by Stacy Adams
Cynthia continued when the guests settled down. “Melba owns a hair salon, but any of you here who frequent the place know that she’s more than just a stylist and she’s more than just an entrepreneur. She is a mentor and a counselor and a prayer warrior when you need it the most. Her salon is part of the heart and soul of the Jubilant community.
“I think I’d be accurate in saying that’s why most of us are here tonight—to honor a woman of God who has allowed herself to be his vessel, in whatever facet is needed. She is a gift to her family, a treasure to the community, and a friend to anyone in need of one.”
Cynthia turned to Melba. “Melba, I thank God for you. Welcome back to Hair Pizzazz.”
The crystal ball suspended from the ceiling began to swirl, and confetti showered everyone on the dance floor.
Aunt Melba took the microphone from Cynthia and waited for the commotion to die down. Tears were streaming from her eyes.
“Believe it . . . or not . . . I don’t have much to say,” she said. “I want to thank . . . Carmen, Eboni, and Carlotta . . . for carrying their load and mine . . . just days after Eboni and Carlotta agreed to work in my salon. I’m sure it was much more . . . than they . . . expected . . . to tackle. Carmen, thanks so much for staying on board and helping everything run so smoothly. You’ve been a great help to these two ladies as they took care of their own clients as well as mine.”
She turned toward Indigo’s parents and passed the microphone back to Cynthia, who pulled out a piece of paper.
“As you all see, Melba is doing fabulously well, but her speech still can be labored. She had so much to say that she realized it could take all night.”
The crowd erupted in laughter.
“So,” Cynthia continued, “she wrote the rest and asked me to read it to you, which I’ll do now, on her behalf.”
Melba stood beside Cynthia and read along as Cynthia shared her sentiments.
“‘I can’t say enough about my family, especially my sister, Irene, her husband, Charles, and their children, Indigo and Yasmin,’ ” Cynthia read. “ ‘They took me in and nurtured me and never made me feel like a burden.
“ ‘Indigo joined my staff and kept the business running like a pro, Rachelle and Yasmin chipped in often, and all I had to do was focus on getting well. Thank you, guys, I love you.’ ”
Aunt Melba clasped her hands and closed her eyes while Cynthia continued.
“ ‘And what can I say about my almighty Father? There aren’t enough words.’ ” Cynthia’s voice quivered as she read. “‘So I’ll simply say thank you, for the good and the bad, because all of it drew me closer to you.’ ”
When Cynthia was done, Ms. Harrow approached Melba onstage with a massive, multicolored bouquet of flowers. Melba’s eyes widened and a smile stretched across her face.
Suddenly, Indigo saw a flash. She had her camera tonight, but it was on the table. She scanned the crowd behind her to see who else had decided to capture memories. Her eyes landed on a suited-up Max. He was focusing his next shot and didn’t notice her. She wiggled through pockets of people to reach him.
He grinned when he saw her and gave her a light hug.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Nice to see you too, Ms. Burns,” Max teased.
Indigo blushed. “I’m sorry—that was rude. It’s nice to see you. How have you wound up at my aunt’s party?”
“Melba Mitchell is well regarded and tons of people are here tonight,” Max explained. “It’s the social event of the month, and the Herald editor wants something for the society page. They called me up this morning and asked if I’d do it. Plus, it gives me an excuse to see you.”
Before she could respond, Brian walked up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. Indigo jumped and turned toward him.
“Um, Max, this is my fiancé, Brian Harper. Brian, this is Max Shepherd, the Herald photographer who took my photo for the newspaper’s article on my O Magazine award.”
Brian shook Max’s hand, but didn’t smile or speak.
Indigo was surprised.
“Nice to meet you, man,” Max said. “You’ve got a gem here. Keep up with her.”
“You can bet on that,” Brian said. “Nice to meet you, Max.”
Brian led Indigo away, to the dance floor. The DJ was playing Leona Lewis’s version of “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,” and he pulled her close.
