by Falon Gold
They disappear in the crowd filled with people who wear stuck-up like a cape. Their noses scrunch up even higher every time Malisa’s uncle, Tommy Owens, makes someone laugh at his table. God forbid the wealthier of the gathering enjoy themselves. I think they’re not supposed to do that in mixed company. The vineyard becomes shark-infested waters to me, and I’m the diver treading them. Like Astrid, if I want Camron, I’m going to have to get used to the constant unnatural atmosphere harden by other’s self-importance and rigidness.
Good with the bad.
Nothing’s perfect.
Close to stage with a red curtains and microphone stand, Astrid stops. “Your table is here, Amari and Gabby. You’re with the Owens and Apollo’s mother, Sienna. Malisa and I are next to you with my immediate family and Blake’s parents. Yay for me,” she mocks.
I laugh, drawing the attention of Saleera and Christophe in a one-piece, silk ensemble dress and penguin suit.
Malisa snickers. “Trouble at two o’clock, Uncle Tommy.”
I breathe out then in heavily and give the baby back to Malisa, preparing for the showdown incoming.
“What is she doing here?” Christophe asks with a deep frown, loud enough for everyone in the immediate area to crane their necks his way. “I know she’s not with my son in that dress.”
I wonder if I was supposed to come bare ass.
“I don’t know, sweetheart, but we should certainly go find out,” Saleera sneers before they swivel together, as if joined at the hip.
Their arrival at the table coincides with Brandon’s and Camron’s carting glasses of wine in both hands, setting them quickly down in front of our name cards before moving to stand beside us.
Camron loops his arm through mine. “Mother. Father.”
The tip of Christophe’s nostrils skydives for the roof. “What are you doing here with her?”
“She’s my date and my girlfriend, father.”
“Girlfriend!” he howls. “She’s your PA!”
All eyes are on us now.
“Not anymore for a couple weeks now, Father.”
Tommy Owens sidles up to the table. “Here we go again with the beefing. For the Powers to be so uppity, you always starting some shit. The older family members are like thugs. Can’t take your hostile asses nowhere. Not the hospital. Not weddings. And now, not engagement parties either. I myself enjoy the hell out of a cookout though. Saw a really expensive gas grill outside. Plenty of yard out back. Anybody game?”
Christophe’s withered, freckled hands, much like his face, chops through the air in front of him. “Saleera, I can’t. You handle this.”
She twitches her slight weight from one clunky heel to the other that looks as if they’re two different shades of off-white, but it could be the low lighting. At least if a good wind comes through, her shoes will hold her down. “Camron, you know this is unacceptable.”
“This,” I speak, “has a name. You know it well, Mrs. and Mr. Powers. Use it or I can start calling you Thing One and Thing Two!”
Uncle Tommy spits wine back in his glass. “Yeah, Malisa, Amari doesn’t need defending either.”
Saleera, heavily made up in too light a shade of makeup and caking-up red lipstick, clutches the triple string of pearls at her neck folding in on itself like crepe paper. Christophe flushes red.
Camron smiles. “You both can respect Amari, or I can watch her disrespect you both all night. Doesn’t matter to me what you decide.”
I adore the hell out this man for taking my side, but I don’t want to ruin Astrid’s and Blake’s big day. I knew Camron’s parents wouldn’t accept me, but to solidify my position as outcast in their family fold before a precious moment in someone’s life is just plain nasty. Yeah, I want nothing to do with these people.
I tuck my clutch under my arm and kiss Astrid’s cheek. “Astrid, do me a favor and have a beautiful engagement party without me.”
“No.” She switches BJ from one arm to the other. “You’re not going anywhere, Amari.”
“And I can’t stay.”
“Well, it was nice while it lasted, Astrid and Blake,” Camron says politely.
“No, Camron.” I pet his arm. “You stay. You should be a part of Blake’s moment. You did so much to make it a reality. I’m going to Uber home, change clothes, then go sit with my father.”
“We’ll sit with your father, sweetheart. If you’re not wanted here, neither am I, and this is where my parents learn they don’t decide who I’m in a relationship with.”
