposed to ask.”

      “I know, but I never understood why. How old are you?”

      “I’m twenty-seven,” Rashad answered. “So this is your second time in school?”

      “Yes, I started, but then came Andre, and there was just too much going on in my life.”

      “Andre’s father?”

      Michelle felt herself tense up, but she forced her shoulders to relax.

      “I married right out of high school. Andre came a few years later.”

      “Wow. Right out of high school? I don’t think I was mature enough to even think about marriage then.”

      “Well, I might not have been, either, but I did. I was a little wild in my younger days.”

      “Were you? I couldn’t tell that from knowing you now.”

      “Hmm.” Michelle thought briefly about her marriage and the toll it had taken on her. Maybe she had lost a bit of her spark, but she had spent the past two years trying to get some of it back. “I was. I partied. I went for the bad boy. I did whatever my parents said not to do. But I don’t like to talk about the past. I want to focus on the future.”

      “And you guys have been in D.C. for two years?”

      “Don’t start