by Turner, Xyla
“No, I’m not,” I replied with a small attempt to take the bite out of my response.
I felt the shift in the air at that moment because Duncan’s body shifted to face his mother before he said, “No, mother. She’s not my therapist that is having intercourse with me. That was your friend, Donna. Portia is my girlfriend, and as soon as I finish introducing her to my parents, she will be my fiancée and then my wife.”
His mother scoffed, huffed, choked and all but fell out of the chair. His father, on the other hand, nodded and stretched his hand out with a stern look to his son and said, “Congratulations, son!”
“Thank you, Father,” he replied.
This was Mrs. Morgan’s turn to fling her cloth napkin on the table and excuse herself. As soon as she was gone, everyone relaxed.
“Please excuse my wife. She is in denial about many things including her son and those friends of hers tendencies.” He nodded toward the direction she headed. “You must be one hell of a woman.”
His smile was genuine, and I wasn’t sure what to take from that, since I couldn’t get a real read from Duncan about them.
“She is a woman, father. A beautiful, smart, independent, patient woman who loves me,” he declared.
This brought a smile to my face, and I reached out and grabbed his hand and squeezed hard with mine.
His father must have caught that because he said, “I can tell. So, Portia, tell me about yourself.”
“I was born and raised in Virginia, graduated from Virginia State. I am a District Manager for a boutique store in the D.C., Maryland, and Virginia areas.” I smiled. “That’s the short of it.”
He nodded, pursed his lips, and said, “That is a lot to accomplish at such a young age.”
“Yes, well. I’m proud of Duncan. I have just moved up at one job, he has had a state elect him to represent them. That is amazing!” I was proud to say.
He squeezed my hand, as his father nodded and sat up straight. “I couldn’t have said it better. Son, did you have her meet Yesenia?”
“No,” he replied.
“You should. She would want to meet the love of your life,” he told him. “She would be gravely upset if you didn’t.”
“I don’t want her to be upset,” Duncan said. “I just want Portia to marry me, and meeting my parents was one of her stipulations. Meeting Yesenia was not in our plan.”
I internally rolled my eyes because I did not give the man any stipulations to marry him.
“Who is Yesenia?” I asked while looking between father and son.
“The woman that helped to raise him,” his father said rather bluntly.
What? I tried to recall when Duncan had said anything about being raised by anyone but his parents and he hadn’t. Hell, he barely talked about his parents. This had me turning around to look at this man who had captured my heart.
“Duncan?” I questioned. “What is this?”
He remained looking at his father and did not respond at first to my question.
His mother had not returned to the table after her outcry of Duncan’s form of truth. His father sat patiently, waiting for him to elaborate.
“You know I am different,” Duncan told me as he turned and looked in my direction, but his eyes kept shifting. “When I was young, I did not have many coping mechanisms, and nobody knew what to do. My meltdowns, which were fits of rage, could last a long time, and my recovery with them could take up to a week. I was sent away to a school that specialized with kids like me, and when I turned twelve, we tried in-home care with help from a woman named Yesenia. She is who I call my mama. She loved me too, but in a different way than you. She, like you, thinks I can do anything and am perfect like I am. She would not change anything about me.”
Then he turned back around to face his father, as if the discussion was closed. I looked at Mr. Morgan to see that the older man’s face was open and not haunted. I sensed no regrets.
This was unexpected news, but not the worst thing I heard. Knowing that Big Red was his mother’s friend was really weird. Also, that he was saying she was not an ex-friend.
“Yesenia, is great,” Mr. Morgan added. “She will love you. She was an addition to our family, and we miss her now that Duncan has moved out of our house.”
“I would love to meet her, Duncan,” I said, though I knew that a change in his schedule would be a problem. “Also, I am willing to do the tour another time, so we can fit it in without disrupting our scheduled time here.”
He made a short nod.
“Sweetheart.” I squeezed his hand. “If this woman raised you, then I want to meet her.”
“Yes, another time,” he stated.
“That’s fine, sweetheart.”
His father watched the two of us with a wide smile, to the point where I asked, “Is everything all right?”
“Oh, yeah. Just proud of my son.” He clapped his hands. “Beautiful woman by his side, a Senator, functioning and defying all the odds.”
This made me smile because I could only imagine what it was like to have a young child on the spectrum, not knowing what was going on. Treatment, medicine, and therapy have come a long way, but it had to be difficult watching your child and not knowing what was wrong or what to do.
“Thank you, Father.” Duncan nodded. “Shall we order?”
Ha! I laughed because all that time we hadn’t ordered, his mother had not come back, and his father seemed unbothered by her disappearance.
Mr. Morgan called over the waiter, ordered for his wife and himself, and Duncan ordered for himself and me. I guess that is where he got that from. I thought that was interesting, and I was curious enough to know how these things played out, which is why I wanted to meet the parents.
Fifteen minutes later, his mother returned, but she was not alone. With her was a short older woman, who almost looked like she was Indian with long, shiny black and silver hair. Her skin was smooth, but her eyes held many tales.
