by Nia Arthurs
We stopped by the dessert table and then returned to Melody and Spencer.
“I was waiting for a fight.” Spencer joked, “Why wasn’t there a fight?”
“Hey man, it was tense in there for a minute,” Peyton explained. “I honestly wasn’t sure which way it would go.”
Melody stole a piece of my tart and ate it as though it were the last tart on earth, “At least your dad didn’t make a scene.”
Giving her the stink eye, I shifted my dessert out of her sticky fingered reach, “I’m not complaining. I’m just going to enjoy tonight and get fat off of free food.”
Melody widened her eyes and addressed Peyton, “Dude, don’t let this girl fool you. She’s only dating you for all the free food.”
Peyton laughed, “And I thought it was for my handsome physique. My ego’s bruised.”
“What handsome physique?” I joked.
Smiling good-naturedly, Peyton captured my hand, “See now you have to nurse my ego back to health.”
“Oh no, they’re gonna smooch!” Spencer shielded his eyes. He was spending way too much time with Melody. My girl’s quirky personality was rubbing off on him.
“What do you think?” I asked Peyton, “Will a kiss make everything better?”
“That’s what my mama did when I had a booboo.” Peyton replied.
“Aw, really Peyton?” Melody threw her hands up, “There you go. You just spoiled the mood.”
I laughed and returned to my tart.
“What did I do?” Peyton gazed from me to Melody.
“First of all,” Melody counted the offenses off on her fingers, “You mentioned your ‘mama’. Not that I don’t admire your relationship with your parents but don’t compare us Caribbean girls to your mother. Second of all, nobody says boo boo. It’s not manly.”
Spencer was laughing so hard at this lesson; he almost slipped out of the lawn chair.
“Come on, Peyton. You lost some man-points, you gotta earn them back.” Spencer roasted his best friend.
“Right,” Peyton joined the dramatics. He bent his head and looked earnestly at me, “I’m a man, babe. Pain! Testosterone! Mud! Football!”
“I still choose food!” I yelled over his exuberance.
“Aw, come on.” He complained good-naturedly.
Melody grinned, nodding her head, “We choose food every time, fellas. Let that be a life lesson. Food is good. Food does not ask you questions. Food gets you fat but doesn’t trample all over your self-esteem because you ate that extra Twinkie. Food listens; food cares; food does not demand commitment or faithfulness.”
“Yeah!” I resounded.
Melody charged on, enlivened by my encouragement, “Food never lets you down. When the world is crumbling around you and the zombie apocalypse robs you of your brother, your sister, your pet squirrel, food is there. Food is always there!”
“YEAH!” I laugh and shout at the same time.
Spencer and Peyton shared confused looks.
“Zombie apocalypse?” Spencer repeated.
“Pet squirrel?” Peyton intoned.
“Food!” Melody and I yelled.
Maybe too much of my best friend was rubbing off on me too.
A few days later, Peyton and I were chilling in my apartment when Mrs. Bethel knocked on the door. I let her in. I could see Peyton’s surprise when the wrinkled brown lady and I chatted like old friends. Especially given our previous encounters.
“Cecilia,” Peyton greeted Mrs. Bethel.
“Hello young man. Are you here for the clothes drive meeting too?”
“Ah, what clothes drive meeting?”
I laughed nervously, “I hadn’t gotten around to sharing my project with Peyton yet. It wasn’t that I didn’t want his support. I figured that if I told him about it, he would go above and beyond to back me up in the Designs for Humanity drive. Lately, Peyton has always been around to lift me up when I needed it. I wanted to see if I could stand upright on my own this time.
That idea is shot out of the water now.
Mrs. Bethel and Peyton soon erupted into a deep conversation as the traitorous woman in knee high socks spilled every single detail of our project to my boyfriend. Every so often, an auburn colored eyebrow would arch in my direction and I’d wave and smile sheepishly.
“So you’ve already handed out the flyers. Mm-hm,” Peyton mused once more glancing at me with that borderline accusatory expression.
