The Outside Child

by Tiffany L. Warren

  “Bruh,” Jarrod said as he walked up to the bar and took a seat next to Brayden. “You are missing all the fun.”

  “Not missing a thing.”

  “This relationship Brayden is boring as hell. Where’s my brother?”

  Brayden shook his head. “This is a more mature version of your brother.”

  “Next thing you know you’ll be walking down the aisle.”

  “Will you be my best man in the wedding?”

  Jarrod slapped his hand down on the bar. “Now you’re just talking crazy. You just met this girl.”

  “I know. But she’s it. I’m done looking. She’s perfect.”

  “You sure about that? Sarah Sanchez is over there looking at you like a starving man eyes a T-bone steak.”

  “First of all, Sarah was horrible in bed. So, even if I wasn’t in love with Chenille, I wouldn’t look her way.”

  “You just said ‘love.’ ”

  “I just said ‘best man,’ too! You think I’m kidding, don’t you?”

  “I think you fell into some good poom poom and lost your identity.”

  Brayden threw his head back and laughed. Maybe it was the drink helping to loosen his mood, or maybe Jarrod was just that funny.

  “Yeah, I’ll do it,” Jarrod said.

  “Do what?”

  “I’ll be the best man when you throw your life away and marry that dimple-having sista.”

  This made Brayden smile and give his best friend a one-armed man hug and fist bump. This was Jarrod’s way of accepting the inevitable, and Brayden was glad he was finally on the Chenille bandwagon.

  Brayden had a best man for his wedding. Didn’t quite have a bride yet, but a best man was a start.

  Chapter 14

  I wonder if it was a good idea for Brayden to reacquaint me with his mother during their annual family reunion. When he invited me, it seemed fine, but now that I’m here, at the airport waiting for him to pick me up, I feel some anxiety at the thought of seeing her again.

  I’ve only been introduced to three mothers in my entire lifetime of dating. Does that bode well for my marriage material factor? I mean, only three guys have ever thought I was special enough to bring home to their mothers, and one of them was falling into every open orifice that he came across.

  And why in the hell is it so hot in Dallas? Labor Day weekend is usually still warm in the South, but it feels like I got off the plane at the Seventh Level of Hell airport.

  My phone buzzes in my hand, and I look down to read Brayden’s text.

  Be there in two minutes. Can’t wait to see you.

  I can’t wait to see him, either. It’s only been a few weeks since I was here for his opening game, but it feels like it’s been months.

  My stomach drops as Brayden’s Escalade approaches. There are multiple heads in the car. As he gets even closer I can see Marilyn’s little head and big hair in the front seat and his father in the back.

  Great.

  I thought I was going to get to talk to my man for a few minutes before I had to fight off Marilyn’s attacks. Guess not.

  Brayden stops in front of me and jumps out of the car. He goes to his mom’s side and opens the door. She looks at him like he’s crazy.

  “Son?”

  “Mom, I’d like for you to sit in back with Dad if you don’t mind. I want Chenille in the front seat with me.”

  Marilyn’s jaw drops, and she glares over in my direction. She doesn’t move at first. But when Brayden doesn’t seem to be budging, she grabs his hand and steps out of the SUV. She takes her time, though.

  I wait patiently, trying unsuccessfully to wipe the grin off my face. I think it’s stuck there.

  Brayden tucks his little mother in the back seat and then runs over to me. He scoops me up into his arms like he’s done every time he’s greeted me. He takes my small bag and puts it in the trunk along with everyone else’s bags. Of course, he helps me into the SUV as gingerly as he helped his mother out.

  “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter,” I say as I put on my seat belt.

  “Hey there, Ms. Chenille. I’m pretty sure I wanted you to call me Joseph. No need to be so formal.”

  Brayden’s dad is so sweet. I don’t understand how he survives with that sour lemon that he’s married to.

  “You ain’t gone speak, Marilyn? Brayden’s lady said hello.”

  Marilyn grunts something that sounds like words, but not quite. I’ll accept this as a greeting, I suppose.

