by Tiana Laveen
“There is no need to thank me. This is part of your story, and it’s beautiful.” She leaned over and landed a kiss against his cheek. He kept straight ahead, but she took notice of the curl of his lips as they formed a tense smile.
I wonder what he’s thinking right now?
In less than an hour, Paxton pulled into the driveway of a tall, pale yellow turn-of-the-century colonial style home on Parker Street. The house was huge, definitely in an older part of town where, if Ivy were a betting woman, old money ran deep like roots. She shoved open the car door. Unaccustomed to the chilly climate, she gasped as she watched her breath roll from her lips then disappear into the night air without a trace.
She’d done her research and checked the weather forecast before they’d packed to make a trip of it, but even during her vacations in colder regions and abroad, she never could fully get used to the type of chill the northern part of the country delivered with a brutal punch.
My blood is too thin.
She stepped out of the car and jumped when she heard the trunk slam, totally unaware that Paxton had already exited the vehicle and grabbed their bags in one fell swoop. She turned back towards the house. Unlike his childhood residence, this one breathed life and exuberance. She looked up at the place, all the lights in the windows aglow and so welcoming, as if the structure were alive and coaxing her inside. Rounding the car, Paxton placed both bags in one hand and entwined his fingers with hers, then walked her up the path to the steps. Taking the icy cold rail, she made her way up until she stood at the large wooden front door. She glanced up and took note of a small balcony. She could hear a television playing faintly, and a bit of chatter coming from within.
I wonder how much a house like this goes for? I’m certain it was a lot…
Paxton maneuvered in front of her and rang the bell. A few seconds later, a tall, large, older man with a head full of black and silver wavy hair, a white sweater and khakis opened the door. The guy stood there for a moment, sizing them up. His skin was thin, the veins at his temples practically pulsating right before her, stark blue, winding and crossing over one another like lines on a map that led to nowhere.
“Paxton, bring your ass in here.” he said, breaching the awkward silence. He grinned from ear to ear. The man stepped over the threshold and grabbed her boyfriend, surrounding him in a tight bear hug. He glanced at her as he patted his son’s back, his expression unreadable. Paxton pulled away from his father and motioned towards her.
“Dad, this is my girlfriend, Ivy.”
He stood a bit straighter and offered her his hand for a shake.
“Nice to meet you, Ivy.” She accepted the proffered hand. It was cold to the touch.
“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Savelli.”
“Come on in.” The man stepped out of the way as the two entered the home. The foyer area boasted of high arched ceilings and the first floor appeared to be completely hardwood. The surface creaked under their weight. A slender, unpretentious woman with dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail could be seen in the distance. The lady was busy drying her hands on a kitchen towel.
“Peggy!” the man called out, his voice booming. He walked past them into the kitchen, shoulders broad and stomping as if some great injustice had occurred. He paused and turned quickly in their direction before he’d finished his jaunt. “Wait right here,” he said, making direct eye contact with his son before continuing on his trek.
They both paused, didn’t make another move. She glanced at Paxton, trying to read his face and figure out what was going on. But Paxton looked impassive, like stone. His eyes were dormant, like those of a fish floating belly up in an unflushed toilet.
He dropped the bags on the floor and casually leaned against the banister, as if posing for some teen heartthrob magazine photoshoot. The father’s back was now towards her and he was speaking with his wife, but Ivy couldn’t make out what was being shared. The man’s arms moved up and down a few good times. Suddenly, Peggy peeped around her husband; her eyes went from Ivy to Paxton then back to Ivy.
Is she watching a tennis match? What the hell is going on here?
The woman then nodded at something her husband said, placed the towel down on the counter, and marched up to them.
“Hello Ivy, I’m Peggy, Paxton’s mom.” The woman grinned wide as she extended her hand. Ivy took her hand and shook it. Her palms were buttery soft and her touch tender.
“So nice to meet you. I’ve heard so many nice things about you.” The woman’s cheeks grew rosy with a grin. She turned towards her son who was still leaning on the banister, expressionless.
“So, that’s all I get? I haven’t seen you in two years and you just stand there?” She giggled before approaching her son and embracing him. Paxton enfolded his arms around his mother. Mustering a piece of a smile, he closed his eyes and squeezed her tight.
“Just been a long drive, Mom… a little tired. I’m glad to see you. You know that.” He kissed the woman’s cheek. Ivy glanced back in the kitchen to see the father sitting at the table, thumbing through a newspaper.
How strange…
“The guest room is all ready.” The woman pointed up the stairway. “Ivy, make yourself at home. I cooked dinner so if you’re hungry or not too tired, come on down and have some meatloaf. Do you like meatloaf?”
“Sure, sounds delicious!” she lied. Ivy detested meatloaf. In fact, she had a horrible childhood memory that involved bits of grisly fat, suspicious particles later explained as dried onion embedded in the strange concoction of bread and meat smothered in a thick tomato paste that made her hurl. But, she refused to be a party pooper. She hoped there’d be a family pet she could toss it to under the table…
“Great. Pax, show her where the bathroom and everything is, please. I’d do it, but I want to make sure nothing burns.”
“No problem, I got it, Mom.” Paxton reached low and retrieved their bags, while the woman turned on her heels and left them.