Really, Mrs. Bethel, really? The woman left no detail out.
“Yes, we will tape them up around the apartment soon.”
Caught again. I’d deliberately left the apartment flyers for last. I didn’t want to tip Peyton off before I’d gotten my stuff together.
Mrs. Bethel continued unraveling our plans, speaking slowly. I noticed that my mother’s good friend spoke perfect English to Peyton. She didn’t have to. He’d spent enough time around me and the Reyes family to recognize our accent and terminology. Belizean Creole is so close to the English language that most foreigners can understand what we’re saying if we speak slowly enough. The problem with most Belizeans is that we can talk a mile in just one minute.
“Mia is having the drive on Saturday. I wanted her to do it later, but she says she is going to the States.”
T.M.I., Mrs. Bethel!
I should never have told her about Melody’s vacation request. Now everyone would know of my little out-of-country trip.
“Yes,” Peyton glanced at me, “That piece of information I knew.”
“Are you going with her?”
“Yes,” Peyton kept his attention on the shorter woman, “I’m going with her. I’m hoping she can meet my parents.”
Okay, T.M.I, Peyton.
Behind Mrs. Bethel’s back, I did the ‘cut-off’ sign by sticking four fingers together and moving my hand back and forth in front of my throat. Mrs. Bethel was a nice lady. She was smart and well-organized and helpful.
But she was still a major informer.
“That is very nice. When will you get married?”
Peyton chuckled lightly as I choked on my own spit.
“When we’re ready, Mrs. Bethel.”
I could almost see the older lady inscribing Peyton’s words in her mind to recount to my mother later.
“So you do plan on getting married?”
Peyton glanced at me before opening his mouth to answer. Finally, I swallowed the lodge of saliva that was cutting off my vocal chords and clapped my hands loudly.
“Let’s get back to the point of the day. The clothing drive!” I grabbed Mrs. Bethel by the hand and swung her into the sofa. “Have you heard back from Clothes For The Masses?”
Clothes For The Masses was an international aid agency whose specific purpose was clothing the homeless, destitute, and downtrodden.
Mrs. Bethel gazed longingly at Peyton who was casually standing near the couch, but turned her attention to the new direction of the conversation. “I did. They would love to take the clothes from the drive.”
“Perfect,” I smiled, “I think we’re all set.”
I rose with Mrs. Bethel and power-walked her to the door.
“Wait.” Peyton said firmly.
I froze, winced and turned around slowly. “What can I do?”
“Nothing, we have it all under control.” I said breezily, praying that Mrs. Bethel kept her mouth shut and allowed me to maneuver the challenges of this project alone.
No such luck.
“Actually,” Mrs. Bethel stepped forward, “We’d like to get some of the local businesses involved. You could ask the workers in your building to donate some clothes.”
“I’m sure I can arrange something,” Peyton nodded and I breathed a sigh of relief. For once, Peyton’s insanely generous gene was dormant. Maybe I could pull off a successful clothing drive on my own after all. Peyton came to stand next to me and hooked an arm around my waist. I leaned into his side, grateful that the small, intimate clothing drive that I’d organized would remain
humble and manageable.
“But”, Peyton continued, and I stiffened.
Uh-oh. Why is there a ‘but’?
“I’ll do you one better,” Peyton said. “Forward Technologies can donate a grand prize.”
“Peyton-” I began to object, but that look was already in his eyes. Peyton got a kick out of taking care of people and the horse was already out of the gate. I couldn’t rein him in now.
“We can have a competition, extend it to Belize City in its entirety. Schools, organizations and businesses can get involved and the organization that brings the most clothing on Saturday can win.”
“That’s so kind of you, Mr. Lowry.” Mrs. Bethel beamed from ear to ear. “I have more than enough time in the day. I could call all the schools and organizations in the city and invite them to participate.”
Peyton was so excited, he was almost bouncing. “We could advertise it on the radio, on the web and on every social media possible.”
