When You Come to Me (44 page)

“What an…uh…interesting story,” said the snow-white Jack Greene. “So…it happened just like that? Just like you explained? Brandon invited you to our little party and here you are.”

Brandon looked at his Natalie, smiled warmly, turned back to his furrow-browed father and nodded slowly, “Yes, Dad, just like that…”

“It’s unusual, we know,” Natalie Chandler told them. “But, we also know that our getting together is…um…unusual, as well…”

“A surprise, surely,” Martha Greene said.

The white and polished Greene coupling exchanged glances; the mother’s legs crossed tightly, the father clearing his throat nervously. Natalie sat impossibly close to her fiancé on the family’s impossibly uncomfortable cream Brookshire sofa, and his large hand moved to her upper thigh, causing the fair Mrs. Greene to part her lips slightly.

“Have you two set a date, then?”

Brandon and Natalie, then, exchanged glances, realizing that they hadn’t spoken much about any wedding at all.

“No,” Brandon Greene told his parents.

“No?” Martha Greene clarified.

Both the prince and the Georgia peach shook their heads like sheepish children.

Silence fell upon the room, and lasted for many, many seconds, Natalie, the poor girl, feeling her comfort level and equally her confidence falling by the wayside.

Then, Mrs. Greene looked upon her son’s face, which matched her own, caution tickling her throat, and said, “Brandon, you must realize that this is strange for us…as much as it is for her, I’m sure…”

Her…as if poor Natalie wasn’t even present…

“We didn’t even know that this girl existed,” the mother continued. “And suddenly, you bring her into our home and say that she’s going to be your wife? We thought you were still with Sophia…?”

“Mom, I haven’t mentioned Sophia in a year,” Brandon said. “Shouldn’t that mean something? And ‘she’ has a name…”

The mother fell tight-lipped.

“The reason why I brought her to this house, was so you could get to know her,” he told them, glancing down at his fiancée once. “And I trust that you’ll get to know her. I understand that this may be shocking…but…I love her…and I want you to see it as much as I feel it…”

Their meeting showed slight success when Natalie was invited to stay for dinner. Then, she figured that they had no choice but to invite her in, because she had nowhere else to go. Elation also warmed her, when she heard the news of being invited to stay in the guest bedroom for a couple of nights. Martha Greene herself, Brandon and his tiny brown companion in tow, were shown the comfortable bedroom, draped in pastel colors, a wrought iron sleigh bed, fanciful curtains, and a picturesque view of a small lake on the backside of the house. Brandon Greene, who’d been carrying her bag, laid it down on the bed, instructed her that his room was past the hall bathroom, to the right, if she needed anything. He had to go pick up his grandmother from the retirement home twenty miles away in the next town over, so she could come for dinner. She then watched his mother fuss over him, messing with his hair, telling him that she’d never liked it when it got too long.

“Mom,” he whined, pushing her hand away. “I like it this way…”

“Well, what happens when you’re going to look for a job? I’ll bet they’ll feel the same way that I do about your hair…”

“It’s fine, right, Tallie?” Brandon asked her. “Tell my mother that it’s fine.”

Of course to Natalie it was fine. If Brandon were bald he would still be just as handsome, because he had that face. She wasn’t sure if she was in the mood to spite the mother so quickly, noticing the way his mother looked at her, as if her opinion of his looks shouldn’t matter at all, and she resisted the urge to reach up and tousle his hair the way she did whenever they were laying around together. Instead, Natalie Chandler looked up at her magnificent-looking fiancé, sighed and said, “Well, it could stand to be a little shorter, baby…”

“Precisely,” Martha Greene said, overly pleased with herself. “I can schedule a haircut for you in the morning. I would like everyone at the anniversary dinner to see the Brandon Greene that they’re used to seeing…”

Brandon only sighed with defeat, shrugged his shoulders and said, “Whatever you say, Mom…”

“Very well then,” Mrs. Greene said, taking her sons arm gingerly. “We should be going…Brandon, you’re driving…”

“Mom, if I drive, Grandmother will drive me crazy…”

“That’s just something you’ll have to deal with…let’s get going.”

Martha Greene started to push Brandon in the direction of the door, but Brandon stopped, and turned to Natalie. He took her shoulder, kissed her goodbye, whispered, “I’ll be back soon…I love you,” into her face and continued his way out the door with his mother, disappearing down the hallway, leaving her to the silence and chill of the bedroom. The whistling breeze hit the small-paned window.

