Scarlet Redemption

by Lani Wendt Young

  I lick the last of the cream from his fingers and then lean back against the headboard. Calm and cool. “Of course. Can anything compare to a great chocolate pie?”

  “We’ll see,” says Jackson. Expertly he unclips my bra, dips his fingers into the pie again, and this time, smears cream all over my breasts.

  I yelp in surprise. “Jackson, it’s cold!”

  “Ohhh,” he fakes regret. “I’m sorry. Let me fix that.” He bends to take me in his mouth, eager and ravenous as he licks away every bit of chocolate, making no effort to quiet his hungry appreciation.

  Whatever nonchalance I was faking, it’s consumed in a dazed rush of sensual pleasure.

  Two hours later I can confirm that the best cure for a fear of flying? Is Jackson and a chocolate cream pie.

  Jackson may have successfully distracted me from my flying anxiety, but there’s not much he can do to stop me from panicking about meeting his parents. It’s a long drive to their ranch. More than enough time for me to accelerate through all the possible scenarios of what can happen when they meet me.

  “So they know I’m coming? You told them? About me?” I sound pitiful, even to myself. But I can’t help it. I’ve never met parents before. Of a man I’m dating. I feel sick.

  Jackson grins, reaches across the seat and takes my hand in his. “I told them enough.”

  What does that even mean? Enough?! “So they know I’m Samoan?” Code for – they know I’m not white, right? I think of Jackson’s ex – the very blonde, very white woman.

  “Of course,” says Jackson. “They’re looking forward to meeting you. My brothers Valk and Reno will be there. Valk is back from an assignment in Brazil and Reno is in between jobs right now.”

  “So I get to meet your brothers!” I try to sound cheerful about it but another gut wrench of nerves is making it difficult. As if meeting parents wasn’t bad enough. I have to meet brothers too? How am I supposed to impress so many different people all at once? Never mind ‘impress’, how am I supposed to NOT embarrass myself in front of so many different people? I’m rambling now. “It’ll be okay. They’re used to you bringing your friends home all the time. It’ll be casual and no big deal at all. Totally fine. Totally chill. No big deal…” Because I’m talking to myself more than to Jackson, I nearly miss his next words.

  “Actually I don’t.”

  “You don’t what?” I say.

  He’s got his eyes on the road as he indicates to turn so I can’t tell what sort of look he has on his face. “Bring friends home.”

  We pull up in front of an ornate gate with video camera surveillance and Jackson pushes a button on a gleaming dashboard. Then he turns to me with a smile that is a dusting of icing sugar on my soul.

  “It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.”

  “How do you know that?” I try not to whine but it’s difficult. Breathing is difficult too. “What if I say the wrong things? Do the wrong things? Mess up?” What I don’t say is – how can his parents possibly like me, when my own parents don’t. Ouch.

  He reaches across and draws me to him, kisses me. Gentle, determined, soft and hard. Hungry and satisfying. How is it possible that this man’s kisses can be all those things at once? When he pulls away, my lips feel swollen and I’m a mess. A thoroughly kissed and consumed mess. He cradles my face in his hands so that he can look deep into my eyes, so that I can’t look away, so that all I can hear, see and feel is him. “Listen to me Scarlet. I love you. It won’t matter what my family thinks of you. Nothing will change how I feel about you. The only people whose feelings matter in this? Are sitting here in this car right now. Okay?”

  With that pronouncement, he starts up the truck again and we drive through the open gates, up a long driveway lined with sweeping oak trees. But I’m not looking at our surroundings, and nothing outside the truck is registering because for the first time, Jackson has said that he loves me.

  Jackson loves me! OhmifuckingGosh, Jackson Emory loves me?!

  Inside, my crazy Scarlet voice is screaming, I LOVE YOU TOO. FOREVER. ALWAYS. WITH ALL MY HEART. WITH EVERY MOLECULE OF MY BEING. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THAT I WANT TO BREATHE THE SAME AIR AS YOU FOREVER.

  Because yes, my inner Scarlet is pathetic.

  Where before there didn’t seem to be enough air, now there’s an overabundance of oxygen because I’m floating, high, light as a cloud. A fluffy pavlova perfectly rising to pillowed perfection, spun sugar and whisked egg whites, golden brown edges, tips of divinity. That’s where I am. Right next to Divinity. If my heart could sing it would be trilling at the top of its virtual lungs. If my feet could dance, I would be doing pirouettes and triple axles. I’m swept away on a fantasy fantastical vision.

