So Wrong

by Camilla Stevens

  “Huh. Oh, speak of the devil.”

  They both turned to see River walk in. Marianne watched with amusement at the exchange of flirtatious glances between them.

  “Alright, in honor of the holiday, you can thank me later,” Marianne said. Before Bonita could ask what she meant, her friend popped out of her seat, grabbed River by the shoulders and planted him down in her place.

  “You two behave back here,” she said with a wink as she bounced down the stairs to the front to take River’s seat.

  Bonita almost laughed at the poor girl who was used to seeing her crush, replaced by this ginger haired upstart. Those brown eyes goggled in surprise then outrage as she searched the room, only to find her beloved sitting in the back. Both Bonita and River made a point of staring right back at her, trying to keep their chuckles to themselves.

  “I missed you,” River said, leaning in once Brown Eyes realized her hopes were dashed and turned to face the front again.

  “It was only four days. Besides, I think I have a pretty good idea of exactly what it was you missed,” Bonita replied tartly.

  “Does it have to be just one thing? Maybe I missed your gorgeous smile, or the way your eyes look behind those glasses of yours, or…”

  “Or the way I moan your name when you do that thing with your tongue,” Bonita whispered.

  “Ohh, I like where your head is at, but I do believe Marianne told us to behave ourselves.”

  Bonita giggled. Her momentary elation was tainted by the brief memory of the roses. She had debated telling River about them, but decided it was not worth the angst. She vividly remembered their first encounter outside her dorm. River would just get angry and she’d have to coax him down off the ledge. Besides, she’d dealt with Darryl for now. Hopefully.

  “Bonjour, bonjour!” Professor LeFlor sang out with his trademark greeting, alerting the class to settle down. “While you were all enjoying your turkey dinners and time with family, I certainly hope you were giving thanks for your poor, beleaguered professor who spent his holiday grading your musings on Camus.”

  That was enough to bring Bonita’s mind back around from imagining what River looked like under that leather jacket. Ever since the devastation of getting a C, she had actually followed LeFlor’s advice and paid more attention in class rather than furiously taking notes.

  “I’m sure you did fine,” River said, reading her mind.

  Bonita just bit her bottom lip in anxious anticipation.

  “River Wright!” the professor called out, going through the stack of papers.

  River jumped out of his seat and rushed down to grab his paper.

  “Très bien, très bien as usual.”

  River gave him a wry smile and rushed back up to his new seat beside Bonita. She succumbed to torturing herself by taking a look at his grade. It was an A of course, as befitted a Gascony alumnus.

  She took a breath, calming her immediate annoyance. Yes, she had a steeper hill to climb. No, she’d never been exposed to most of these authors in high school and certainly not in the original French. Sure, it wasn’t fair, but she was here to learn and grow after all. What was the point of going to class if you already knew everything because you were rich enough to go to a fancy-shmancy—

  “That’s you, Bonita,” River said, looking at her expectantly.

  “Huh?”

  “Bonita Jackson!” Professor LeFlor called out by way of an answer.

  She closed her eyes and walked down to get her paper with much less enthusiasm than River had.

  “Aha! Très bien, mademoiselle,” Professor LeFlor said with a wide grin.

  Bonita blinked up at him in surprise then quickly grabbed the paper: A-. She didn’t care if everyone in the class saw her reaction as she bounced and held it against her chest. A huge smile came to her face and she beamed up at the boy in the last row, who grinned right back at her.

  She skipped back up the stairs and practically hopped into her seat, the smile still plastered on her face.

  “Told ya,” River said with a wink.

  “Well, I do have a really great tutor.”

  “And just how do you plan on rewarding that really great tutor?”

  “Maybe he can find out after class,” she said, feeling incredibly frisky at the moment.

  “Did I already tell you how much I missed you?”

  “I remember reminding you of exactly what it was you missed. But not to worry, we have four days worth to make up for.”