  Brayden hops back in on his side, completely oblivious to his mother’s rude behavior. I should’ve waited to speak until he’d gotten in, so he could see his mother disrespect me. Doesn’t matter, though. Joseph heard her act a fool.

  “Where exactly is the family reunion? Is it in Dallas?”

  “Oh, no,” Joseph says from the back seat. “This is my side of the family. We’re in Longview. East Texas.”

  “The country. We’re going to the country,” Marilyn grumbles.

  “Mom gets mad when we go to the Carpenter family reunions,” Brayden says.

  “No, I get mad when you make me go. You three could’ve gone without me.”

  “Well, we won’t actually be staying in the country, will we?” I ask, now feeling a little concerned. “We’re staying in a hotel, right?”

  Marilyn cackles. “He didn’t tell you.”

  “Baby, we’re staying at my uncle Ralph’s house. He’s got six bedrooms.”

  “And no air conditioning, like this isn’t Texas,” Marilyn says. “Take me home.”

  “No air conditioning?”

  “There are window units,” Brayden says. “And fans. Lots of fans.”

  Oh, my goodness. What did I get myself into? That crazy cackling Marilyn is doing in the back seat is scaring me.

  “Good thing your hair is already nappy,” Marilyn says, “because can’t nobody keep a hairstyle in Ralph’s hot house.”

  Now this is funny, even though I’m sure Marilyn meant it as a low-key insult.

  “I am happily nappy,” I say as I fluff my afro.

  “And I love it,” Brayden says. “I love my baby natural.”

  “We get it. She’s your girlfriend,” Marilyn says.

  “I’m glad, because I’m keeping her.”

  He’s keeping me?

  “Good for you, son,” Joseph says. “That’s what Carpenter men do. We stake our claim.”

  Part of me wants to argue about this. Staking a claim sounds like something a caveman might do to capture his woman, right before he bopped her upside the head and dragged her away by her hair. I don’t know if I want to be claimed if it includes bopping or dragging.

  Then, another part of me likes the idea of a man wanting me for his very own. Brayden’s persistence in this is attractive and has worn me down. He’s starting to feel like family; like he belongs in my life. Permanently.

  Even though I feel like he’s one hundred percent my man right now, I hope he doesn’t think he’s getting some of this cookie while we’re underneath his uncle’s roof. Hell and no. There will be no union at the family reunion.

  Chapter 15

  “Baby . . . please?”

  Brayden tried giving Chenille his most pitiful face as he asked her for the tenth time if she’d let him get a little treat in their bedroom at Uncle Ralph’s house. He could tell by her face that she wasn’t budging.

  “These walls are thin as a piece of paper,” Chenille whispered, “and this bed is squeaky and loud. I think they gave us the loudest bed in the house.”

  She was right. The bed was extremely loud, and the walls were so thin you could hear someone breathing in the next room. But everybody knew that Brayden was a grown man visiting with his grown lady. There was the expectation that something was going down between them. No one minded them sharing the same bedroom, so no one would mind them doing what adults do in the bedroom.

  “Everybody knows we’re having sex, Chenille.”

  “Everybody who? How do they know? You told
your mama we had sex?”

  Brayden laughed. “No, but come on. They know I’m an NFL player. I been getting coochie thrown at me since middle school.”

  “Coochie? Yuck. I hate that word.”

  “Okay. What do you want me to say? I’ve been having lady parts offered to me since I was a boy.”

  “Better.”

  “Milady. Will you please let me partake of your lady bits and parts?”

  “So you just gonna keep asking like I didn’t already answer you on this?”

  Brayden sighed and nodded. “You’re right. That’s rude.”

  “Now if you want to get us a hotel room . . .”

  “Can’t do it. Uncle Ralph will be hurt, and my mama will want to go with us.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Brayden watched Chenille unpack her small bag and place the items in drawers. Then she did the same with his bag, hanging his shirts and jeans in the closet. He imagined her doing the same thing in their own home.

