by A. M. Kusi
“I see.” He had more in common with Harper than he had initially thought. He knew what it was like to feel like nothing you ever did was good enough for your father. She wasn’t the spoiled princess he had assumed. He never thought he would have said it, because her half-brother was biracial and had been raised by two white well-meaning parents, but maybe River had an easier time than she did when it came to their parents.
Harper Parker was smart. Jax didn’t doubt that when she was motivated, she could accomplish anything she wanted.
“Thank you for giving me the credit, Jax. It meant a lot to hear what you said in there,” she said, finally meeting his eyes.
“It was the truth.”
She nodded.
They got to work. He showed her how to prepare the documents for the hotel, and create a proposal. They even laughed and joked as they slipped into an easy work rhythm.
When lunchtime came, Jax decided to order in. “You going with Simon to lunch?”
Harper cleared her throat. “No. Simon and I…we’re just friends.”
He didn’t want to ruin the good day they were having by bringing up how friendly she had gotten with Simon on the dance floor, so he let it go. Did that mean she had stopped seeing him?
It was none of his business.
“You want to order something from here? They deliver,” he said, handing her the menu from the sandwich shop around the corner.
“Sure,” she said.
“What do you want?”
“Surprise me,” she said.
Jax looked at her. “Seriously?”
Harper shrugged her shoulders. “Why not?”
“You will eat anything I order, and not complain? What if it’s disgusting to you?”
“I’m not picky. I like trying new things. If I really don’t like something on it, I’ll just take it off. I know what I want too. I like surprises, and variety,” she said, throwing his own words back at him.
“Fine.” He gave in and ordered her the most ridiculous combination he could think of.
When their lunch was delivered, he handed her the six-inch sub with a smile. “Enjoy, princess.”
Harper raised her eyebrow at him. “Princess?”
“Sorry, old habit.”
“If you are going to use a term of endearment, at least make me a queen. Or goddess. I would settle for goddess.”
Jax nearly choked on the bite of his turkey-bacon club. “Oh, you’ll settle for goddess?”
“Mmm hmm,” Harper said, chewing a piece of what had to be the most unusual and ridiculous sandwich she had ever eaten.
“You are quite a special woman, Harper Parker,” he said, before thinking it through.
She looked up at him with her mouth full and smiled. It was the first genuine smile he had seen from her since their meeting with her father. The light in her brown eyes was back. He wished she didn’t let her father hold so much power over her, and yet he was doing the same in his life, wasn’t he?
“How’s your sandwich?” he asked.
“Good, except for the pickles,” she said, picking out the green circles from the middle of her sandwich.
“You don’t like pickles?”
“Not usually. Only the spears.”
Jax laughed. “I don’t think I will ever figure you out. There is no method to your madness.”
Harper laughed. “Good. I like to keep the mystery alive.”
They stared at each other in silence for a minute, chewing their sandwiches in a comfortable silence. Was she thinking about the night they ran into each other at the masquerade ball too? Wondering ‘what if?’
They spent the rest of the week working together on the plans and proposal for the hotel chain. They had the document ready to go by Thursday.
Jax was disappointed when he didn’t see Harper in the bleachers during the Sparrows’ soccer practice. They had spent a lot of time together that week, and he had to admit that hanging out with River’s little sister was fun. She was sexy, funny, sarcastic, and challenged him in too many ways to count. Smelling her and seeing her in those tight skirts, fuck-me heels and flowy blouses that begged to be unbuttoned only meant more time for him at the gym, punishing his body into submission.
He came back to work on Friday morning to find a new client project on his desk. This time, instead of a hotel, it was an activity-based fun center. Jax looked over the website and did some research on the company until Harper showed up with a new coffee, just as she had every day that week. Always something different, making good on her promise.
He took a sip. It was actually good. It wasn’t quite like coffee, but it certainly wasn’t tea. He took another sip. “I give up; what is this?”
“Do you like it?” she asked.
“Yeah. It’s different…but good too.”
“It’s mushrooms.”
He set the cup down on his desk, eyeing it like it might jump out and bite him. “Come again?”
“It’s a super mushroom drink with reishi, chaga, cordyceps, and some other stuff. It’s supposed to be really good for you: boost your energy and give you immune support without the caffeine of coffee. I found it at a local health food store and made it at home for you.” She dug in her purse and pulled out a box. “Here,” she said, handing him the opened container of fake mushroom coffee.
Jax looked up at her like she had three heads. “You’re serious?”
“You liked it, didn’t you?”
“Well, yeah, before I knew it was fungus.”
Harper rolled her eyes. “Just try it out for a few days and see if you like it better than coffee.”
Jax lifted the cup to his lips and took another sip. It wasn’t bad.
Harper didn’t try to hide her smile of satisfaction.
They spent the rest of the day going over data for the company, noting their first impressions without knowing what the company’s goal was. Harper researched competitors and looked to see what they were doing differently. By the end of the day, they were both ready to leave the office.
