Brayden looks contrite, but the anger on my face doesn’t fade. He needs to stop being such a man’s man all the time. It’s never necessary and almost always gets on my damn nerves.
“Sorry, babe. Maybe another time, then. Thanksgiving?”
“I’ll let you know. Let’s talk about it later. I think the food is almost ready. Oven timer on the macaroni and cheese just dinged.”
I rush into the kitchen to get the food ready for the table, and Brayden rushes in behind me. I wish he would just give me a moment, but he won’t. Whenever I’m angry at him, he hovers until he knows everything is all right.
“I’m sorry, babe,” Brayden says. “I thought it would be okay to ask.”
I bend over and take the macaroni and cheese out of the oven. It’s perfectly bubbly and golden with a few dark brown spots. Exactly how it should look.
“Always check dates with me. My schedule is all over the place. I may or may not be available.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he says. “Do you forgive me?”
“Only if you stop doing that.”
“Promise that was the last time.”
I can’t stay angry at this man. Not with his huge, brown, pleading eyes and his perfectly kissable lips this close to my face.
He bends down and steals a kiss. “That looks and smells amazing.”
“Help me finish setting the table then. Bring that pan of chicken and bowl of candied yams to the table.”
Brayden and I bring out the remainder of the food: the Brussel sprouts and the biscuits, sweet tea and a bottle of wine.
When we’re all seated at the table, Brayden and I facing each other and Mama and Daddy facing each other, I look over at my father.
“Will you bless the food, Daddy?”
“Thank you, Lord, for this lovely meal prepared by my lovely daughter. Bless her home and new relationship. Thank you for this time of fellowship, in Jesus’s name.”
We all say amen, but I stare at my daddy for a moment. He prayed blessings over me and Brayden. That was nice, but completely unlike him. He never likes my boyfriends. Ever. And he’s never been wrong about any of them.
“So, Brayden, Chenille tells me that you’re an only child as well,” Mama says. “Did you always want siblings?”
“Yes, I always did. My mother wasn’t having it, though. She would send me to stay with my cousins in East Texas anytime I got lonely for friends to play with.”
“Chenille never wanted brothers and sisters,” Daddy says. “She enjoys having all of our attention to herself, I think.”
“Yes, you’re right, Daddy. I’m not sharing.”
“I hope to have a couple of children one day,” Brayden says. “Lots of my teammates are already fathers, and they bring their kids to workouts and training camp. I want my own little mini-mes.”
When I don’t chime in, Brayden raises his eyebrows in my direction. “You do want children, right?”
“Someday, I suppose. I’ve got a lot that I want to do first, though.”
“Well, you two can talk about that another time,” Mama says.
I think she knows me well enough to know that this isn’t a conversation I want to have in front of her and Daddy. Brayden has a much more open relationship with his parents than I do. I love them, but I keep my private life private. Outside of an introduction to my boyfriends, I really don’t talk to them about this kind of thing.
“The food is delicious,” Brayden says, changing the subject to a safer one. “I’ve never had fried chicken this crispy yet juicy all at the same time. What did you do to it?”
“Buttermilk brine and my cast-iron skillet are the only secrets.”
“Well, you could sell this chicken. It’s that good.”
“You think?”
Brayden’s face goes slack, like he wants to gobble his words back into his mouth. He probably doesn’t want to give me another business idea. He’s having a hard enough time dealing with me as a makeup artist.
“Maybe I could do catering-slash-glam events where women come to get a plate of soul food and leave with perfectly contoured faces,” I gush as Brayden looks even sicker. “Thank you, babe. This is a wonderful idea.”
“She’s just messing with you, man,” Daddy says when it looks like Brayden is about to pass out at the table.
Brayden looks so relieved now. Too relieved, if I’m being honest.
“I was just thinking how hard it might be for us to be a couple if you added another dimension to your business,” Brayden says. “I only meant to compliment your cooking, because it is incredible. Sorry, I panicked. I didn’t get the joke.”
“It’s okay, babe. My humor is very, very dry sometimes.”
“That does bring up an interesting topic, though,” my mama says. “What if you two become more permanent? How will you handle your business here in Atlanta, sweetheart? Brayden’s job is clearly in Dallas.”
“I guess we’ll use a lot of airline miles flying back and forth. The core of my business, for now, is here in this city, although I hope to become national.”
“Maybe you could start building up clientele in Dallas, too,” Brayden says.
Why would I do that when I live in Atlanta? Brayden is dropping bombs left and right in this conversation. First Christmas, and now he wants me to move my business to Dallas? Why is he on hyper relationship drive right now?
“Can I have a word with you outside for a quick second?” I ask.
“We’re eating dinner,” Brayden says. “Can it wait?”
“No.”
Brayden nods and slowly places his napkin on the table. We have to go outside, because my condo is tiny, and there isn’t a room in here that wouldn’t let my parents hear our conversation.
I close my front door behind us and walk up the driveway to the street. Brayden follows me.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask.
“What do you mean? Nothing.”
“You are tripping, Brayden. You come here inviting my parents to Christmas and then asking me to get Dallas clients. We’re not there yet in our relationship.”