She got the urge to roam the house, following an extended stint, sitting on the bed in the large house, twiddling her thumbs.

She tiptoed toward the bedroom door, peeked out, and stepped out into the hallway, barefoot. A red carpet runner followed the length of the corridor. She stepped slowly, like a little child, pinching at the hem of her slimming ivory tea-length dress, her finely coarse hair, falling gracefully into her eyes as she ran her fingers along the eggshell walls, and white chair rails. The house, cool and inaudible, had a comforting scent of fresh linen, running the perimeter of the interior.

Natalie Chandler approached the top of the loosely winding, open staircase of cherry hardwood, the railings trimmed in crisp white. She descended them slowly, the open foyer ahead of her, the vaulted ceilings above her, inviting in fresh northern sunlight, the walls around her, tastefully painted in a sage hue, the living room to the left, the dining room to the right. She headed around the back of the staircase, found an empty kitchen immediately, equipped with a breakfast bar of dark marble, stainless steel appliances with copper-flecked backsplashes, and a pretty bay window with a view of the wooded back lot, with a peek of the sparkling lake. And the hearth room, with brown leather couches, a small coffee table, ottomans and a big screen television as the focal point. It was there that she found the holding spot for all of the family photo albums, and the cherished family photos, trapped in gold framing, mounted on the wooden walls.

The largest one caught her attention first: a portrait of Jack and Mrs. Greene, and their four sons, baby Brandon in his mother’s arms with surprising auburn hair, and the toddler Greene boys, each of which, Natalie could not place a face with his brothers' names, placed around his father’s feet. The next, of two young boys, dressed in soccer uniforms, and the taller of the two Greene boys, looked strikingly similar to Brandon, with the exception of his eyes, which were brown, instead of Brandon’s trademark blues. The third was surely Brandon, a pre-teen at best, with his father on a boat, holding a fishing rod. His Caesar-style haircut and obvious braces made dear Natalie snicker quietly, finding it hard then to imagine Brandon ever having an “awkward stage”. Yet, the boy’s face held promise, his smile just as warming to the soul then. This Brandon that stared back at her, who could have been no older than thirteen or fourteen felt like a stranger to her.

Natalie exhaled deeply, folded her arms tightly across her chest, and continued to look at his life, photo after photo, depicting a life before she ever existed, of birthday parties, of vacations, of bad haircuts, awful attire, braces and glasses, of soccer games and baseball tournaments, of the things that she never knew about, of a life that he failed to mention…

“We thought he’d never get out of that awkward stage…”

Jack Greene startled her, she gasped a little, and he extended his hand to her arm to settle her.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to scare you, dear,” he told her, chuckling.

“I’m sorry,” Natalie Chandler said shyly. “I didn’t know anyone else was in the house…”

Jack Greene scoffed with a wave of his hand. “Doesn’t bother me any…gets kind of lonely around here when Martha goes off to speak with her mother at the home…you’ll get to meet her tonight…”

She nodded. “Looking forward to it…”

“You needn’t be afraid, Natalie Chandler,” Jack Greene smiled. “I don’t bite…my wife on the other hand…”

“Exactly why I’ll keep on my toes…”

Jack Greene chuckled, looked toward the wall of frames and sighed. “They grow up so fast,” he said lowly. “Last time I checked, they were fighting about who got to eat the last cookie.”

They both laughed.

“Yes, it’s very quiet around here,” he told her. “It’s hard, not getting to see your kids everyday like you used to…”

Natalie only nodded.

“Do you have any siblings, Natalie?”

“Two. Sidney and Maya.”

“And where do you rank in age?”

“I’m the middle child,” she began. “Sidney’s the oldest and Maya’s the youngest…”

Jack Greene nodded then. “And when will we get to meet them?”

Natalie’s heart warmed. “Whenever you’d like…”

“The summer?”

“I’d like that…”

They looked at the pictures together.

“The boy’s crazy about you, I can tell…”

She felt her cheeks heat up. “I hope so…”

“Surely you find it as funny as his mother and I do…”

Natalie sighed. “Actually, I hadn’t really thought about it until I came here…I’ve never seen Brandon as anything different than my friend and the man that I love…”

“And I’m sure he feels the same way?”

