When You Come to Me (23 page)

“Sorry, you’re right,” Asha told her. “And
I’m
right too…”

“Yes, Asha, in your own mind you are…”

“So…what’s his name?”

Natalie sighed, too nervous to argue with her friend, too anxious to care about being mysterious.

“Anthony…Anthony Jones…”

“Wow, he sounds sexy…Anthony and Natalie…has a ring to it…”

“Ash, stop it,” Natalie whined.

Asha only smiled. “What…too soon?”

“Yes, very much so…”

“Just have fun for me,” Asha told her, wrapping her arms around her friend. “I’m sick and tired of watching you wander around like a zombie…it’s been, what, three months now?”

Natalie sighed. “Something like that.”

“You gave him time and space, did you not? And think about what he did to you? [Asha paused, began to play with Natalie’s hair, and she signed] Just…have fun, Nat.”

Natalie turned around to her friend. “I will,” she smiled.

He’d done his undergrad at Morehouse. She could easily picture him there. He was part of the Alpha Rho chapter of the Alpha Phi Alpha fraternity; she could picture that too. He was born in Atlanta. An elementary and Sunday school teacher and a thunderous deacon raised him.
Yolanda and Anthony Senior
.

“Neo-soul,” Anthony Jones said with the charismatic smirk that, even in the brief length of time she’d known him, had already cast a spell on her. He took a sip of wine, slowly, never taking his eyes off of her, in that way that men do that once used to creep her out.

“Neo-soul,” she questioned, looking up at him from a plate of jerk chicken. His brown eyes were dark and warm in the light from the candle.

Anthony nodded. “Exactly what I said. It’s so masterful, so unique, so soothing, something I could listen to for the rest of my life. You must come over and listen to it sometime.”

“I’ve heard it before,” she told him confidently, remembering a time when she played a CD of it in Brandon’s car, watching his face wince in dislike.

“Not in the way that I can play it for you,” he told her. “I’ve found some stuff that I guarantee you’ve never heard before in your life…”

“Really?”

“Yes…”

“Well maybe, someday, I’ll have to take you up on that offer.”

He was confident, just like Brandon, but didn’t have the same smirk, had a different countenance about his light brown face, and she couldn’t really read the attention in his eyes.

Anthony Jones took another sip of wine, cleared his throat, and said, “Natalie Chandler…so…tell me a little about yourself…where did you grow up, any siblings? Likes? Dislikes? Any previous long-term relationships?”

Natalie nervously broke off a piece of chicken with her fork, thought seriously about mentioning Brandon, but said, “Grew up in Decatur, two sisters, Maya and Sidney, Biochemistry major at UGA, I take the MCATs this year and I want to be a pediatrician.”

“Very good profession…but that’s it? There’s got to be more to you than that…”

“I’m a simple girl…not much more to me than that. Just your average southern girl…”

He nodded, narrowed his eyes in her direction and seemed satisfied with her brief answer. She just didn’t have the heart to tell him more.

She thought the dinner a disaster, and was slightly elated that he was driving her home, listening to old school R&B over the radio, him silent, tapping his fingers to the beat on the steering wheel of his sleek black Lexus. She gazed out of the window, toward the sky, saw the stars, wanted to hit her head against the glass when she reluctantly saw Brandon in them, in the blackness that flanked them, in their distance. And she pictured the ring in her mind, pictured his words that night.

She hadn’t allowed herself to cry in weeks…but it was only after Anthony’s offer to take her dancing at the end of the week and her acceptance to his gesture that she locked herself in her bedroom, wrapped in darkness and silence, that she slid down the closed white door, slumped to the floor like a lazy drunk, and allowed her tears to stain her cheeks.

She could finally be free, right? Isn’t that what she always searched for? Should she not be glad that Brandon was finally granting her that? Thank the Lord that he was out of her life! She could finally regain her identity, her space, her air! She did not need him, and he made it painfully obvious that he felt the same about her…

Anthony Jones took her dancing at the end of the week. And he’d smile that charismatic smile that was starting to drive her wild. And he’d hold her unnaturally close while he licked his big brown lips. There were no games with him; there were no secrets, no sneakiness. He had no trouble showing her his attraction to her. The pulsating beat that resonated around them became her impression of him. He was downtown city lights, the stars in the sky, he was soul.