  Me and Jackson walking hand-in-hand on the beach. White sand and blue ocean. Me in a white dress. He’s wearing a suit. There’s frangipani petals fluttering in the air all around us, a cloud of perfumed perfection. Birds are singing. We’re getting married, it’s our perfect happy ending and we are walking into the sunset of all our happily ever after’s. Just me and him. Jackson and Scarlet. Together forever. Nothing will ever part us. Ever ever ever…

  “Scarlet? Are you coming?”

  Huh, what? Oops, we’re here.

  Jackson is holding my door open and giving me a quizzical look because we’ve arrived and I’m sitting here in a daze like the silly woman that I am. In a love haze.

  I scoot out of the car and trip over in my flustered haste. Jackson catches me and safe in his arms, we both laugh for a moment. I steal that moment to kiss him. A big sloppy hungry heated kiss because I’m so happy and in love and Jackson loves me and nothing can ruin this moment of perfection.

  Nothing except for maybe an audience?

  “Sheesh get a room you two!” says someone from somewhere behind us.

  I freeze mid kiss and turn slowly. Jackson is grinning. “Scarlet, meet my brother Reno. The child who’s never grown up.”

  There’s a man standing on the front steps, leaning casually against one of the massive white columns, watching us, laughing at us. I want to die, shrivel up and wither in a heap of dust in the wind. I hiss at Jackson, “How could you let me do that? Why didn’t you tell me he was there?!” Public displays of affection are the epitome of le-mafaufau’ness. The Samoan mortification is so strong that I nearly vomit. I have shamed my parents, my grandparents, my every ancestor back to Nafanua the war goddess. Kissing in public, IN FRONT OF YOUR BOYFRIEND’S FAMILY?! I am a harlot. A paumuku. A scarlet woman. Take me outside the city walls and stone me. I’ll throw the first stone.

  I am reminded of the time that our cousin Afeleki brought his palagi girlfriend home from Australia to meet the family. She would twine her arms around his neck and nibble on his ear, kiss his cheek at church. And the aunties would shudder in disgust and mutter behind their woven fans about her behavior of Biblical whoredom. Even we children would know she was acting in shameful filthy ways. When Afeleki came next time to Samoa – alone – everyone nodded sagely and congratulated him on his wisdom and blessed escape from the clutches of a girl with no morals, no parents, no alofa.

  Yet look at me. Here now I was behaving just like Afeleki’s palagi girlfriend. Which was a greater sin because unlike her, I was Samoan and had been taught the right path. I was supposed to know better.

  Way to make a good first impression Scarlet.

  Jackson goes to hug his brother with a few more cracks about spying on consenting adults.

  Reno laughs. “You already gave us a free show on the video monitor.”

  I give both men a questioning look. What video monitor?

  “You know, at the front gate? You buzzed? Elizabeth went to check the camera and we all got an eyeful.” He advances with an open laughing face, hand outstretched. “Hi Scarlet. Welcome to the family ranch. We’re all excited to meet you.”

  I shake his hand but I’m shriveled inside, because of what he’s just said. Jackson’s mother saw us kissing on the video camera? This keeps gettin
g worse. Can a tornado please happen right now and take me to Kansas?

  Jackson puts a reassuring arm around me and gives me a gentle squeeze. “Cut it out Reno, you’re not helping Scarlet’s worries about meeting our crazy family. Don’t scare my girlfriend off before she’s even gotten inside.” It’s said lightheartedly with a smile but there’s an undertone of warning and Reno responds to it immediately.

  “I’m kidding, Scarlet. Sorry. We do it to each other all the time. I don’t get to see Jackson enough and I have a few weeks worth of sibling roasting to catch up on,” says Reno.

  I seize on his words with grateful relief. “So Mrs. Emory didn’t see us at the front gate? Being inappropriate?”

  Reno gives me a quizzical look, then shoots a glance at Jackson. The men exchange words without saying anything and Jackson’s brother is chastened. “No she didn’t. I assure you. I’m the one who answered the buzzer. Elizabeth was busy in the kitchen. Come through. Everyone’s waiting to meet you.”

