Your mother put the "you're going to marry a white-girl" curse on you way back when, and you've spent your life wondering why it matters.
Your mother, RIP. You blamed her. She told you when you were fourteen, you’re going to marry a white girl, I KNOW it. Said it with all the certainty of a time traveler who’d been to the future and had seen the ending. And you remember her eyes, your mother’s, how they were sad and her hair seemed grayer, and how it started to rain.