  Brayden couldn’t wait to have a forever with Chenille.

  “A friend of mine told me that the Atlanta Sharks are looking for a makeup artist for their cheerleader calendar.”

  “The NBA team?”

  Brayden nodded. “I told them to stop looking, because you are exactly who they need.”

  “Thank you, babe.”

  Chenille put the last of his clothing to the side and crossed the room, joining Brayden on the edge of the bed. She kissed his cheek.

  “Did you tell me about that recommendation so you could get some?” Chenille asked.

  “No. I just hadn’t had the chance to tell you yet. I gave them your number and the highest recommendation I could think of.”

  “I appreciate that. Thank you for telling people about my business.”

  “I want you to be successful, even if you don’t need to be.”

  Chenille’s eyebrows furrowed into a knotted frown. “What do you mean, even if I don’t need to be?”

  “I just mean that you won’t need to work or make money soon. I’ll take care of every bill you have to pay. You won’t have to worry about anything.”

  “So, you think if we’re living together or married that I won’t need to work?”

  “You won’t need money.”

  “I don’t just work for money. I love what I do.”

  “I know.”

  Brayden watched Chenille ball her fists tightly and then loosen them again. She relaxed and looked into Brayden’s eyes.

  “You have to understand, Brayden, I’m not one of those women who is sitting around waiting for a man to rescue her. I know you’re rich. I don’t care about that.”

  “And I love that about you. I still want to take care of you, though.”

  “Taking care of me doesn’t mean paying my bills. Taking care of me means having my back, supporting me, and not cheating on me.”

  “That other guy didn’t take care of you.”

  “He did not.”

  Brayden slipped Chenille’s hand in his, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed each of Chenille’s fingers. Their eyes met, and Brayden held her gaze for a long moment.

  “Baby, I’m always gonna take care of you.”

  Tears fell from Chenille’s eyes, and Brayden kissed them away. He didn’t know or understand the pain behind her tears, but Brayden knew that he didn’t ever want to be the one to cause her pain.

  Chapter 16

  Brayden and I sit down at the card table, because it’s our turn to play spades against his uncle Ralph and RJ, Ralph’s son. I should say it’s our turn to spank their butts, because I am a beast in spades. Brayden probably just picked me as his partner because I’m his girlfriend, but he made the best choice.

  And these two have been cheating all night. I see what they’re doing.

  RJ tells Uncle Ralph how many spades he has in his hand by either scratching his head or flicking his nose. If he has six spades, then he scratches six times. If he has two, then he flicks two times. Ralph flares his nostrils when he has at least one of the jokers in the deck.

  “You ready, babe?” Brayden asks.

  “Sure am.”

  “No talking over the table,” RJ fusses. “Y’all think ’cause y’all a couple you gonna use your secret mind language on us.”

  Secret mind language. Oh, dear God, he’s not very smart.

  “We don’t have any secret mind language,” Brayden says.

  “But we still ’bout to whoop y’all,” I say.

  RJ and Uncle Ralph start making all kinds of noise now. All I can do is laugh, because we really are about to whoop them. Uncle Ralph only scratched his head twice, and Ralph ain’t flared nostril the first. I have no hearts and no clubs in my hand. Straight diamonds and spades.

  “Your girl a shit talker, I see,” RJ says.

  “I can back it up, though. Stop yapping and let’s get this over with.”

  Brayden drops his first card. Ace of hearts. I play one of my four diamonds. RJ’s and Ralph’s eyes widen. They can tell now who’s carrying all the trump cards in this game.

  I wink at RJ. “What you say now?” I ask.

  Brayden’s turn again, since his ace walked. He plays the ace of clubs. Again, I play a diamond, and let my partner’s high card win.

  “Y’all sure y’all don’t want to throw this hand in?” I ask. “You’re not gonna make those four books you bid. You’re not even gonna make one.”

  Uncle Ralph scoffs. “We don’t do that ’round here. We play the hand.”

  “All right. I was going to let you save your dignity.”