“Any fun plans this weekend?” he asked.
“I have a date.”
Jax’s mood change was obvious as his jaw clenched and he sat up straighter.
“With my best friend, Isa,” Harper finished.
Relief seeped through every pore of his body. Harper must have noticed because she looked confused. “You?” she asked.
“Juneteenth.”
“What?”
“I’m celebrating Juneteenth with my folks.”
“What is Juneteenth?”
“Well, it’s kind of like fourth of July, only it’s on June nineteenth, and it’s for black Americans. It’s the day the news reached the African Americans in Texas that they had been emancipated two years earlier on January first in 1865,” he explained.
“Oh. I didn’t even know there was a holiday for that.”
Jax took a sip from his second fungus coffee that day. “You wouldn’t.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked defensively.
“You’re white. Most white people don’t tend to be knowledgeable about issues that don’t concern them—things like slavery and racism.”
“You’re right. But having a biracial brother has opened my eyes to several injustices. I have read books and had conversations with African Americans.”
“You can call us black.”
She looked uncomfortable. “Are you insinuating that I’m racist?”
“No. I’m telling you that being white, you have prejudices that have been ingrained in you from the society we live in. And you don’t even know you have them.”
“How can I? I have a brother who is biracial. He’s half-black. And I wanted to be with you, didn’t I?”
“I didn’t say you are racist. I said that you h
ave prejudices.”
“Is this why you didn’t…why you won’t…?”
“No,” he answered her unspoken question, only half-lying.
Harper stood abruptly to leave, gathering a stack of papers and her purse. “Have a good weekend. Enjoy your holiday plans.”
“You too,” he said.
He wished they didn’t have to end the day on such a sour note, but the sooner she faced the facts, the better it would be. They were from two different worlds, and as much as she thought she knew about being with a black man, and what that would mean, she was wrong. Sure, some people did it and they were happy. It was 2019, after all. They faced the discrimination, the second glances, the threats. Yes, he had been with white women before, but he had never dated one. His parents would likely disown him if he did. He and Harper had too much stacked against them, and he couldn’t risk the collapse that was sure to follow any weakness on his part. They could not be together, as much as his heart wanted differently.
Chapter 8
Saturday afternoon, Jax headed over to his parents’ house. The place was already brimming with friends and relatives who had all gathered to celebrate the day their ancestors were granted emancipation. Jax took a moment to reflect on the fact that so much had changed since then because of the brave men and women who’d risked and even sacrificed their lives to create change.
Depending on which conversation you listened in on, you could hear his cousins talking about how the war on crime was really the new form of Jim Crow over a game of spades. His cousin wanted to know why crimes for crack cocaine were sentenced more severely than the white’s drug of choice: powder cocaine. His uncle went on a rant about how black men were incarcerated more than five times the rate of their white counterparts—things Jax had heard since he was old enough to listen. And some of the reasons his mother and father were so strict with him about who he played with in the neighborhood and which schools he went to. He had felt like he was under a microscope growing up like that, being drilled about how he spoke to his elders, and how he presented himself.
He remembered meeting River in high school when he was fifteen. Jax saw how out of place he’d felt being biracial, and how he hadn’t seemed to know the basics of how to handle himself when it came to dealing with authorities as a person of color. The first time a police officer pulled over next to them as they’d walked home from soccer practice together, Jax had ‘assumed the stance’ as he’d been taught. River had just stood there, afraid and unsure what to do. Jax had talked him through it. After the officer left them alone, making sure they were in fact students at the high school, Jax had sat down and given River the talk. Most parents thought the talk was about sex. Being a parent of a child of color, or friend in his case, meant that the child needed to be told how they would be treated differently simply based on the way they looked, the color of their skin, or the texture of their hair. Running was off limits for Jax growing up. If he wanted to run, he either went to the track, or soccer field. Now, he had the gym. There were certain things to say, and not say, to an officer. Remaining calm and moving slowly was of the utmost importance, but walking out alive from an encounter with police was never a guarantee, especially in the city streets of Boston.
Jax entered the house, seeing the boiling corn on the cob, and smelling the pork ribs and a plethora of his favorite comfort foods.
“Mmmm, Mama, you have outdone yourself! Is that Aunty Rita’s macaroni and cheese?” Jax said, giving his mother a hug from behind. He wrapped arms around her slender body. She was so small compared to him now. Jax remembered when she’d seemed larger than life.
Olive Harris was fifty-nine years old, but didn’t look a day over forty. Her natural black hair with ribbons of silver was pulled back, showing off her clear brown complexion and the biggest, kindest brown eyes Jax had ever seen in his life. The top of her head only came to his shoulder, and she was thin but fit for her age.
He wrapped her in another bear hug.
Olive swatted her son’s large forearm. “You sneak up on an old lady like me and squeeze all the air out, you certainly won’t be getting any dinner!”