“Should I be jealous?” he said in Indigo’s ear.
Indigo smiled. “That would be cute, but unnecessary.”
When they were done, Indigo noticed Max talking to Nizhoni. She was tempted to approach them and join in, but thought better of it. Instead, she sat next to Brian and watched them from afar. Maybe the real question was why was she jealous.
41
Indigo and Shelby were long overdue for some girlfriend time, and if they had to steal away after Aunt Melba’s party to get it, so be it.
The celebration wound down around eleven p.m., and Hunt and Brian went to Gabe’s to shoot pool. They would stay there for the night, in Gabe and Rachelle’s guesthouse.
Aunt Melba had moved back home a few days earlier, so Shelby was staying with the Burnses, in the bedroom Melba had been using.
The room was Indigo’s teenage bedroom, and she and Shelby sat on the floor now, remembering the times they had spent there during weekend visits from college.
Suddenly, though, the conversation took a turn.
“So do you love him?” Indigo had been dying to ask her friend.
Shelby had been talking about Hunt for about a year now, and yet, she’d still been cagey. She had told Indigo from the beginning that he was white, but she’d never really shared whether that made her hesitant to get serious about him.
In recent weeks, though, since her graduation from OCS, Shelby mentioned him when she talked about long-term career decisions. They had visited each other’s parents more than once, and Hunt was considering a job transfer from New York to his engineering firm’s Fort Worth office, so he’d be somewhat closer to Shelby while she was in flight school in Corpus Christi.
Shelby sighed and hugged the fluffy purple pillow she had snagged from Indigo’s bed.
“I do love him, Indie,” she said. “But you know what? I’m scared.”
“Why? You don’t think he feels the same?”
“I know he does,” Shelby said.“He asked me to marry him last week.”
“What?” Indigo sat up straighter and stared at her friend. “Why am I just hearing about this? What did you say?”
Shelby looked away. “I didn’t say anything because I’m scared. I’m scared to say yes and try to live in a world that won’t accept us as an interracial couple. And I’m scared to say no because I love this man more deeply than I’ve ever loved anyone, and I don’t know if I can breathe without him. He makes me a better person.”
Indigo thought about the advice Rachelle and Gabe had given her and Brian last week and her heart sank.
Here she sat, wearing the beautiful engagement ring, with the gorgeous wedding dress on the way, and she felt nowhere close to what Shelby was describing about her feelings for Hunt.
She wanted to weep.
Shelby noticed. “What is it?”
Indigo shook her head and took a deep breath. “The way you feel about Hunt is love, Shelby. That’s not how I feel about Brian. Intellectually, I know he’s a good catch. In my head, I know that I would be foolish to let him slip through my fingers. I love him and care for him deeply, but I don’t know that he completes me or that I do that for him.
“We’re almost like two really good friends cruising in different directions. I want to focus on my photography career and he’s going to be in the Navy, traveling and focusing on what he needs to do to rise through the ranks. He needs a wife by his side to help him succeed. I don’t know that I can fill that role and do what my heart is calling me to do. I don’t know that I love him enough to even give it a try.”
&n
bsp; Shelby sat there, wide-eyed.
Indigo continued. “But you, girlfriend, are smitten.” She laughed. “Any man who can come to a Burns family party and hang like Hunt did tonight, and propose to you, and take you to meet his family, he’s not playing.”
Shelby smiled. “I know, Indie. I love him for that. He’s so . . . he’s just so . . . wonderful. Why couldn’t he have been born with a permanent tan!”
They both roared with laughter.
“He probably wonders why you were born with a permanent one,” Indigo said. “In an ideal romantic world, both of you would be black or both of you would be white. Isn’t it funny, though, that love is color-blind? You can’t help that the person who feeds your soul is very different from you in some ways. You went to a historically black college and dated just about every fine man on campus until you uncovered his flaws so you could dump him.”