“So...” he told her, yelling over the music, voice barely audible.

“So,” she repeated, finding it difficult to look him in the eye.

“Natalie Chandler,” he told her, gripping her small hand in a way that made her slightly uncomfortable.

“Hmm?”

He twirled her around once, long hair wrapped up in a makeshift bun from the sweat, hearing that beat…that beat that had become Anthony so quickly.

“Why are you trying to be a mystery to me?”

“I’m not
trying
,” she told him plainly. “Like I said…just a simple southern girl…”

He looked at her, nodding slowly. “And what does a simple southern girl like to eat?”

She found his attempt to get to know her strangely endearing. She enjoyed that fact that he tried for her, enjoyed the fact that he was courteous, and she would allow it to fill the space that his charm could not.

“Anything that my Mama and Grandma cook…”

“A family girl…I like those…so do
you
cook…?”

“Perhaps…”

“I’ll take that as a yes…I bet you can’t cook as well as my sister…”

“Maybe not…but it keeps my family satisfied…”

“Well maybe you’d like to test that someday…you look like a girl who can burn…”

She laughed at that comment, figured that if she was light enough he’d be able to see her blush, thinking of the time that she fixed shrimp and grits for Brandon for the first time.

“Tal, what is this?”

“Shrimp and grits, you buffoon…you
like
shrimp…”

“Yes, but with grits?”

“It’s a low-country thing, you see,” she’d told him. “Asha taught me…just try it for me please…”

“Yes,” she told this caramel-complexioned Anthony Jones with a grin. “Someday…”

She questioned her motives with the man, aged close to thirty, as they walked down the sidewalk of downtown Athens the next night. It was balmy and the skies were clear, and she held onto his arm, allowing the same beat to fill her head as he spoke. She came close to appreciating the smoothness in his voice and the smell of his cologne. It wasn’t too strong, wasn’t too overwhelming, but pleasant,
really
pleasant. And he was a snazzy dresser, wasn’t he? Yes, he seemed to be a sucker for the bright colors, which looked good on his brown skin. And he didn’t like to pry. He sure did like the surface questions, didn’t he? She loved that he wasn’t pushy like Brandon. For once, someone was on her schedule.

She was beginning to love the sound of his voice. She equally enjoyed the fact that it was nowhere as deep as Brandon’s, and it didn't pierce her ears the way his always did whenever he felt really passionate about something. But it had the dialect that she was familiar with, that she loved. It reminded her of her mama’s old school music on Saturdays, of the poplars at the end of Green Hill Street, of Grandma’s singing voice…something as smooth as butter…yes, that was it,
butter
…

She told Mama about him one night on the phone a month later. She figured it was going somewhere then.

“What’s his name, Nattie?”

“Anthony…Anthony Jones…”

“What does he do?”

“He’s a pediatrician at St. Mary’s here.”

“You sound happy…are you happy?”

“Yes, Mama…yes, I think I am…”

“Natalie Savannah…your first real boyfriend…I would love to meet him one day, my darlin’…”

“And you will, Mama…”

Asha loved him for his success, for what he could do for Natalie’s career, and the fact that Anthony treated them both to expensive dinners on random occasions, whenever he could get a night off from work. Anthony loved Asha’s humor, loved hearing about her crazy Creole grandma and about dodging black snakes in the bayou.

Of course, he managed to get her to cook for him…something that took her months to do for Brandon, and still didn’t feel nearly as satisfied as she did with Anthony.

“Come on, sweet pea,” he’d coax. “I’m in the mood for a home cooked meal…I won’t ask again for another…well, I can’t promise when I’ll ask again…it’s just so good!”

Yes, fried fish was his favorite of hers…and yes, unfortunately...she was a better cook than his sister…Karen, was her name…Karen Jones-Cameron, a successful real estate agent, living in Peachtree City, the Jones children’s birthplace, recently married to a banker. She’d asked to speak to Natalie one night on the phone as they watched TV at his decently sized house in Winterville.

“Your name is Natalie?”

“Yes, it is.”

“That’s a beautiful name, you’ve got there,” the sister said. “Ever wonder why you were named that?”