“I’m there.”
His two words take all the steam out of my attack. I don’t know how to respond now.
“I thought we were here together,” Brayden says. “I’m not just trying to have a girlfriend. We’re sleeping together. You’ve met my parents, and my extended family. I told my mother I want to have a forever with you, and she said I need to meet your parents first.”
“You’re here because your mama said you need to be here?”
“I’m here because I don’t want anyone to have anything to say about us. And yes, I mean my mother.”
“I haven’t thought about moving to Dallas. Like that’s not even on my radar.”
Brayden inhales sharply and shakes his head. “I never thought this would happen to me.”
“This? What’s happening? I’m confused.”
Brayden paces the driveway with his arms folded across his chest. I’m acutely aware of the possibility that my parents are peeking out my living room blinds to see what’s going on.
“Do you think we’re moving too fast?” Brayden asks as he stops in front of me.
“I didn’t until just a few minutes ago. We were going at a fine pace, and then warp speed. Are we in a rush?”
“I’m not in a rush, but I want marriage and children. I want a family. And I want all of that with you.”
I stand staring at Brayden. I’m abundantly clear on what he wants. I’m not so sure he knows anything about what I want.
“And what about me? What do I want?”
Brayden sighs. “Tell me.”
“No. You tell me! You’re the one making all the moves and throwing out all the curve balls. You tell me what I want.”
“You want to be with me, but you want to remain autonomous. You want your business above everything else.”
“Not above everything else, Brayden, but it is very important that I
protect my brand. What if you wake up one day and decide you don’t want to be with me anymore? I have to be able to sustain myself without your help.”
“You don’t believe in forever?”
He’s right. I don’t trust it. I don’t trust this. I’ve been here before, in love so thick that I couldn’t cut myself out of it. In love so consuming that it stole everything from me. But here I am yet again. Right at the point of letting go.
“I want to believe.”
Brayden pulls me into his arms. He plants soft kisses all over my forehead, my nose, and my eyelids.
“Babe. You can have us and your business, just like I can have us and football. You don’t have to give anything up to be with me.”
“But you’re talking about babies.”
“One day. When you’re ready. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Can I finish my chicken now?”
“Yeah.”
He kisses me again, this time on the lips, and then he runs back to my front door. I take my time getting back. I’m letting his words sink in. I can have both. I can have my business and my football player.
Letting go of my irritation now, because I want both. I just have to convince Brayden to press the brakes a little. Maybe it’s not time for us to think about babies and moving businesses across the country, but I can give Brayden something. I can give him Christmas.
Chapter 21
Brayden was beyond thrilled that Chenille had switched things around with her gig so that she could accompany her parents to Dallas for Christmas. Now Mr. and Mrs. Abrams were going to meet Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter.
Marilyn had to be prepped for this.
The best way for Brayden to get his mother in a good mood was with shopping. Marilyn loved finally having nice things, and Brayden loved spoiling her. As judgmental and annoying as she could be, Brayden remembered when she’d worked extra shifts to pay for private school and football gear while his father’s check paid the household bills.
Brayden picked Marilyn up and took her to her favorite mall in Dallas—NorthPark Center.
“What are you in the mood for today?” Brayden asked as they strolled past the Neiman Marcus store.
“I want to look at the new Louis Vuitton handbags.”
“Okay.”
When Brayden and Marilyn walked into the Louis Vuitton store, they were greeted with smiles. Marilyn was a frequent visitor and big spender. At least three times a year, Brayden dropped thousands in that store for his mother: Christmas, Mother’s Day, and her birthday.
“Would you like to see the new collection, Mrs. Carpenter?” the friendly clerk asked.
“Absolutely, dear.”
Brayden ignored the openly flirtatious glances of the store employees. He hadn’t always ignored them, but they didn’t mean much to him anymore. They weren’t Chenille.
Marilyn seemed a bit distracted as she perused the selections the salespeople provided. This wasn’t like her at all. Usually, when it came to spending money she was laser focused.
“What do you think, son?”
She draped a small brown-and-burgundy clutch over her shoulder and posed. Brayden smiled, although he had no opinion whatsoever.
“You don’t care, do you?” Marilyn chuckled.
“Mama, get whatever you like. It all looks about the same to me.”
Marilyn looked at the young woman behind the counter and shook her head. “Men.”
“We don’t mind, as long as they’re buying,” the salesperson said.
“Truth,” Brayden said. “So leave me out of the selection process.”
Brayden absentmindedly checked his phone for any text messages from Chenille. They’d already spoken in the morning, but it seemed like it was too long ago. Brayden hated not getting to see Chenille every day.
Marilyn had her purchases wrapped up and promptly handed Brayden the bag when she was done.
“What’s on your mind, son?” Marilyn asked as they walked out of the store.
“Mama, I went to Atlanta, and met Chenille’s parents like you suggested.”
Her eyes widened. “When did this happen?”
“A couple of months ago. They’re great, Mama. Nothing at all like you thought they’d be.”
“Well, I’m happy that I’m wrong.”
Now Brayden was the one surprised. He’d never heard the words I’m wrong come out of his mother’s mouth.