Shelby kicked Indigo’s leg in jest.
“Then you go off to Florida and fall in love with a beach boy.” Indigo laughed heartily at her own joke. “I’m not mad at you, Shelby. I’m not mad at all.”
“I’ll have you know that he’s not a beach boy,” Shelby said. “Hunt grew up in Cincinnati, thank you.”
“Whatever,” Indigo said. “How did he take it when you didn’t respond to his proposal?”
“He got quiet and he said he knew I needed to think about it, and to let him know when I was ready to talk,” Shelby said. “Then he gave me this amazing kiss that left my heart pounding and got in his car and drove back home.”
Indigo fanned herself with her hand. “Shut up, girl! You gone make me find him and marry him!”
Shelby looked at her pointedly. “But you already have someone, remember? Your big day is just over four months away.”
Shelby leaned back against the bed and looked at her friend. “Your aunt Melba was making her rounds tonight, making sure she talked to everyone she could. She pulled me and Hunt aside and told us that we should not let the world tell us who we are as individuals or as a couple, and if we decide to be together, let it be because we have decided that weathering the storm together is better than weathering it separately.
“Now that I think about her advice again, I realize that I shouldn’t be afraid. I already know in my heart that I’d rather face the stares, the ugly comments, and the reality that some people will ostracize us, if I can be in his world. Otherwise, I’ll be flailing about trying to find Mr. Right and working overtime to make him fit some set criteria.”
“Like me,” Indigo said softly.
She began to weep, because the message Aunt Melba shared with Shelby provided the answer she had needed all along. Now the question became, what was she going to do about it?
42
Brian hadn’t slept well since his visit to Jubilant, and his mother had noticed.
“What’s with the bags under the eyes, Son?” she asked one morning over breakfast. “You aren’t in officer training anymore—you can sleep in as much as you’d like.”
She sipped her coffee and watched him.
Brian squirmed under her gaze. He had always believed she had a built-in lie detector with his name emblazoned on it.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Only you can answer that,” Mary Harper said. “You’re the one looking run-down, not me. How’s Indigo?”
Now she was probing, trying to determine what could be stressing him out or keeping him awake at night. If she really knew, she’d be repulsed. Brian was.
He smiled at her and stroked her cheek. “I’m twenty-five years old, but I’ll always be your baby, won’t I? Even when I’m forty and balding.”
“Even then,” she said. “Nothing you can tell me, or do, will ever change that.”
Nothing?
“I’m going away for a few days this weekend,” he said suddenly, changing the subject. “I leave tonight.”
Mom seemed surprised. “You were in Jubilant just last week. Are you going back already?”
Brian shook his head. “I’m meeting a Navy buddy in New York. We’re going to catch a show on Broadway and just hang out. You know—kind of a bachelor thing before I get tied up in flight school and come back for the wedding.”
Mom looked pensive. “No, I don’t know. Who is this . . . friend? Why aren’t you taking Indigo to the theater?”
“Why do you look so worried?” Brian asked. He shifted his deep brown eyes away from her matching ones. She didn’t need to know that he hadn’t mentioned the trip to Indigo. Indigo had been tied up with helping Aunt Melba settle back into her home, and was busy this weekend squaring away everything she’d need for grad school. He hadn’t wanted to bother her. At least that’s what he convinced himself.
“Are you meeting that guy Craig?” Mom asked.
Brian stopped breathing. “Why . . . why did you bring him up? How do you even remember him?” he stammered.
“I met him when we came up to Newport for visitors’ weekend, remember?” she said. “I pegged him then for someone who had an interest in you. So what is this weekend about, Brian? Is there something that you need to tell your dad and me? Or Indigo?”
Brian averted his eyes again. His mind traveled back to the dinner two weekends ago when Rachelle and Gabe talked about the importance of living in truth. He wasn’t sure he had that kind of courage. Then again, that’s really what this trip to New York was about. He wanted to find out once and for all what was going on with him. He needed to discover the truth for himself before he could think about sharing it with Indigo, or anyone else.