Astrid sidesteps between Saleera and me. “The only people leaving will be Saleera and Christophe. This is my party, and I and Blake dictate who shouldn’t be here.”
Blake enters the fray. “You got that damn right, baby. Saleera and Christophe, this way please. We say goodbye now.”
Christophe forms fists at the seam of his pants legs. “Blake, you don’t choose other people over your aunt and uncle.”
“I just did, Christophe. Let’s go.”
“Wait!” Saleera yells.
“No waiting, Mother. You’ve chosen your prejudice over me and Amari and we’re out. Let’s go, sweetheart.”
I twist at the waist.
Uncle Tommy reaches out and twists me right back. “Nuh huh. These people don’t get to run off the good people off while I’m around, and I have some things I’d like to say to them.”
He turns to Christophe and Saleera. “There’s nothing more classless than the people who think they’re better than others. Unless, you can walk on water, and I’m damn sure that stick up your butts is more like tree trunks that will sink you like the Titanic, you’ll still be judged like the rest of us when you leave this earth. If you can’t see how your son feels about this woman, you’re as blind as two bats, and you probably are, ‘cause lady, your shoes are two different shades. For real, only thugs by the same type of shoe in different colors. If you and your husband got your noses out of the air, you both would’ve seen the different colored shoes before you got here. The question is why didn’t some of the people you two think are your equals tell you that you’re wearing mismatched shoes? They’ve all been joking about both of your colorblindness since you got here.”
Ashley breezes up and extracts BJ from Blake’s arms. “You two haven’t learned why you’re all here yet, have you, Christophe and Saleera? It’s not our social circle that holds us down in troubled times. Our children do, and they are finding people to love that we don’t approve of, people like me from a hardworking family that doesn’t sacrifice the little time they have with their children for a buck and a favor from an outsider for when times get rough. We can’t do a damn thing about who they love. You should be thanking Amari for sticking with Camron through thick and thin because I know all your histories and I’ve never seen him happier. But don’t listen to me and lose him like I did Blake to people who’ll give him things you aren’t capable of because you don’t want to be. That’s the chance you’re taking right now. He may not give you a second chance to get it right. Amari will be the only one to convince him that he should, and she might not because you’re making an enemy of her.”
Blake’s father surfaces out of nowhere to tickle his grandson’s stomach, and I see the resemblance between him and Camron, who looks nothing like his parents. I’m not one to gossip though.
Uncle Tommy blinks, then looks down in his cup. “You rich people drugged me because I’m hearing shit that isn’t possible: Ashley Powers does not admit she’s from a poor family in the back of the beyond Spindle, Colorado or defend those that don’t live in mansions.” He walks off toward the bar. “I want that wine bottle because I’m suing, and then I’ll have my business plus forty acres, a mule, and a mansion. And I want it all, dammit!”
I start sniggling despite Christophe’s scowl ending at his nose that looks more like a beak, his tightly pursed lips, and the dropping temperature.
Saleera wipes her hands clean of something and murmurs, “I’m sorry, Amari and Camron.”
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Blake cups his ear. “What, Aunt Saleera? They didn’t hear you.”
She looks directly at Camron and me. “I’m sorry, Amari and Camron. I truly don’t want to experience what Ashley has gone through to reconnect with Blake and be a part of his son’s life. I can see you two are happy with each other. Camron’s never smiled so much in his life. So, if you do that for my son, Amari, I won’t stand in your way… but I want my own grandchildren. I’m owed that after listening to Ashley the snobbiest of us all preach.”
Ashley hugs her sister-in-law. Malisa cackles beside Apollo, who’s materialized with his carbon copies in onesies and cradled in each of his arms. There’s nothing of Malisa in Savion and Sebastion, identical twins that let Salon tag along in the womb because their mother would need someone to dote on too.
Christophe throws his hands up in the air. “So be it if my son doesn’t want to be with someone with status or a part of this family. I’m not condoning this relationship.”