  I give Jackson a desperate look of pleading and he reads my mind. Because he loves me and he’s brilliant of course. He takes my hand and escorts me inside. “Scarlet why don’t you take a few minutes to freshen up first? Guest bathroom is through here. Then come join us in the kitchen through that hall, okay?”

  I’m weak with relief. The last thing I want is to meet Jackson’s parents while I’m a kissed-up mess. I do what I have to do in the bathroom, including going through the breathing exercises my therapist taught me. There, now I feel ready. Or as ready as I will ever be. Let’s do this.

  I walk through rooms and my jaw drops open at the splendid beauty of the family’s home. I follow the voices and find everyone in a massive open plan kitchen and dining area.

  “Here she is – everyone, meet Scarlet,” says Jackson as he takes my hand in his, ushering me forward. “Come meet my parents first.”

  Before I can take another step, a human tornado rushes forward and envelops me in a bone crushing hug. She smells like mint and lemons and there’s sunshine in her smile as she steps back to look me up and down. “Let me look at you! I did try stalking you on Facebook but nothing compares to the real thing, right here in my kitchen!”

  Wait, what – she stalked me on Facebook? Oh shit. Who does that? What kind of mother does that?

  HANDS UP ANYONE WHOSE MOTHER HAS STALKED THEIR GIRLFRIEND ON FACEBOOK?! HELP! RED ALERT. SEND HELP.

  Elizabeth is not what I envisioned at all. Jackson had told me she’d been the driving force behind Emory Steel before her retirement, and I’d imagined her as this tall, crisp, cool Chanel suited woman with an iron handshake and a severe chignon. But instead she’s a short, messy figure in denim overalls and a riot of curls barely contained in a pink scrunchie. There’s splotchy stains on her apron.

  I’m introduced to the others. Jackson’s father Mark. His brother Valk. Elizabeth waves me to sit at the countertop while she continues working at the bench. “I’m making mojitos. The best thing on a hot Texas day. The mint is from my garden. Here, drink up.”

  A tall glass of icy cool deliciousness is pushed into my hands and I take a long sip appreciatively. “Hmmm this is lovely. Thank you.”

  “It’s good, yes?!” Elizabeth gives the others a look of triumph. “I told you she would like my mojitos.” Back to me, she continues talking, a hundred words a minute, rolling her Rrrrrr’s and drawling her Aaaaaaaa’s. “These boys, so know-it-all. They said I should ask you what you want to drink, give you a selection of cocktails, but I told them, who can not love my mojitos? Thank you for proving me right to these boys. As usual.” A laugh. “But then I have to confess, I did see on your Instagram that you liked a good mojito.”

  OhmifuckingGoodness she’s been through my Instagram too? Is no social media app safe from this woman? (Let this be a lesson to you all, good readers – put your apps on private. Right now.) I’m trying to think what I shared on Snapchat lately and whether or not I need to be apologizing pre-emptively for anything unsavory.

  Reno is helping in the kitchen and places a platter of tortilla chips in front of us. “I apologize for our mother Scarlet,” he says, shaking his head with a mournful frown. “Jackson should have warned you. She’s infamous for her social media stalking. None of her children, or their friends are ever safe.”

  The men share a laugh and Valk adds, “She’s gotten a bit better though. Remember when she first got on Facebook and she didn’t understand the difference between private message and posting comments on our pictures?”

  Jackson and his brothers burst out laughing. “I forgot about that,” says Jackson. He explains for my benefit. “We were in Junior year of high school. Elizabeth had me make her a Facebook. She thought she knew everything about how to use it. She saw a girl post a photo of herself on Valk’s page.”

  His brother jumps in, “An innocent, completely rated G photo! And Elizabeth put her on public blast. It was a girl in my class and I was humiliated.”

  Elizabeth makes a snort of disbelief and raises her hand to pause the conversation. “Scarlet, let me tell you the real story. I’m scrolling down the page and what do I see? A photograph of a near naked girl sitting on a bed in a seductive pose, and she’s commented, ‘Missing you Valk.’ Now I ask you, what would you have done as a mother?”

  The Samoan in me knows exactly what to say, but Valk interrupts again, “She wasn’t naked! She was wearing a nude colored bra. Nothing seductive about the picture at all.”