“Of course…”

Jack Greene cleared his throat, and it reminded her of the times Brandon did the same, whenever he was uncomfortable.

“And how long have you known Brandon? Five years?”

“I think that’s right…”

“What a funny meeting…”

“I blame fate…”

“Right,” the father said. “A long time for young folks such as yourselves…”

“A very long time…”

“Ha,” Jack Greene said. “Try forty years, and see how you feel about him then…”

“I’m sure that I’ll love him as much as I did when I first fell for him,” Natalie told the father confidently. “And I’d say that a congratulations is in order…”

“I appreciate it,” he told her. “I’m sure that Brandon’s elated that you’ll get to meet his brothers…”

“That’s all he talks about these days,” she laughed. “That and the idea that we might be impoverished for the rest of our lives…”

“Oh?”

“He hasn’t found a job yet…”

Mr. Greene fell silent. A clearing of the throat followed.

A few moments later, the brown-skinned peach told the father, “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go lay down before dinner…”

He nodded in her direction, and she headed back toward the staircase.

. . .

When old Margaret Abbott, almost eighty-two, widowed at sixty-three, in her drunken, white-haired stupor, called Natalie a “colored” over baked cod and lima beans, everyone fell silent, and the young brown-eyed girl grabbed her fiancé’s thigh under the table, Brandon choking on his glass of pinot grigio, Natalie wiping her mouth with her napkin in shock.

Brandon Greene cleared his throat, lowered his glass, and patted his girl’s hand atop his thigh, and said, “Grandmother, we don’t say things like that anymore…”

Old Maggie, draped in something that looked like an decadently decorated floral bed sheet, picked up her glass of wine, took a long swig, wiped her mouth with her hand, and narrowed her eyes in Natalie’s direction.

“Didn’t the boy go to UGA?”

“Yes, Mother,” Martha Greene began. “That’s correct…”

Old Maggie nodded slowly, her eyes still on the poor young girl. Natalie swallowed hard.

“She’s a pretty little colored girl,” the old woman said. “But the boy certainly had some white girls to look at…what ever happened to that little blond slut?”

“She’s gone,” Natalie said proudly.

“This is the one that Brandon has chosen, Maggie,” Jack Greene said, nodding in Natalie’s direction. “We must respect our son’s decision…he’s a grown man…”

“Decision, my ass,” the woman said. “What happened to the way things used to be? Didn’t there used to be some order around this goddamn place?”

“Mother,” Mrs. Greene began. “You shouldn’t curse like that…think of your blood pressure…”

“Oh, fuck my blood pressure, Martha…I said the girl was pretty, didn’t I?”

Natalie felt a little sick then.

“Precisely what I said,” the old woman continued. “A pretty little colored girl…what’s your name, girl?”

“Natalie…”

“Natalie, what?”

“Chandler?”

“And where are you from, Natalie Chandler?”

“Decatur, Georgia…”

“I knew it,” the old woman said. “I knew the girl was from the south. You see, she tried to hide it, but I always have an ear for it…”

“Natalie’s going to medical school, Grandmother…”

Old Maggie now pursed her wrinkled lips in the girl’s direction. “Which one?”

“Duke University…”

“And what do you want to do?”

“I would like to be a pediatrician…”

“Ah,” the woman laughed, gulping her wine this time. “A smart and pretty colored girl…”

“Pretty? Why not,” Natalie began, dropping her fork. “Colored? I don’t think so…as your grandson said, we don’t use that word anymore.”

Natalie, having had enough, huffed, pulled her napkin from her lap, placed it tabletop and excused herself from the table. She had enough time to get outside, had enough to get away, felt the lump rise in her throat, knew that tears would soon follow.

But she never cried, did she? She only sucked it up inside of her, reminding herself that she’d prepared for this situation.

Brandon found her moments later, perched lakeside, her knees gathered in her arms, her cheeks reddened, the sun setting ahead of her. He sat beside her on the grass, wrapped his arms round her without hesitation, kissing her temple.

“Give it time,” he whispered close to her face. “Give it time…”

. . .

Jack Greene apologized for Old Maggie’s antics the next morning over bagels and juices. This followed the arrival of the three Greene brothers, who’d flown in together and were sitting in the dining room for breakfast by the time that Brandon and Natalie made it downstairs that next morning.