When You Come to Me (50 page)

“Goodnight,” he told her, kissing her once more. “And I love you…”

“I love you too,” she whispered, climbing off of him.

She rejoined her sisters, wrapping her arms around them and they continued their way down the hallway.

Yes, sir…against all odds…

The smell of bacon woke him up the next morning, accompanied by stinging sunshine, “Jingle Bells” on the radio and clanging pots. He sat up slowly, wiped his eyes, and attempted to find the source of the noise. For some strange reason, he was confident of the source as he swung his feet to the floor, and stood up, adjusting his pajama bottoms and scratching his belly. This moment reminded him of so many weekend mornings where he’d wake up to the very same smell, shuffle to the kitchen and find Natalie bent over the stove, frying something and humming to herself.

Yawning, he was startled when he passed through the doorway of the kitchen, and witnessed an older version of Natalie, running about the kitchen. Consequently, he thought he might have startled her too, because she dropped the stick of butter that she had in her hand.

“Jesus in Heaven!” Helen Chandler said, grasping her chest. “You scared me, boy!”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Chandler,” he replied meekly. “I thought you were someone else…”

“I see,” she replied, giving him the same look as last night.

She then looked down at his feet and cleared her throat. “I don’t allow bare feet in my kitchen,” she told him.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he told her, backtracking.

“You’ll know next time,” she said, bending down to pick up her stick of butter. “Now, go to the bathroom down the hall and wash that sleepy look off your face, then brush your teeth and put on some socks…you did bring socks, didn’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, swallowing hard.

“Very well then,” she said. “I don’t allow dirty faces, dirty mouths and dirty feet in my kitchen…my girls have learned that those types of people don’t get fed…”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said again.

He turned around, felt his heart start again, and just as he thought he’d escaped, she called out, “Oh, Boy…?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Merry Christmas Eve…”

He found the bathroom without any help, down the narrow, shadowed hallway and to the right, just past a bedroom where the door was cracked. There, he saw Natalie, asleep, laying on her back, with her two sisters by her side, one, with her face buried in Natalie’s armpit, and the other with her back toward her. He sat there for a moment, leaned up against the doorway, and he watched her, smiling to himself. He then continued down the hallway toward the bathroom.

He returned to the kitchen in twenty minutes, hoping that his appearance pleased Ms. Chandler’s eyes, spotting Natalie, Maya and Sidney, sitting at the round kitchen table by the window, each with bare brown feet and sleepy, bed-smashed faces.

Helen Chandler looked up from her frying pan over the stove and grinned. “I’m glad you could join us, Boy…I didn’t think that you were goin’ to make it…”

Ha, she was probably hoping that he didn’t, hoping that she could have her three daughters to herself.

O Contraire, evil mother. He would not give up that easily.

He approached the kitchen table, leaned down the kiss the top of his Natalie’s head, and sat down in the chair next to her. Shortly following, the mother delivered plates of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon to her three daughters. She then locked eyes with him, cleared her throat and said, “In this house, we feed ourselves.”

Natalie replaced her glass of orange juice, slid her plate in his direction, said, “Here, sweetheart,” and got up to fix herself another plate.

He smiled on the inside.

Helen and Natalie joined the table, and the family ate in silence for a moment.

Then, Maya cleared her throat and pleasantly asked, “So, how are your plans coming along?”

“Plans?” Natalie repeated, dropping her fork.

“Yes, dummy,” Maya said, rolling her eyes. “You two are getting married, aren’t you?”

Natalie looked at him. “Of course we are…”

“So…got anything?”

“Like what?”

“Like…when is the date, where are you getting married, who are you going to invite? Who’s going to be in the wedding party…?”

Natalie looked at him again, shoving a morsel into her mouth.

“Well,” his fiancée began. “I haven’t asked Brandon yet, but I’ve been thinking about a date…”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, feeling his eyebrow arch in her direction.

She nodded. “Yes…I’ve been thinking August fifteenth…”

He felt his stomach do something funny.

“August fifteenth?” Sidney asked. “What’s so special about that date?”

Natalie smiled at him.

“It’s my birthday,” he said lowly.

“And,” Natalie continued, swallowing the piece in her mouth. “It’s the day we met…if he even remembers that…”

Of course he did. Of course he remembered that tall, pretty girl with that amazing brown skin, and long curly hair. How could he have forgotten? He refused to tell her that although he woke up the next morning with the most incredible hangover, the moment he attempted to retrace what had happened the previous night in his mind, Natalie Chandler was one of the first instances to pop up.