And things have officially ballooned out of my control.
As Peyton and Mrs. Bethel ironed out the details, I stood silently to the side and allowed them to do their thing. I should be ecstatic that everyone was catching on to my idea. The purpose of this mission was to reach out to my neighbors, to use my talent and my store for the good of human kind. Peyton wasn’t destroying my project; he was making it bigger and better, ensuring that I could reach a new level of neighbors.
So why was I so annoyed?
Peyton was simply a kind man who happened to have a lot of money; he could give generously when the minuscule budget of others limited their ability and the extent in which they could contribute to those in a position of need. It wasn’t his fault that he was successful and he wasn’t committing any crimes by donating his money to the people that needed it. But logic did nothing to reason away my irritation which only grew the more animated Mrs. Bethel and Peyton got about the project.
When at last Mrs. Bethel took her leave, I admit that I pouted a bit when Peyton joined me on the couch. I was being immature and selfish and totally irrational. I should be rejoicing that the man I was dating was so thoughtful and sweet. I shouldn’t be punishing Peyton for his huge heart. But that’s exactly what I felt like doing.
This was my clothes drive. Why did he have to swoop in and take it?
Irrational, right?
“You’re so incredible, you know that?” Peyton kissed my temple. I held myself stiffly and he glanced at me with concern, “What’s wrong.”
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” I got up and went into the kitchen to pour myself some water.
Peyton followed me and leaned against the doorway, his hands in his pockets and his ankles crossed casually. Though I was ticked, I couldn’t help but notice that my man was a heartthrob. He was so incredibly handsome, it almost curbed my ire.
Almost.
“Mia, I may be a guy, but I’m sure that when a woman says “nothing is wrong”, something is wrong.”
I closed the refrigerator door firmly and poured the fresh water out of the pitcher and poured the liquid into a glass cup.
“Nothing is wrong, Peyton.”
He observed me silently from the doorway and then shrugged. I drank my water and tried not do something stupid, like yell at him for being a superb human being.
“Ok,” Peyton nodded, “If you wanna talk I’m here.” Then he trekked his way to the living room, swiped his keys from his back pocket and moved to show himself out. His patience and maturity shamed me. I stepped after him and closed the door before he could walk through it.
“I’m sorry,” I said to his back, “I’m feeling insecure and I’m taking it out on you.”
He faced me and folded his arms against his chest. His blue eyes were kind, but his mouth was set in a firm line. He was annoyed. I could tell.
“Why do you feel insecure, Mia?”
I led him away from the door and into the living room and sat down. He sat across from me. I tried to explain my feelings without coming off like a selfish diva but I think I failed.
“I didn’t grow up with money.” He arched an eyebrow, his face a picture of confusion. “Sometimes when you just barge in to things that I’m struggling to figure out financially and take over, it makes me feel helpless.”
“Mia,” Peyton shifted toward me and grasped my hands, “I admit that money hasn’t been that much of an issue for me. But when I give, it’s not to one-up you or take over your vision. I just want to help.”
“I know you do. And deep down, I know that I’m functioning from my own insecurities. I’m working on all of those. I just don’t want to keep fighting over stupid things. I’m usually a lot more mature than I am when I’m with you.”
“You throw me off-balance too,” He smiled and then gave me a kiss. We spent the rest of the evening on the couch making out and watching Family Feud. Opening up to Peyton was a lot easier than I thought it would be. That man definitely brings out the best in me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The day after our small tiff, Peyton came over to accompany me while I went door to door talking to my neighbors about the drive, and subtly got to know their names and family members. Though I originally planned to do the rounds on my own, Peyton insisted on accompanying me so I could be ‘safe’. I thought that was unnecessary. I was pretty sure that no one in my building would murder me for advertising a clothing drive. In any event, Peyton was right by my side as I trekked down the halls and up and down the stairs of the three story, twelve bedroom apartment.