  The brothers are fake jostling each other in the kitchen now, with sideways grins. It’s obvious this is a favorite family story and source of much good-natured banter.

  Elizabeth sniffs and adopts an air of righteousness. “All I did was write a simple comment on the photo. Nothing for anyone to get upset about at all.”

  Her husband joins the conversation now, a glass in hand and placing an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Now dear, lets not tell lies in front of our guest.” He says to me, “Elizabeth asked Valk on his Facebook page, where the young woman’s clothes were, and that his mother didn’t give him permission to have naked pictures on his Facebook. Apparently all the boys friends saw it and there was much talk about it at their school.”

  “To be fair, I didn’t realize everyone could see my comment,” interrupted Elizabeth. “So a public blast wasn’t my intention.”

  “Yes, but how do you explain all the other times you destroyed us on Facebook?” asks Reno, with an exaggerated aggrieved air. “Like when you told Jackson his hair looked like our dog’s tail?”

  More laughter from everyone and now even I’m smiling as I relax slightly. This family is nothing like mine. Sure there’s sarcasm and teasing, but it doesn’t have the barbed sting or the whispers behind it like it does back home. Maybe, this visit wont be so bad after all?

  “Mrs. Emory can I help you with the food preparation?” I ask, getting up from my seat and ready to do kitchen chores. If there’s anything I feel confident about doing, its working in the kitchen.

  All the men laugh and I throw Jackson a look of confusion. Did I say something wrong?

  Jackson shakes his head and gives me a smile of reassurance. “Never mind us Scarlet. We’re laughing because Elizabeth doesn’t cook. The apron is just for show.”

  “Yeah, Mark is the cooking maestro in this family,” explains Ronan. “Our mother cook dinner? Never!”

  “I make great cocktails,” protests Elizabeth as she joins in the laughter. “And the apron is needed for chopping the mojito mint, so there.”

  Mark gives his wife a look of undisguised fondness. “You do make great cocktails darling.” To me he says, “Thanks for the offer Scarlet but everything’s done and the boys will dish it up for us. Lets go to the table shall we?”

  We move to a huge carved oak dining table. Jackson and his brothers bring platters of food to the table while the conversation continues. Now they are reminiscing about the few times Elizabeth tried her hand at cooking, with disastrous consequences. Burnt pies, cha
rred hams, and stews so salty that, “Even our hogs wouldn’t eat it!” More laughter.

  “I learnt a long time ago that one should know their strengths and weaknesses,” says Elizabeth with a grin. “Then work to them. Me and cooking have never been friends, so I figure, why force it? Early in our marriage Mark figured out that if he wanted to eat anything edible then he needed to be the family chef. When I got back from the office, he would have a beautiful dinner ready for us, and I only had to make the cocktails. The perfect partnership.”

  We eat dinner and it’s delicious. Golden cornbread that crumbles perfectly and melts in your mouth. Rich savory chili with the right amount of spicy kick. A platter of corn on the cob, crisp and sweet with melted butter and salt. Green salad made with tomatoes and lettuce from Mark’s vegetable garden. But even better than the meal, is the conversation. There’s lots of laughter and good-natured teasing. Perhaps Jackson has warned them of my anxiety, but whatever the reason, the family doesn’t subject me to any intense scrutiny and the interrogation is gentle. A few light questions.

  “So Scarlet, you’re a writer?” asks Mark as he passes me more cornbread.

  “Yes, I write romance novels.” I’ve been practicing saying that without cringing and I’m getting better at it. Be proud Scar dammit. I’m ready for jokes and snide cracks about writing trash. Reno and Valk are nudging each other with sly grins and I give them my most icy smile. The one that says – I am strong and resolute. You can’t make me embarrassed for writing romance.

  “Yeah Elizabeth, she writes romance novels,” says Reno loudly. “Do you want to say something right about now? Have you anything to share?”

  The boys are trying not to laugh and Jackson looks as puzzled as I am. What’s going on?

  “Oh stop it boys. You’re making Scarlet uncomfortable.” To me, Elizabeth says, “As soon as Jackson told us you’re an author, I went and looked for your books on Amazon.”

  Oh fuck. “You did?”

  Valk leaps in, “She bought them all. And after she read them, she ordered paperbacks and she’s got them here for you to sign.”