Sparrow and Miranda circa 2017, commiserating over drinks.

The main continuity is too busy with Plot and Intrigue for them to sit down and have a long conversation about identity, but I wanted to write it in some form, so here it goes.

(Same style as “Anniversary” from a few years ago.)

Miranda: The thing about being biracial is that people always want to stick you in one box or the other. Everyone wants me to be just black.

Well, in some ways it would be nicer if I was! I had a wonderful relationship with my black mom. She’s the first one I’d want to align myself with. Even though things with Dad have gotten better.

And it’s not like racists look at me and think “she’s part white? Whoops, better harass someone else.”

I get it from black people too. At least they mean it in a supportive way. But it’s still cramming me in the wrong box, because just engaging with me as me is somehow too hard.

At least when anyone starts in on how I should feel “all white,” their reasons are unambiguously horrible and I can be mad.

Sparrow: I can dig that.

My thing is . . . I am white. It would feel dishonest to say that I’m not. TV is full of people who look like me. I don’t get asked for my papers. I’ll never be shot at a “routine traffic stop.”

And it’s not like I was raised Jewish in any big way! Mom was Wiccan. Those were the holidays we celebrated. I don’t have any attachment to Jewish traditions. I’m definitely not a believer.

But when a bunch of alt-right snowflakes start marching in the streets with torches and MAGA hats chanting about building an all-white nation?

I am sure as hell not invited to the torch-carrying side of that party.

Miranda: How did we get on this topic, anyway?

Sparrow: Oh, everything leads back here these days. I think it started when you asked me about the weather.