“Father, Amari has all the status that counts. She’s human, breathing, and wants what’s best for me. Something I can’t ever accuse you of, so you should definitely go. The exit is that way.” Camron points behind his parents at the neon green sign above a side door with a picturesque view of the vineyards.
I look up at him who chose me, but I have the right to be accepted for who I am. Can’t do a thing about Christophe’s bias or him clamping off toward the exit like an idiot in a penguin suit.
Saleera glances back at him, her movement making her plain, white dress flare out around her. “I’m going to go too. I need to talk to Christophe about how badly he wants to keep his status and his son in his life. He married into my family and took my name… and I need to change my shoes, but I’ll be back.”
She kisses my cheek and hugs Camron tightly. As she departs, he pulls out my chair, and the party restarts with a few side glances here and there from the elite blessing the room with the presences. If only they knew how much the regular people didn’t want them here. Since most of the time before dinner is wasted on Christophe’s tantrum, dinner is served only minutes before Blake is supposed to take the microphone to propose to Astrid. She steps onto the stage first, after depositing BJ in the back room converted into a nursery for the babies.
The noise dies a swift death when she clears her throat. “Blake, sweetheart, I know this is supposed to be your moment. Well, I’ve stolen it to tell you something. Life wouldn’t be nearly as sweet without your love. BJ wouldn’t be the man he’s going to be without your essence steeling him from a life ahead that has no guarantees for any of us. Your love makes the dark moments bearable, the days brighter, and the world a little easier to tolerate. Without you, I’m nowhere near the woman I want to be for me, for BJ, for you.” She removes her hand from behind her back and opens a ring box. “Will you marry me and continue a life-long journey into the unknown at my side?”
He gasps and climbs the stage in a single leap to kiss her for a very long, long time.
Uncle Tommy has to clink his glass with a fork over the catcalls to get them to stop. “Blake, some of us would like to eat. Get a room or something. But first give her your answer, which we already know, just need it for the camera pointed at you from the back.”
Even the snobbery heckles at Uncle Tommy’s wisecracks. Of course, Blake’s answer is yes. They exchange rings. The party is more extravagant with the good people in attendance who live to love and laugh and cry with each other. Astrid crosses the room to high-five Camron.
Blake’s mouth drops beside her. “You knew what she was going to do, Camron, and didn’t tell me?”
“He’s very good at secrets,” I interject while admiring the sparkling seven carats on Astrid’s white gold band.
Camron grins devilishly. “I kept your secret, Blake, until you told it. It’s only fair Astrid gets to drag me into her surprises for you too.”
“No, it’s not fair. You’re my blood first, my cousin. We’re supposed to watch each other’s backs.”
“You have a fiancée now, don’t you, Blake?”
“Yeah, but—”
“I watched your back then, cousin.”
“Smartass.”
“Thank you. First compliment you’ve given me in never.”
Blake chuckles into his wineglass, with the diamonds on his wedding band catching the light and tossing it back. “You know I’m going to return this favor, right?”
Saleera returns without Christophe. His absence doesn’t dampen our spirits. She partakes in the wine and kisses Camron’s cheeks a little too much for his liking. She also steals dances with Uncle Tommy, who looks around for help with his head cradled to Saleera’s chest by her hand, a glass of alcohol in her other. No one rescues him. If they did, Malisa’s father swore to deal with them afterwards. Uncle Tommy may be one of the few who’s very, very glad when the party is over.
At Camron’s home, our pattern recommences until the day before his trip to Dubai and my father is discharged with a clean bill of health. The latter is overshadowed by the former when day breaks. There’s a bad feeling in my gut. Suffice it to say, Camron didn’t get any sleep last night, and neither did I. If not making love, we’re making eye contact.
With sunlight caressing the back of my hand on his head, I plead with him not to go. Doesn’t occur to me to go with him. He doesn’t suggest it. I’m able to get my own company off the ground for once, and I couldn’t just put it down to follow my heart. Besides, I trust him. He’ll come back to me. He has to. I’m living in his house for God’s sakes.