“Are you crazy?” was all that he asked her.

He watched her eyes fall, the way they always did when she blushed.

Classic Tallie.

“So, I take it that you like that date?” Sidney asked with a smile.

Brandon nodded. “Yes, Baby, I do…”

“Well,” Helen Chandler said, clearing her throat. “I think it’s the dumbest idea Nattie’s ever had.”

“Mama…” Sidney said.

“Honestly, Baby,” the mother began. “Having it on the boy’s birthday?”

“It holds significance, Ma,” Maya defended. “I think it’s romantic…”

“It’s Natalie’s wedding, Mama,” Sidney began, taking a sip of her orange juice. “Let her have it when she wants…”

“You know, I hate to say it,” Helen began. “But if you were still dating Anthony, we wouldn’t be having this problem…”

“Mama,” Maya said suddenly.

Ha, Evil Mother struck again. At that moment of complete awkward silence, he attempted not to show that hearing the name of Natalie’s ex-boyfriend didn’t make him cringe inside, and he found it quite hard to swallow the glob of pancake mush in his mouth.

He only hoped that Natalie said something soon, before he jumped across the table and strangled her mother.

“Mama,” Natalie began quietly. “We’ve been over this before…”

He was sure that he had not heard this discussion before, and hoped that Natalie refreshed her mother’s memory.

“Anthony and I were a mistake,” Natalie began slowly. “I did not want to be with him…Brandon is the man that I want to be with.”

Take that, Evil Mother! She wanted to be with him. He, who was sure that he’d told her convoluted mother that he loved her daughter to a crazy degree. Now, why in God’s name could she think that going back to Anthony would make more sense?

“Don’t ruin Christmas, Mama,” Cheerful Maya said, placing her small hand on her mother’s. “They’ve set a date and let that be that…”

He was sure that Maya’s power of being the baby of the family had a hand in shutting their mother up, for the remainder of breakfast, and even as she hovered over the kitchen sink to wash dishes. She didn’t even protest when he reached his hands into the sink with her, offering his services. It was then that he took a deep breath. He would give himself time. He would give himself enough time to allow Helen Chandler to appreciate him. Patience was the key with this woman, hardened and broken, and stern, who looked so much like Natalie that it scared him.

He would coach himself to breathe. He would take each insult that was flung at him in stride. Hell, he felt he had to. He was going to be there for another three weeks.

The Chandler family adhered to the tradition of going to Granny Marie’s each Christmas Eve night, at the brick house at the end of Hargrove Street, decorated with white lights in the naked crepe myrtles, fake, cotton-like snow draped on the shrubbery, and a Black Santa welcome mat beneath an artificial green wreath with bright red poinsettias on the glass storm door. The night was chilly, and Brandon entered into a warm, amber-lit interior, that smelled instantly of food, with its living room, occupied by a small circle of male family members, playing cards on the couch, next to a white brick fireplace, and a tall Christmas tree, decorated with lights that played holiday tunes, and a mantle, dressed with garland and nameless stockings, beneath a row of baby pictures. He walked toward the baby pictures and smiled, recognizing his Natalie instantly, with her long pigtails, and buckteeth. Maya’s picture sat to the left of her older sister’s, and he consider her to be the most attractive in her younger years, with slightly darker skin than Natalie, coarser, lighter hair, a pug nose and an impeccably bright smile. He could tell that Maya’s light shone even before he met her. To the right of Natalie’s was Sidney’s picture, and though she couldn’t have been more than ten when the photograph was taken, he could tell that she was certainly the most mature of the three sisters. Her hair had a slight wave to it, and her skin complexion reminded him of a Hershey’s kiss. In that picture alone, she looked most like Evil Mother. Strangely, Natalie looked the least.

“Here, Brandon,” Sidney said, reaching at his collar, startling him. “Let me get your coat.”

“Thank you,” he replied, watching Natalie and Maya disappear into the kitchen after they greeted their family members in the living room. He stood awkwardly by the Christmas tree, hoping that he didn’t step on any of the presents below him, hoping that someone acknowledged him soon.

Moments later, one of Natalie’s uncles glanced up from his playing hand and chuckled, nudging another one of Natalie’s uncles seated next to him.

“Helen didn’t scare him off yet, Joe,” the uncle said.

Uncle Joe chuckled. “I see, I see…you like cards, Boy?”

“Or do you want to go into the kitchen with the women and cook…you aren’t one of those kinds, are you?”

Hell no. If only they knew how terrible he was in the kitchen.