When they finally reached the table, Duncan and his father looked up, and immediately, the room changed. His mother went to take her original seat and a waiter brought another chair for the additional guest.
“Mama,” Duncan exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
He said this while standing up to give her a large, tight hug. She returned it as her mouth and eyes were smiling wide with happiness. She did love this man, like a mother would her child.
“Senor Duncan,” she muffled. “You look well.” She said it in Spanish.
“Mama, what are you doing here?” He replied back in Spanish.
This was something else I did not know. The man could speak fluent Spanish.
They chatted between the two of them in the other language, until Duncan, I assumed, was satisfied with her answers and turned toward me and said, “Portia, this is Yesenia, who we were talking about before. She is here, so we do not have to make an extra trip for you to visit her. Mother called her to come and meet you.”
I stood up and went to give her a hug as well and said, “It is so nice to meet you.”
She eyed me warily and said, “Yes, you as well. Thank you, Senora for inviting me.”
I did not know the language fluently, but my high school class did teach me that Senora was for a married woman and I did not invite her, so she was not speaking to me.
Okay.
I returned to my seat and drank some more water. Yesenia and Mr. Morgan embraced and spoke to each other since they were on the far end of the table.
His mother did not say much, even when I tried to engage her in conversation.
“So, were you born and raised in Rhode Island?” I asked the woman.
“No, I am from the great state of Tennessee,” she replied but said nothing else.
“I was just in Tennessee for a conference. It was a lively place and full of life,” I shared, but she simply nodded, stealing looks at Duncan.
Her actions were not clear to me. She was upset about what Duncan had said, but then she
returned with the woman who he called mama. This was the weird part.
“Portia,” the woman said, “I apologize if you have already done the introductions, but I would love to know who you are and your intentions for my Duncan.”
Hmmm.
I smiled and shared who I was, where I was from, and what I did. Then I continued with, “My intentions for Duncan are complicated. Right. I fell in love with him, and it was all his doing. We met, because he said he thought I would be a good wife and said, and I quote, ‘I would do.’ I told him it would be a cold day in hell before I would marry some random guy who: one, proposes, and two, does it with, ‘I’ll do.’”
She nodded and tried to hide her smile, but I kept going.
“Then the man decided it would be a good idea to apologize to me and walk away. He must have given my friend his version of why he was interested because I found myself in his office on the Capitol trying to give him a chance. He took that to mean dinner…”
“And intercourse,” Duncan added, unnecessarily.
This caused his father to bust out laughing. His mother scoffed, and Yesenia tried to hide another smile.
“Yes, and intercourse,” I continued. “This led to more dinners and intercourse. Then getting to know him, his whys, interests, and… I think what really got me to see how much he cared for me was when he accompanied me, off schedule, to visit my own mother. It was not a good situation, but he was there for me. He knew my father, one of my greatest allies, was no longer here, and he knew I would need support. This man showed up, so he’s my Duncan now too. I don’t mind sharing him with such a beautiful and wise woman, like yourself, and his family. But.” I smiled at her. “He sleeps through the night with me, and I with him. My intentions are to keep doing that.”
One of her perfectly arched eyebrows rose, but instead I looked into the eyes of my man, who turned around and stared at me.
Then I kissed him, and he bit my bottom lip. Just like he always did, no matter who was near.
The woman goes into a litany of Spanish. Duncan responds in more Spanish, then the woman nods her head at me and says, “Welcome to the family, Portia. I will enjoy getting to know more about you.”
“And I the same,” I reply to the woman.
This was the beginning of more conversation as our food arrived. We ate, laughed, and Duncan added to the conversation with more of his commentary about what we were discussing. His mother seemed to be bothered by these things, but the rest of us just kept on talking.
Mr. Morgan asked Duncan about his district office in Rhode Island and what the plans were for the hiring, turning the conversation to the logistics of his new role. This is where his mother chimed in with her skills, stating she could set up interviews with candidates if they had job descriptions, and he could skype in and meet them on the final interview.
Duncan thanked her and agreed to this, which loosened her up a bit more. She did not say much after that, but the family seemed to bask in Duncan making moves no one thought he would.
It also didn’t help that the country club was in the same community as they were because many people were stopping by to offer their congratulations and to let him know they voted for him, and they were impressed he took down the incumbent politician, Jake the snake.
There was an abundance of community support around Duncan, and it made me proud. He was not a pariah. He was adored, cared for, and respected in his community. He was loved by the people around the table, even if some of them did not know how to show it.
According to our schedule, which Duncan did not forget, we left so he could take me on a tour of his town, where more people would stop us, smile and congratulate him. They were equally warm to me as well. He only introduced me to a few people, those he knew or called friends.
We went by his college and even stopped by Charles’ house, since it was close and on the schedule. Everything moved smoothly. Duncan took his Dramamine an hour before we made it to the airport and thankfully, the flight was uneventful.
We arrived back to his home, and he was out like a light. I joined him, but without the heavy weight that seemed to be there prior. Now, I felt the affirmation that I needed.