  Brayden plays a king of clubs and a king of hearts, winning back to back books. The rest of these are mine, of that I’m sure. Brayden starts off their destruction by playing a five of diamonds, opening the door for all my trump cards.

  The next nine books are mine. We run a Boston on them, which in spades means we got all the books.

  Brayden high-fives me across the table.

  We go on to spank every other team that sits down at the table with us. This is our table. We might as well pack this table up and put it in Brayden’s Escalade. It’s ours. We run this.

  Then Marilyn and Joseph sit down. Brayden lifts his eyebrows at me.

  I clear my throat.

  “I hope you two don’t think we’re going to let you win,” I say.

  Marilyn laughs. “Let us win? Honey, you just don’t know.”

  It’s a long and drawn-out game. Brayden and I take the first two hands and get a sizable lead, but then Marilyn and Joseph set us in the third hand. This means they kept us from getting the number of books that we bid, subtracting major points from our score. Then they win the next two hands in a row. Brayden looks worried, but I think we might get it in the next hand.

  The next hand I’m dealt is marginal. Maybe three or four books, but all vulnerable to a trump-heavy hand by either Marilyn or Joseph. Brayden has a horrible poker face, so I can tell that his hand is just okay.

  “How many books you want to bid?” I ask.

  Brayden shrugs. “What do you have?”

  That’s a bad sign. He’s not confidently declaring what he can pull, so I know it’s little to nothing.

  “Let’s go six,” I say.

  “We only need five to win,” Brayden says.

  “True, but they only need seven to win. We need that little extra.”

  Marilyn cackles. “Good strategy. If only you had the hand to pull it off. I can tell by the contents of my hand what you’re not holding.”

  “Just play the hand,” I say.

  As we play out the hand, it is obvious who’s going to make the most points in this game. As long as we can pull out six books, though, we have a chance to win.

  Marilyn turns the first five books on her own. There is no way we’re going to get eight more books.

  Finally, Brayden pulls in a book with the ace of diamonds. We get a couple more points with aces and kings of our own. Then, both Marilyn and Joseph take the han
d over, taking turns winning books, until all the cards have been played.

  Set again. Shoot.

  “You two played an honorable game,” Marilyn says. “You were just no match for grown folk.”

  “We were ready. You and Daddy cheat,” Brayden says.

  “No, we don’t,” Joseph objects. “Your mama just knows how to play some cards. You ought to get her to teach your girlfriend.”

  “Maybe next time,” Marilyn says, “Brayden will bring a girl who can be more of a challenge at the card table.”

  If she’d gotten up, slapped me in the face, and gouged my eyes out, it would’ve hurt less. Brayden’s smile fades as quickly as mine, and he pulls me close to his side.

  “She brings a lot to the table. Period. And I won’t be bringing another woman here, so get used to my baby.”

  I smile, but I still feel insecure. Maybe it’s because of Marilyn’s cackle, like she knows something I don’t know.

  Chapter 17

  Brayden could tell his mother didn’t like Chenille. What he couldn’t figure out was why she didn’t like Chenille.

  At the family reunion, Chenille had been classy and witty. She’d dressed modestly and had sparked interesting conversation at the dinner table. Everyone loved her except his mother. Brayden thought his mother should have been thrilled with his choice. He could’ve chosen a groupie.

  So Brayden invited Marilyn to brunch, just the two of them, because she wouldn’t be candid in front of his father. She never was.

  Brayden was early. He wanted to get his mother’s favorite seat at the high-end Tex-Mex brunch buffet. He preferred a soul food brunch, but this was about his mother’s feelings, so he was going to butter her up with her favorites.

  “Mr. Carpenter, we’ve reserved your table,” the hostess said. “Let me know when your mother arrives.”

  “I’m here!”

  Brayden scrambled to his feet. He hadn’t seen his mother walk in. She was wearing white, and with her freshly straightened hair and expertly applied makeup, she looked more like Brayden’s date than his mother.

  Brayden hugged her and kissed both of her cheeks.