“Since you seem determined to be with this girl, I’m glad she’s not from a broken ghetto home.”
“I would be with her even if she was.”
“I know it.”
Marilyn fiddled with her shopping bag, clearly flustered, and Brayden enjoyed every moment of it. He was a man, in control of his own life and his own love. Mama was just going to have to get on board Brayden’s love train.
“Well, good,” Brayden said. “Because they’re coming here for Christmas. Staying at my house in Southlake, and we’re going to enjoy the holiday together.”
Marilyn swooned. Brayden steadied her, although he recognized the theatrics as just what they were.
“You could’ve given me more warning.”
“You didn’t need a warning, Mama. They are guests at my home, not yours.”
“Is everything in order? Which caterer did you use for dinner? There’s so much to do . . .”
Brayden laughed at his mother. He knew she’d want to take over and turn this into a Marilyn function, but that’s not how it was going down.
“Well, Mrs. Abrams thought it would be nice if you all cooked together. The women.”
“How prehistoric and country. Women are supposed to be in the kitchen while the men do what? Are you going turkey hunting?”
Brayden laughed so hard that his midsection hurt. He doubled over and clutched his stomach.
“When I visited, I found out that Chenille is an awesome cook. She and her mother have a holiday cooking tradition. They’re inviting you to join.”
“I don’t cook, Brayden.”
“I’ll alert Chenille, so she can only give you the easy stuff.”
“No, you won’t! You’ll do no such thing.”
This was going to be hilarious. Brayden almost wanted a camera crew in the kitchen to capture what was sure to be reality-television worthy.
“Okay, okay, I won’t say anything. But can you do one thing for me?”
Marilyn cut her eyes at Brayden and scowled. “What now?”
“Will you go over to Tiffany and Company with me, to help me pick out an engagement ring for Chenille?”
Marilyn’s jaw dropped, and she nearly dropped her shopping bag. Brayden caught it.
“T-that’s happening over the h-holiday?”
Brayden shook his head. “No, not quite. I think she’ll be expecting it, and I want to surprise her.”
“But you want me to help you pick her ring.”
“No one has better taste than you, Mama. And I want her to love it.”
Surprisingly, Marilyn smiled. “She will love it.”
Brayden hoped his mother’s excitement about the ring was a good omen about the holiday weekend. And that it was enough to make her forget about her kitchen duties.
Chapter 22
“Do you have everything you need for the holiday feast?” Brayden asks my mama as he shows us around his huge kitchen.
I’ve been to this house, the Southlake mansion, but we’ve spent most of our time at Brayden’s Dallas condo after the games. This house is gargantuan, and the kitchen is almost overwhelming. My mama is excited, though. You would think she was at an amusement park.
“Baby, you’ve bought just about every spice they had in the store, didn’t you?”
My mama closes the spice cabinet and chuckles. Everything looks brand-new, like no one has ever cooked in here before.
“Has this kitchen been used, babe?” I ask.
“I’ve hosted a couple of parties here, and the caterers have used it, but then the cleaning crew comes in an
d makes it look brand-new again.”
“What do you eat when you’re here?” my mama asks.
“Protein shakes mostly, and I juice.”
“Oh, my word.”
Brayden doesn’t know that he almost took my mother out saying he only has protein shakes and juice. She can’t take someone not eating. She’s probably going to make sure he eats three or four plates of her food.
Just as my laughter is about to emerge at Brayden’s skimpy meals, an even funnier sight walks into the kitchen: Marilyn, in full chef’s garb. She’s wearing a large white hat with black polka dots and a scarf to match, a black apron that says I own the kitchen, and two oven mitts.
“Hello, all. Let’s get this cooking show on the road.”
“Mama,” Brayden says, “let me introduce you to Mrs. Abrams.”
Marilyn walks over and extends her oven mitt in my mama’s face. “Do call me Marilyn,” she says.
“And I’m Charlene,” Mama says. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Well, what’s first? The bird or the pig?” Marilyn asks.
“We’re going to do a beef roast and a turkey. No pig. Do you want to have a ham? I’m sure Brayden can find us one,” Mama says.
“Oh, no,” Marilyn says. “I thought the pork was mandatory for a down-south Christmas dinner.”
“We have ham on Thanksgiving and Easter at our house,” Mama explains, “and I like to put turkey tails in the greens and green beans.”
“Turkey tails? I wasn’t aware that turkeys had tails.”
Mama helps slide off Marilyn’s oven mitts. “Let me show you everything we have in the kitchen,” she says.
I grab Brayden and pull him out of the kitchen, struggling to hold in my laughter. We step into the downstairs entertainment room, and I close the door behind us. As soon as the doorknob clicks the giggles pour out.
“Your mother has never done this before, has she?”
“Nah. She’s not much of a cook.”
“The chef hat, though? Really?”
“She’s into the cooking fashion, probably not the cooking too much.”
“My mama is nice, Brayden. She won’t make her feel bad at all. If it was me in there, by myself, I might be tempted to get revenge.”
“Don’t be tempted,” Brayden says. “She’s coming around. She’s going to love you pretty soon.”
The Outside Child Page 10