I pack along with him for a night in Winchester. After dropping Camron off at the airport to catch a business flight, I drive slowly to my parents’, longing for my lover, to be more than his lover. Cooking for my family, along with Brandon’s silliness and Gabby’s retribution for his bad acts, keeps me from getting too far down in the dumps and checking my phone too often. Only when Camron calls do I finally drift off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning. I wake up missing home, Camron’s home, and him.
Mama and Daddy send me off with their love and Tupperware bursting with the last of dinner—I’d cooked too much. On Blanchard Row, a manila folder is on my bed. I siphon a crystal-clear black and white image of Camron and Bailey kissing on a beach under the overhang of shore side eatery. Grasping at each other’s clothes in broad daylight.
“What the motherfuck!”
One day gone, and he’s already with Bailey. My God, was the Dubai trip an excuse to meet her? Was I really not enough for him? A passing fancy for him that he he’s gotten out of his system? Does he have women stashed in every port like a fucking sailor?
The picture burns my fingertips. It floats to the floor. My stomach heaves. Doubts about the coincidence of them being in the same place with me here accompanies me to the bathroom to puke then pack independent Amari Spencer’s shit. The things that belong to the girl who loved Camron completely, enough to receive anything from him happily, is staying here with him. And so is the girl, but my fury at her gullible ass and his cheating one sticks its hooks into my soul.
Why did I let myself drop all the way in love when I knew the outcome with Camron? Have seen it happen up close and personal at Power Enterprises to every other woman who he was with, time and time again. He doesn’t love. He takes. Hasn’t changed but became a chameleon, exactly what he thought I wanted him to be.
I should’ve saw this moment coming the second he announced his trip, but I thought I was safe in the honeymoon phase of our relationship, where confessing everlasting love to one another isn’t a requirement yet. It doesn’t exist for him if he can do this to me only weeks into being together. He’s gotten his revenge. I can’t look at the photo without getting ill, so I examine his feelings for me.
“Well, he can’t have that many if this is already happening behind my back. No wonder he didn’t ask if I wanted to go to Dubai with him. I’d have screwed up his arrangements with her. How could you not see it, Amari? Bailey prom
ised you wouldn’t keep him.”
But if I didn’t have trust in Camron to stay faithful while out of my eyesight, we wouldn’t have had a fulfilling relationship like my parents anyway. In my office, I save my work to a USB stick, then raid his bedroom twice as large as mine for the key to the Hyundai. It’s nowhere to be seen in his desk, nightstand, closets, or his drawers. I tear his space apart looking for it, until everything lays on the ground. Computer, mattress, clothes, shoes, files bought home from work, my tears. The only ones I’m going to cry.
Today.
Yeah, well, I’ll worry about tomorrow’s tears tomorrow.
Looks like a part of the Amari I never want to see again has to come with me if I want to get away from here. I palm the BMW keys. With a paper towel from the kitchen and Tommy hot on my heels asking, ‘What is wrong?’ I stuff the photo in its envelope, a reminder of who Camron really is.
And to rile your loathing for him up until it kills the love for him dead inside you.
That too.
Tommy helps me carry my suitcases to the car. On the way to my parents’ house, I take out my frustrations on the vehicle. Driving too fast. Braking too hard. Peeling the tires when taking off. Not slowing down for ruts in the road. All abuse that I want to do to Camron. I hate this machine and him. And me. I’d been fooled, and I volunteered to be.
I beat the steering wheel outside my parents’ house. “So ridiculous to think it was real, Amari.”
My mother opens the front door. The phone in my purse rings. Tommy’s number blinks on the display. “I made it, Tommy.”
“It’s not Tommy. It’s Blake. Astrid and I popped by to see if you could babysit, but it seems all hell has broken loose. What happened, Amari?”
“Your goddamn cousin happened, Blake, and I don’t want to talk about it. Just keep him away from me.”
“I’ll handle him, Amari.”
“Do that, Blake!”
I sling the phone out the window. A passing car mows it down. I open my door just as my mother opens the passenger’s.