  33

  “Sure you’re not nervous?” She asked him again.

  “For the hundredth time, Bonita, no.” River laughed. “I’ve met the president, celebrities, the Rock. I think I can handle my girlfriend’s parents.”

  “Well, my dad is no former pro-wrestler, but he is a bit protective of his little girl. And my mom’s side of the family...well, let’s just say they can be...colorful.”

  “Do I need to remind you who my dad is?”

  Bonita laughed and snuggled in closer to him on the train they were taking down to Washington D.C. She had long since given up straightening her hair and River loved the feel of those wild curls tickling his chin and nose.

  The truth was, as much as he liked to put up a front, River was slightly nervous. It was one thing to meet a well-known celebrity, it was entirely different trying to impress your girlfriend’s dad. Especially with his own dad creating a nice little first impression.

  Having never had a bona fide “girlfriend” River had never had to go through this particular ritual. Meeting the parents. But then he felt the soft curves pressing into his hard side, the smell of peaches and cocoa butter hitting his nose, the sound of her voice, the memories of the nights and days they’d spent together.

  It was worth it.

  “Hello, hello!”

  Bonita’s father said far more jubilantly than River had anticipated. He had a large smile practically glued onto his face as he shook River’s hand perhaps a bit too firmly.

  “Dad,” Bonita said in a tone that had a hint of warning beneath the evident surprise. She hugged him when he was done with River. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Well, it’s good to see you too, sweetheart. Both of you,” he added, eyeing River over his daughter’s head.

  “It’s nice to meet you Reverend Jackson.” Bonita had coached him of the proper honorific to use in front of his name.

  Her mother was a bit more openly amicable. “It’s nice to finally meet you River,” she said placing her hands on his shoulders and side kissing him on the cheeks.

  “Nice to meet you Mrs. Jackson.” He could see a lot of Bonita in her, especially the figure. The heterosexual male in him couldn’t help but be pleased at how Bonita would turn out in later years.

  “These are for you,” River said, holding out the two gifts that he had bought with a little helpful advice from Bonita: definitely nothing flashy or expensive—no need to remind them of the discrepancy in tax brackets—but nice all the same. So he’d bought a very nice cashmere scarf for her mother in lavender, her favorite color and the newest Kindle e-reader for her father. He did splurge a bit on paying for the wrapping, being completely hopeless when it came to such things.

  “My goodness, aren’t these gorgeous!” her mother exclaimed.

  “Well, I’m sure you two are tired after your trip, let’s go and get you settled,” her father said hurriedly. “Bonita we have your room all ready for you. River, unfortunately there is no guest bedroom. Us pastors have rather humble accommodations, but we’ve got a comfortable couch for you to sleep on. I hope you don’t mind.”

  There were so many lines to read between what he said. Bonita and River just looked at each other and smiled, rolling their eyes slightly once her father and mother had turned to lead them toward the car.

  Yes, River was fully aware that they weren’t billionaires like his father. Yes, he understood that any ideas he had about being anything other than perfectly chaste with Maurice Jackson’s daughter could
go right out the window.

  Still, he reached out to take her hand as they walked out of the station. Surely Reverend Jackson would allow him at least that little display of affection.

  “I’ll buy it,” River said.

  “That will be $180.”

  It was Christmas Eve and the four of them were in the living room sitting around the coffee table playing Monopoly, drinking hot chocolate, and eating popcorn from one of those bins that had it in three flavors: cheese, caramel, and buttered. Apparently this was their tradition the night before Christmas, board games and junk food until they fell asleep.

  The only light came from the surprisingly large Christmas tree that he had helped them decorate—another tradition—and the warm fire that was going in the fireplace.

  It was so cozy and idyllic that River could almost believe he had stepped right into a Norman Rockwell painting. Growing up, his holidays had been spent watching women in sparkly dresses and men in crisp black tuxes drink champagne and eat caviar while they pretended to enjoy each other’s company. And that was only when he was actually allowed to attend anything. Sometimes it was just him and the nanny and whatever grand present his father’s assistants had purchased and stuck his name on.