“What are you playing?” he asked.

“My kinda guy,” Uncle Joe said. “Hot damn, grab a seat…”

He did as he was told, and they had to re-deal the hand. “You know how to play Pitty Pat, son?” one of the Uncles asked him.

Brandon shook his head. “No, sir, I don’t…”

Then men in the circle all made a noise. He couldn’t tell if it was good or bad.

“Well then, son,” Uncle Joe said. “I’ll teach you…I’ll teach you how to whoop all these boy’s asses…I taught Nattie, you know…”

“Yea, she told me,” he smiled.

“Good, good,” the uncle said. “Now here’s what you gotta do first…”

Uncle Joe was probably the best drunken teacher that he’d ever had, and in a matter of minutes, it seemed, he was winning every hand, beating Uncle Joe and Uncle Ron and Uncle Marty, and Uncle Joe’s sixteen-year-old son Marcus, then Uncle Marty’s thirteen-year-old son Cory, then comical Marcus again, then shy Cory again.

“Oh, this white boy is good,” Uncle Joe said. “Ain’t he good, Martin?”

“Yea, Joe,” Uncle Martin began. “If we were betting money, I’d be broke…”

They all shared a laugh, and Natalie entered the room again, wearing the black Guess sweater that Asha helped him pick out for her twenty-third birthday this past fall, wearing that high ponytail that he always loved. She placed a hand on his head.

“Y’all better not be in here giving him a hard time,” Natalie warned, stroking his head slowly. “What are y’all playing?”

“Oh, what else, Nattie, my girl?” Uncle Joe said. “Pitty Pat…”

Natalie rolled her eyes. “Oh, my, Lord. Are you kickin’ tail, Baby?”

Brandon nodded confidently.

“He’s doin’ a lot better than Natalie ever did in Pitty Pat,” Young Marcus teased.

“Oh yea?” Natalie began, laughing a little. “Last time I checked, Marcus Chandler, Maya and Sid and me beat you three times in a row…each…was that last year?”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “Well, I bet you that you can’t beat me again…I’m older now…you can’t boss me around like you used to…”

Natalie patted Brandon on the back. “Baby, my grandma wanted to speak with you…go and see what she wants, and I’ll bet you that by the time you get back, I’ll have whooped my cousin’s behind three times over…”

Brandon entered a kitchen of wood paneling, old carpeting, a breakfast bar with vinyl topping, images of Jesus on the wall, the sound of boiling pots, and at least six women, some with smaller children around them, sitting at a long maple kitchen table, staring at him.

Marie Chandler stood by the stove, dressed in a red apron with the image of a Black, rosy-cheeked Santa on the front, with her arms extended in his direction.

“How dare you come into my house and not speak to me!” the grandmother said, enveloping him in her embrace. “You almost hurt my feelings.”

He was glad to see her the most, he was sure of it. Granny Marie’s touch was so inviting, so warm, and her giggle and sweet drawl made him laugh.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Chandler…”

“Boy, what did I tell you? Call me ‘Granny’…”

“Granny,” he said, trying it out. “I’m sorry…I was playing cards in the living room…”

“So I heard,” Granny Marie smiled. “Got you playin’ Pitty Pat, huh?”

“Yes, ma’am…”

“Well, I have to get in on a game after I finish all of this cookin’,” she said, winking at him. “My son’s and grandson’s don’t have you bettin’ money, do they?”

“No, ma’am,” he replied.

“Good, good,” she said, peeking into a pot. “You want some eggnog, Brandon? It’s homemade…it’s got rum in it…strictly for adults…Nattie tells me that you like to go out and drink…”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, wishing Natalie hadn’t told her grandmother that. “On occasion…”

“Well, grab yourself a cup, boy and have at it…then go sit down at the kitchen table and get to know your family…”

He did as he was told. Within minutes, he’d met Uncle Joe’s wife, Susanna, and their seven-year-old daughter, Alicia; Uncle Marty’s wife, Rhonda and their five-year-old boy, Michael; and Uncle Ron’s second wife, Anita. He was then informed that Aunt Miriam’s husband, Gerald and Aunt June’s husband, Willie were downstairs in the basement, watching basketball on the big-screen television. He was then invited by Aunt Miriam, who wore several gold rings and a Santa hat on her head, to go downstairs and watch the game with them if he wanted. He declined the offer, opting to stay closer to the grandmother, and even closer to the living room, where he could hear Natalie laughing with her uncles and cousins, while “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” dinged on the Christmas tree.