I met Jose and Malina, a beautiful Latino family with an amazingly cute son named Mateo. Jose and Malina accepted the flyer and happily agreed to donate to the clothing drive. They also invited us over to their apartment for dinner someday. I thought that was a success. I also met Jason, an aspiring musician who worked at the local bar, Kristin who was attending the University of Belize to become a nurse, and Jaden and Micah, brothers who split their rent and stayed in the apartment during the week for work.
Most of the residents in the apartment were open to donating to Designs for Humanity and were kind and conscientious to both Peyton and I. In fact, no one acted like seeing a dark chocolate lady and her white boyfriend knocking on doors and advertising a clothing drive was anything out of the ordinary. The more I let go of my own insecurities, the more I noticed that the number of people worrying about our skin tones were outnumbered by the people who generally didn’t care one way or the other. I realized that no one was making a big deal about race except me.
One funny encounter occurred when we stopped by the last apartment. I knocked on the door and no one answered. Peyton fisted his hands and pounded as well,
“Good night!” he called.
I saw the light shining from beneath the door, but if the resident didn’t want to talk to us then, I wouldn’t bother them.
“Come on, Peyton. No one’s home,” I said. I was tired, it was after nine and I was glad that I could go straight back to my apartment and relax.
“Wait,” Peyton said, “I saw an eyeball in the peep hole.”
I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms across my chest as Peyton knocked one more time.
“Go away. Nobody deh home.”
“Let’s go. You heard the man.” I pulled on my boyfriend’s arm.
Peyton remained, “Sir, we just want to talk to you.”
“I already know that Jesus is Lord. Thanks for stopping by but I’ll make my bed in hell if that’s alright with you.”
Though I shouldn’t have, I started to laugh. Peyton frowned, but his lips twitched as well.
“We’re not religious people, sir. If you want to go to hell, that’s alright with me too.”
“Really?” The man questioned as if this was an important question.
“You certainly have the right to choose your own destiny, sir. But I would recommend that you enjoy this life to the fullest, because you won’t get the same opportunity in the next one.”
I covered my mouth t
o keep from snorting. Peyton turned to me and gave me a half-smile as the door swung up. An old man wearing oversized blue trousers, a white undershirt and basket sandals stepped forward.
“What do you want?”
I took over from there, explaining about the clothing drive. “But,” I added, noting his dirty appearance, “if you wouldn’t mind, we only ask for lightly used clothing.”
He nodded, “I’ll have the missus round up some stuff when she gets back from her sister.” The man stepped back through his threshold and began to close door.
“Sir,” I asked before he locked us out completely, “Can I have your name?”
“Why, you gonna pray for me?”
“I might,” I grinned.
“It’s Jeb.” He admitted grudgingly, “And I’m only telling you because you’re pretty. Don’t tell the missus I said that.”
“I won’t.” I promised and sent a little wave, “Night, Jeb.”
He closed the door. I scolded Peyton as we walked down the cement floored hall to my apartment.
“Really? You told him he could go to hell?”
“If the man wants to go, I’m not gonna stop him.” Peyton shrugged.
I chuckled softly, “You are something else.”
When Saturday arrived, I was running around like a chicken without its head. I needed to handle the customers that were already in Mia’s Designs to shop, along with the business and organization representatives that came specifically to donate their clothes. I had cleared out a section of the small store dedicated to “Designs For Humanity”. The entire gang was present from the littlest Reyes girl to the oldest informally adopted Reyes boy. Spencer and Peyton were there too, along with Mrs. Bethel and a few of her grandkids. I was grateful for all of their help, especially in collecting the bags of clothing and weighing them on the scale to see who brought the most pounds. Even the little ones assisted in sorting out the clothes in the small backyard behind the boutique. By the end of the day, we were all tired, but satisfied. ‘Designs For Humanity’ was a rousing success. I treated everyone to fried chicken and we shuffled off to the Reyes house to consume it.
While hanging out with my family and friends, I finally decompressed.