  “Hey, I need Tennessee Avenue to complete my Monopoly!” Bonita protested.

  “I’m willing to make a deal for Pennsylvania.”

  “And the higher rent that goes along with it? I don’t think so,” she said, laughing and sticking out her tongue at him.

  “Better watch yourself sweetheart. This one has an unfair advantage when it comes to making real estate deals.”

  “Dad, stop it!” Bonita said with exasperation.

  This time even her mother chimed in, slapping him mildly on the arm. “Honey, give the boy a break.”

  “What? I’m just complimenting him,” he said then raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. Far be it for me to actually look out for my daughter’s welfare.”

  The underlying meaning wasn’t lost on River. Still, he took it in good stride. For the most part, the jabs had been harmless enough, even rather amusing at times. Frankly, he’d expected her father to be much harder on him. He wouldn’t have expected anything less from someone who had helped raise a girl like Bonita.

  “How about I give you $200 and free rent if you land on my property the next three times around the board.”

  “Well, now you’re just going easy on her, son!”

  “He can’t win can he?” Bonita laughed, lightly punching her father in the arm.

  “Girlfriend discount,” River said, winking at her. It was a daring move right in front of her parents.

  “I’ll take it,” she said smugly, completely missing the look that passed between her parents.

  River had seen it. The raising of the eyebrows, the knowing smiles. Yes, this was real, and they needed to accept that fact.

  “So, you survived Christmas Eve with the Jacksons. What did you think?”

  River was sitting on the couch next to Bonita watching the fire slowly die.

  “It was amazing. It’s like, for the first time I actually get the big deal about Christmas.”

  She looked at him with something approaching pity. “Well, I’m glad we could open your eyes a little. It really is my favorite time of year.”

  “I can see why. It was fun.”

  “Just wait until tomorrow when the family comes over. You don’t know fun, not to mention the food.”

  “Hey, technically it’s already Christmas. Let me give you one of your gifts.”

  “One of? I thought we agreed on one gift only?”

  “I couldn’t help myself. After all, you were my muse for both.”

  He got up off the sofa and reached for her package under the tree and handed it to her.

  “I almost don’t want to open it. This wrapping is amazing River.”

  “I’ll be sure to pass that along to the woman who actually wrapped it,” he said, and they both chuckled. “Open it. What’s inside is even better, I hope.”

  She slowly pulled apart the thick, brocade paper, unwilling to damage it, as River kept his anticipation in check.

  Inside was the first draft manuscript of his book, bound in leather and signed by him.

  “Oh River, it’s gorgeous!” she exclaimed, running her fingers along the rich, soft binding.

  “Hold on to that. One day hopefully it will be worth something.”

  She pressed it against her chest possessively. “As if I would ever sell it. It’s perfect, River. I’m afraid mine is puny by comparison.”

  “If it’s from you, it’s perfect already.”

  She smiled at him then bopped him on the nose making him laugh.

  “Just sit right there while I go get it.”

  Her gift was wrapped in the colorful paper that Christmas was all about: stockings and ornaments in various colors against shiny, green paper. He was just as careful pulling it apart as she had been, making her wait with anticipation as well.

  Inside was a rather nice pen and Moleskine notebook.

  “The pen is a Retro 51 Tornado. They told me it’s one of the best there is. I know it’s not fancy but—”

  “Hey,” he said, wrapping an arm around her neck to pull her in. He kissed her forehead. “It’s perfect.”

  And it was. Although River preferred simple spiral notebooks to draft his stories, he’d happily put this pen to this paper that Bonita had gifted him when he created his next masterpiece. All for her.

  She relaxed against him and they sat there for a while, admiring the fire.

  “Time for me to send your next gift.”

  “Send?”