He laughed and let her go. Olive turned to admire her son, just as her sister came over to squeeze his arm. “Boy, what have you been eating? You look like an ox!”
“You know, Auntie, a little of this, a little of that.”
The women laughed. Jax could see his girl cousins helping prepare the food and chatting while they waited.
“You go out back. Your father is playing dominos with Skip and the boys,” Olive said.
“Alright, alright. I can see when I’m not wanted.” Jax went through the kitchen to the backyard where several colorful coolers held drinks. He grabbed a beer and surveyed the reverie in front of him. Some of his cousins waved, playing a game of horseshoes, while the kids ran around the yard. He found his father and uncles around a table with dominos, laughing.
Clive Harris had salt and pepper hair, with a mustache that Jax had never seen him without. Clive was a serious man who liked to laugh with his friends and brothers, but never with his son.
Jax walked over, steeling himself in the process. “Hey, Pops.”
“Son. How’s work?”
“Great.”
“You got a promotion yet?” Clive asked.
“Actually, there is one that I am in the running for.”
“Hmm. Well, better stay focused and keep your head down. No time for games now. You’re in the end zone.”
“Mmm hmm.” Jax took a sip of his beer.
“What did you say?” Clive snapped.
“Yes, sir,” Jax answered.
Jax’s Uncle Skip, a skinny man who liked to smoke cigars like they gave him oxygen, piped in, “Aww, come on now, Clive. He’s young. He needs a little time for…” Skip moved his eyebrows up and down twice suggestively, “…distractions.”
Clive looked unimpressed. “He has his whole life ahead of him for those things. Besides, a good queen won’t be hard to find once he gets his life in order.”
Harper had asked him to call her a queen or a goddess. Jax didn’t realize he was smiling until his uncle pointed at him.
“I think he might already have one of those distractions.” Skip laughed.
Jax changed the subject. “We had a soccer game last weekend.”
“Did you win?” Clive asked, taking his turn.
“Yes, sir.”
“At least your time there isn’t a total waste,” Clive said.
Jax caught himself and remained stoic as he sat at the table with his father. Olive came and called everyone in for the meal when it was ready. Jax stayed a couple hours, talking to his cousins and uncles. His mother sent him home with a full plate of food to eat for leftovers. But the whole time with his family, he couldn’t help but think of Harper—and how here, she’d never fit in.
***
Sunday came and Harper met Isa at her loft in her private art studio. She watched her friend paint one of her masterpieces while they talked and sipped wine. Harper caught her up on everything that had happened in the last week.
“Is this one finished?” she asked Isa, eyeing the large canvas with greys, purples, and blues.
“Mm hmm,” Isa said, glancing up from her work momentarily.
“I want this for River. He needs some color in his bedroom. How much?”
Isa rolled her dark blue eyes, pulling a paintbrush from between her lips and placing it in her highlighted brown hair that was up in a messy bun. Isa was stunning. She had naturally flawless tan skin from her Mediterranean mother, and an athletic body.
“Just take it. You know it will sit under a tarp in my studio anyways.”
“You should sell these, Isa. They are amazing,” Harper said, taking a sip of her wine as she walked around the colorful paint-splattered room.
Isa rolled her ey
es. “Maybe someday. You excited for our trip—only four weeks from now?”
“I hope Greece is ready for us.”
“Me too!”
Harper’s phone rang, and she saw it was her father calling. “Hey, Daddy.”
“Harper, I need you to meet me at the house. I have had a change in plans and I’ll explain when you get here.”
“Oh, okay. When?” she asked.
“Now.”
“I’ll be right over.” Harper glanced at Isa, who was focused on her painting.
“See you soon, sweetie.”
“Bye, Daddy.”
Harper ended the call. “I have to go to my parents’ house; some sort of work thing.”
“Okay. Ta-ta, love.”
Harper walked over to Isa and gave her a kiss on the cheek before grabbing her purse and leaving her friend’s home.
Harper arrived at her parents’ brownstone, seeing the flowers her mother had planted in the front flowerpots. Her parents had money, but they didn’t like to flaunt it. The Parkers lived in the same brownstone in the Beacon Hill neighborhood as they had thirteen years ago when they’d moved from California to Boston.
She opened the door with her spare key. The living room was off to her right, along with brown leather couches and an antique coffee table that held several home-decorating magazines and gardening books. Her parents’ TV was hidden behind a moveable bookshelf. The room must have held a thousand books, mostly ones her mother read. There were a few plants scattered here and there, and the house was immaculate, as always.
“Hello?” Harper called, walking across the hall into the kitchen where her mother was putting cookies into the oven.
“In here,” Sandra said, wiping her hands on a dish cloth before opening her arms to Harper for a hug.
“Hey, Mom,” Harper said, looking into her mother’s blue eyes.
“Hey, sweetie. Daddy’s in the study waiting for you with Jax. Here, take this in with you.” Sandra handed Harper two glasses of lemonade.