Mom sat there waiting and he remembered she had hurled a series of questions at him.
“Everything is okay, Mom. Indigo and I are trying to get plans finalized for December. She’s got a lot of great things going on between now and then, and so do I. I’m just letting my hair down with a friend.”
But in his mother’s eyes, he saw a truth that he wasn’t ready to accept. She knew, or at least thought she knew, something about him that the rest of the world didn’t. The revelation he saw there wasn’t accompanied by anger, pain, or shame. He still saw his mother’s love, mingled with a little pity, perhaps, for the fact that he felt the need to run from himself.
She reached for his hand and covered it with hers. “You’re right, Son, you’re twenty-five, and it’s time that I let you grow up. You have a great weekend, and just know that I love you and I’m praying, as always, for God to guide you and bless you.”
She pushed her chair from the table and headed upstairs, but not before Brian saw that her eyes were moist.
His heart stung. That alone should have led him to cancel this trip, but he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
Mom dropped him off at the airport at 4 p.m. so he’d have plenty of time to catch his 5:30 p.m. flight. He kissed her cheek before stepping out of the car and grabbing his bag. Her eyes raised the question he knew her heart was asking: Would he come back the same?
As he waited to board the plane, he prayed.
Show me what’s what, God. Help me figure out whether I’m doing right by Indigo or whether I’m being selfish. Help me see the truth and give me the courage to accept it. Most of all, help me to please you.
Brian was afraid of this prayer, even as he uttered it. What if the truth were too ugly?
The answer that sufaced in his spirit settled him. If he were going to trust God in other ways, he had to trust him in this too.
43
So why did you want to meet me? I thought you were done with me,” Craig said as he and Brian walked through Times Square, on their way to Virgil’s, for a late-night barbecue dinner.
The city that never slept was as busy at nine o’clock tonight as most other places were at noonday.
“I don’t know,” Brian said. He stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, and looked everywhere but at Craig.
Craig stopped abruptly and blocked Brian’s path, oblivious t
o the rush of people who were forced to navigate around them.
“You had me take the train to New York to meet you, and you don’t know why we’re here? My time is valuable. I’m heading back to Connecticut tonight.”
Brian’s stomach flip-flopped at the anger etched into Craig’s features. His nostrils flared, his eyes were bulging, and a vein in his right temple pulsated rapidly.
“Come on, Craig,” he said. “I’m just trying to figure things out, and I knew I could talk to you about it, because you’ve been there. Shelby’s cool—she’s not going to say anything. I made sure of that. I thought I could get your help working through some things.”
“What?” Craig yelled. “I’m not a psychologist! I don’t want to get into your messed up mind. You need to grow up and stop playing games, man.”
Brian stood there and took in Craig’s fury. Craig was right: Brian couldn’t expect a quick fix or answers to come from someone else. He had to look inside himself and honestly examine his thoughts and feelings.
“I’m sorry, man, you’re right,” Brian said. “I shouldn’t have had you come here. I’ll pay you back for your ticket.”
With that, Craig’s anger deflated. He led Brian from the middle of the sidewalk and they leaned against the side of a building. Brian watched yellow taxis squeeze into impossible spaces between cars and wondered how one learned to maneuver that effortlessly through life.
“What is it, Brian? Why are you fighting so hard with yourself?”
Brian looked at Craig. “I want to know why you aren’t fighting. Have you accepted that you’re . . . gay or bisexual?”
Craig frowned and shifted from one foot to the other. “Why do we have to label everything? Isn’t that what women do? I haven’t ‘accepted’ anything. I just live from day to day and do what feels good and most comfortable. I don’t have a problem with experimenting with whoever happens to have my attention at a particular time.
“I’ll probably settle down at some point and get married and have a few kids. I see that in my future. But until then, I’m okay playing both sides of the field.”