  “A playlist I created for you. For your ears only,” he leaned in closer to whisper in her ear. “At least until we get back to my place.”

  Bonita giggled.

  The conversation was cut short by the kitchen light snapping on. It was accompanied by the conspicuous opening and closing of cabinets and the refrigerator door.

  Bonita’s father idly made his way out to the living room.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize you two were still up. I was just checking on the fire.”

  River watched Bonita bite back a smile. “We know what you were doing, Daddy.”

  “I just assumed you’d be in bed, it being so late and all,” he said, making no moves to leave them anytime soon.

  She took the hint. “Okay, Daddy. I’m going, I’m going.”

  River wisely kept out of it, letting Bonita do her thing. He was quite pleased when she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. “Goodnight River, and Merry Christmas.”

  “Goodnight Bonita. Merry Christmas.” He looked past her at where her father stood, watching his daughter rise from the couch and head up to her room.

  “And Merry Christmas to you too Mr. Jackson!” he said jovially.

  “Merry Christmas, River.” It came out in sort of a reluctant grunt, which River found amusing.

  Maybe he was coming around. Sort of.

  34

  “And this is my uncle Theo and aunt Jasmine, and their kids Olivia, Isaac, and John.”

  Bonita watched River’s face strain with concentration, trying to keep up with all of her relatives. In all, there were her two grandparents, three aunts and three uncles by blood or marriage, and nine cousins.

  “Don’t worry, you don’t have to remember everyone right off the bat. I know it’s a lot to take in.”

  He let out a deep breath. “Not to mention all the food. The smell alone is driving me crazy.”

  “I hope you like spice. You’re about to experience what happens when soul food and Mexican food collide. We’ve got pozole, collard greens, flautas, mac and cheese done right—”

  “Stop it, stop it, my stomach is growling already. I’m glad you told me to take it easy this morning at breakfast.”

  Bonita laughed. After opening presents this morning—her parents were duly impressed with their gifts from River—he’d been surprised t
o find that breakfast was a pretty light affair of coffee and toast, and even then Bonita had warned him not to fill up too much.

  “So this is the billionaire we’ve heard so much about? Hey is it true your father has gold toilets?”

  “Uh—” River began, giving the man an uncertain look.

  “Theo!” Bonita complained.

  “What? I’m really going to be the first to point out the elephant in the room? Speaking of which, didn’t your dad run as a Republican in that mayoral—”

  “You leave that boy alone, Theo.” Bonita’s grandmother said.

  “Thank you grandma.”

  “Are really going to just ignore the fact that Richard Wright’s son is dating—”

  “Okay, okay, everyone!” Bonita finally interrupted, raising her voice above the crowd now that everyone was there. “I have an announcement to make!”

  When it had all died down and they were quietly looking her way with expectant looks on their faces, she continued.

  “Yes, I am dating River Wright. Yes, he is Richard Wright’s son. Yes, they have money. No, you can’t ask to borrow any”—this got a few chuckles—“and no, you can’t bring up the election.” She gave her uncle, a notorious political wonk, a pointed look.

  “He is my boyfriend, and since Daddy has already run him through the wringer, you all have to give him a break.”

  This got outright laughter, but Bonita was glad to see River relaxing a bit.

  “That’s an…interesting aroma.”

  Everyone laughed. Poor River was surrounded, as though he was the main attraction at some sort of freak show. But her Aunt Elena was putting him to the test. In her mind the family fell into one of two camps: those that loved her chitterlings, pronounced “chitlins,” and those that thought they were disgusting. She had an obvious bias toward one group over the other.

  “It’s gross!” Bonita insisted, wrinkling her nose.

  “Uh-uh…nobody disses my chitlins little girl,” her aunt Elena chided. Bonita fell firmly into her less favored group.

  “Your chitlins require a hazmat suit to be around,” Bonita retorted. Then she turned to River. “You don’t have to eat them you know.”