Chapter Sixteen
Duncan
“What are you waiting for?” Trent asked me, as we had our Wednesday lunch at The Capital Grille, a popular restaurant on Pennsylvania Avenue. “She met your parents, the woman that raised you, and saw your hometown. She loved it all. What’s the problem?”
The issue was simple to me, but I knew that not many people would understand.
“Yesenia, the woman who helped to raise me. She told me that I should give it some time before I ask her to marry me again. I considered giving her twenty-nine days, six hours and twenty-two minutes. She said that any woman who gives ultimatums on marriage is not a woman I want to tie myself to at such an early part of my life,” I told Trent this because he had proven to be a trustworthy ally.
My comment must have bothered my friend because he stopped eating and looked me in the eyes. I still had trouble keeping eye contact for long periods of time, but I tried for this, though the distractions of glass shattering in the kitchen momentarily pulled me away.
“Portia is many things. An annoying pain in the ass, at times. Sure. My biggest ally with Bernie, definitely,” he shared. “But she is not into giving ultimatums. You asked her to marry you, and she stated she was not sure because she had not known where you, the man, had come from or how you grew up. She required to know more about you. Bernie did the same thing. This is big for them because they believe, which is true, that your upbringing can have a way of shaping who you are as a person. Why do you think Portia was single for so long? She admittedly says, she has issues with relationships because she saw a bad one growing up. It was one-sided, and she even got into it with my wife about this. I’m saying all this shit to say, well, you might want to clarify a few things. She didn’t give you an ultimatum. She said not yet. In essence, what she said, but for very different reasons.”
I nodded my head to acknowledge his words, then I replied, “You asked Bernie to marry you after five months, four days and an average of thirty minutes.”
He scoffed and sat back in his leathered, upholstered chair. There was light chattering in the distance, various food aromas, including garlic, alcohol and the overwhelming smell of meat cooking. My fingers began to fidget with the cloth napkin that rested on my lap, as I waited for him to continue.
“I did,” Trent agreed. “I knew she was the one. I knew there was no one like her and whether she was pregnant with Junior or not, I was making her mine. Consequences be damned.”
“This is how I feel about Portia,” I told him. “I knew this the very first day. I do not want to wait, but mama, is someone that loves me, and I trust her. She will not tell me anything wrong, but I will still marry Portia.”
The older man sighed and took a sip of the iced water in front of him. The place was buzzing, since it was lunch time, with people milling around, eating, meeting and chatting amongst themselves over the steel table tops.
“Portia is someone that loves and trusts you, and I think you should have the conversation with her, and not mama, your mother, or father,” Trent replied. “If I would have listened to my father or mother, I would have never met my soulmate. Her skin color alone would have kept me away.”
This was his experience, and I remembered Portia telling me that his father was “a jerk and a racist.” Therefore, it made sense he believed in making his own choices. I have been told I am stubborn, and when something is in my head, I will see it through to completion. This relentlessness has made me extremely successful. No matter what anyone thought, including mama, I would marry Portia Lane. No matter what anyone said, she was already mine.
By the time I arrived home, Portia was cooking dinner in the kitchen, with the windows open and ventilation running.
“Hey sweetheart,” she greeted me with a kiss that she delivered by pushing up
on her toes.
In turn, I moved her against the counter and bit her bottom lip, before I moved to bite her neck. Her thigh slid up my leg and I knew tonight we would have intercourse.
This made me pull back and nip her before I completely disengaged.
“Good evening, Dear.” I tried the new term of endearment for her.
She noticed this right away and asked, “You’re going with dear?”
“I am trying it out,” I told her. “I will confirm in seven days, ten hours and twenty-five minutes.”
She laughed as she often does and said, “Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes and thirty seconds.”
“Good.” I nodded and exited the kitchen to call mama.
She was surprised by my reaching out to her, but was happy, as she always is, to hear from me.
“I wanted to clarify something, Mama,” I began. “Portia did not give me an ultimatum. I asked her to marry me and she stated that she thought it was too soon…”
“And she is right,” Mama interrupted.
“But I want to marry her now. She loves me,” I told her.
“Duncan. I know, but mama does not want you to get hurt. She seems like a nice woman and quite feisty, but marrying her so soon…”
That tight feeling under my skin began to throb as I heard something I did not want to accept.
“I do not want her to leave me,” I spoke over her. “She is mine, and I will not let her go, no matter what you say.”
“Duncan, my son,” Yesenia slowed her voice down. “Please calm down, okay. Listen to me. I want what’s best for you. That’s it. Just what is best for you…”
“She is what is best for me…” I started to tell her why, until I heard Portia.
This caused me to turn around in my swivel chair to see her standing in the doorway of my office.
“Duncan, what’s wrong?” she asked, her eyebrows pushed together, letting me know she was concerned or confused. “Who is upsetting you?”
“It’s mama. She says I should wait to marry you because these things take time. I was not supposed to tell you this, but I am talking with her now,” I told her, only to see her moving toward me with a steady gait.