“Not really…guess my mother thought it was a beautiful name too…”

“And you’re taking care of my brother?”

“Yes, I certainly am…”

At four months, they went to a church cookout together, ate barbecue on a shared plate under the shade of a pink crepe myrtle, the sun peeking through, gospel in the background, his cousin, the eldest, fifteen, Sierra, coming up to harass her, asking her so many questions that she figured she’d burst.

“Your hair is pretty…is it real?”

“Yes…”

“Where do you get your nails done?”

“I do them myself…”

“Do you really like Anthony…?”

“Yes, I do…”

“Did you know that he had a bad case of halitosis when he was younger?”

Natalie thought about all the times that they’d kissed.

“No, he didn’t tell me that…” she said, smiling.

“Well, now
I
just told you…it was really bad…he had to take medicine and everything…”

Natalie figured that if Sierra were trying to deter her from liking him, then she was completely unsuccessful with it. She didn’t care. She only watched him play with his older brother’s three-year-old daughter, Serena, and knew that she liked him.

And at twilight, while Mahalia Jackson wailed in the background, and the roar of Anthony’s uncles’ laughter sailed against the cooling breeze of a falling Georgian day, he leaned in to kiss her cheek…just enough to send a special chill down her spine…just enough to appreciate his patience…just enough politeness for a church function.

At six months, she was walking back to her desk at St. Mary’s with a cup of black coffee between her small hands, and she caught him in Kerry’s room. The five-year-old who only had weeks left.

Cancer.

Anthony spoke of her sometimes over dinner; of the funny things that she said, of the cute way that she wrinkled her nose, of the way that
Tony
passed through her lips. Yes, Natalie walked past the room just as Anthony was tickling her and adjusting her pillow, just as he was reaching for a book by her bed, opening it, and beginning to read it. Yes, at six months, Anthony became less of a mystery, Anthony became less distant. They’d stolen kisses in a broom closet around the corner during his lunch break. Anthony became her boyfriend.

At eight months, Ant took her to dinner one night, and gave her an expensive pendant.

“I want you to wear this everyday, Natalie,” he’d told her. “I love you…I really,
really
love you…”

She didn’t say it back.

Sure, she liked him a lot. There were plenty of things that made Ant so wonderful. But, she didn’t feel it. Wasn’t that obvious? Wasn’t that completely obvious that she wouldn’t be able to feel it? She only pinched the pendant between her fingers as she gazed at it.

And as they walked out of the restaurant, he stopped her, holding her close that chilly night, his face close to hers, whispering, “Why don’t you let me in, Natalie Chandler? I’m here…I’m only here for you…”

She nodded, attempted a smile, feeling a sense of déjà vu run its course through her mind and said, “I’m sorry…I know…I’ll try…”

That night, he drove her home, kissed her sweetly. She stormed into her dark apartment, scurried to her bedroom and almost slammed the door behind her. She allowed her purse to slip through her fingers, and she slid down the door onto the floor. She had the audacity to cry there in the darkness. She then considered it completely unfair that while Ant poured his heart out to her, she only felt Brandon inside of her. And she missed him…she
really
,
really
missed him.

#

It was at ten months that she fell in love with Anthony Jones. She considered herself lucky to have found him, considered the fact that she enjoyed his eyes, enjoyed the way he danced when he listened to his music, enjoyed the way his face lit up when she presented some of her best dishes before him, enjoyed the way that he talked to her family in Decatur after church. He’d helped her mama take out the trash, had helped her wash the dishes, had helped her slice the eggs for the potato salad. He then retired to the back porch with her uncles to talk fishing and football.

“I love him,” Mama said. “Marry him, Nattie. He’s a doctor, he’s good-lookin’, he’s Christian…”

Natalie stood in the kitchen with her mama, her grandma and her two sisters. They stared through the window over the sink, watching Ant and the rest of her family.

“Marry him? Mama, let Nattie breathe,” Maya told their mother.

Yes, Natalie thought, let her breathe. Natalie had only newly reentered the world of being in love. Each day needed its own attention. She refused to think so far in the future.

“I think he’s fine, isn’t he fine?” Sidney said, holding the baby as it cooed.

“He sure is a smart little negro, isn’t he?” Granny said.