They started up the stairs. Ivy took in the beautiful decorations, including some rather elaborate gold and ivory crosses that hung on the walls. Paxton made his way down towards the end of the second-floor hallway and opened a door to their left. Inside was a large four poster bed with red and white sheets, matching throw pillows, and a modest amount of furniture. A sense of newness filled the area with an interesting aroma, reminiscent of freshly laid carpet. Perhaps it was the large slate gray area rug. In one corner sat an antique chair filled with dolls and beside it, a hefty dresser of a more modern appearance with a flat screen television atop it. She watched as her unusually quiet boyfriend placed their bags in the center of the bed. He then turned to her and smiled.
“You see why I’m so fucked up now?” He cracked up before slipping a lighter out of his bag and placing it on the dresser, close to the creepy shiny-faced dolls.
Ivy smiled and shook her head, then began to pace the room.
“I don’t think you’re fucked up, but uh…I wondered if you knew what was going on, actually?”
“What are you talking about exactly?” He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling the perfectly combed tresses.
“Well, your father was acting strange… but of course, I don’t know him to really say that with certainty.” She shrugged as she sat down on the bed, crossed her legs and rocked her foot back and forth in a pendulum-like motion.
Paxton picked up the lighter and began to flick it on and off. His eyes were intense as he took in the jumping flame.
“You took him by surprise.”
“Huh? You told me they knew we were coming for a couple of days now.”
“Yeah, they knew you were coming, baby, but they didn’t know you were Black.”
Suddenly, she felt like a ten-ton elephant was sitting on her damn chest. Her breathing became choppy and strained, the notion never entering her mind. It was as if she’d been sucked into another galaxy, one in which the old, weathered black and white standbys for discrimination against her kin
d had become suddenly null and void.
Oh my God, of course…
“How did… I mean, why would you not say anything? Why would you have to say anything?” She threw up her hands as she stumbled over her words, trying to wrap her mind around it all.
“I didn’t even think to mention it. I didn’t see how that was important. My parents are old fashioned.”
“Old fashioned is one thing, but are they racist?”
“I wouldn’t call them racist. They don’t hate or dislike Black people, nothing like that, but they’re a little ignorant, especially my dad. Neither one of them is what I would classify as culturally aware or even remotely curious. Those types of conversations didn’t even take place in our house. My brothers and I were never told any shit like, ‘Don’t be friends with Blacks.’ Nothing like that. It was just never discussed,” He shrugged. “Like the shit didn’t happen or matter. Oh, and you don’t have to eat the meatloaf. I know you hate it.” He looked at his reflection in a long mirror that hung on the outside of what she presumed was a closet door.
Ivy dropped her head and smiled. “I don’t remember telling you that I hated meatloaf.”
“You didn’t have to. Whenever you don’t like something but agree to do it, you always say, ‘sure!’, real chipper and shit.” He laughed as he sat down next to her on the bed.
Rolling her eyes, she wrapped herself around him, needing his warmth in a strange place that felt less and less inviting as each second passed. The windows lied to her; she must’ve misread the signs. Perhaps she’d wanted this visit to go so well that she’d tricked herself into believing something that it wasn’t, and never would be.
“I’ll eat it… This is awkward.” She sighed and let herself go upon his lap.
“Eating meatloaf is only awkward if you do it and don’t want it.” He chuckled before leaning forward and kissing her on her forehead.
“No, not the meatloaf…”
“I know.” He traced her shoulder blade with the tips of his fingers. She caught a whiff of his sexy cologne and inhaled deeply. “I tell you what. Let’s play it by ear, okay? I wanted you to meet them because you mean so much to me. I love you, but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. If things don’t improve, we’ll leave in the morning, all right?”
She nodded, feeling a big weight lift off her. She didn’t dare admit it, but some words her mother had said to her as a teenager now haunted her…
A White man might want you. He might even fall in love with you but his family sure as hell won’t! You can’t trust them. They stick together when the going gets tough. That’s why they always make it and get over while us Blacks get left behind. We are too busy fighting amongst ourselves and we don’t know how to stick together, Ivy…
She shook the notion out of her mind and sat up.
“Let’s go down those steps and pretend to eat some motherfuckin’ meatloaf.”
“How can I get rid of it without offending her?”
“Baby, you’re in love with a magician. I can help you make anything disappear.”
They knocked their fists together and burst out laughing, then sealed it with a kiss…
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nothin’ to Write Home About
Paxton cracked his knuckles as he lazed back in his chair at the large dining room table. Mom placed a large basket of buttery rolls onto the table. Across from him sat Ivy and his parents at either end of the table. The television rumbled on in the living room; Dad hadn’t even bothered to cut the damn thing off. That sort of thing always rubbed Paxton the wrong way—televisions on for no damn reason. Just then, the doorbell rang.
“Who’s that?” He grabbed a bottle of chilled beer and chugged it.
“Jacob.” Paxton tapped his fingers on the table and waited for his brother to be let in by his dad. Perhaps Gabe and Michael were on their way, too. He heard Jacob’s boisterous voice in the foyer, then tossed a glance towards his baby, who looked as pretty as a freshly hatched dream in a dark green cardigan, black slacks, and boots. Her locks were pulled back in a ponytail, exposing small gold hoop earrings. She took small, delicate bites of her salad, smiling as she ate, but he sensed her tension. He could see it in the crinkled corners of her eyes and the sudden stiffness of her movements. Suddenly aware of his glance, she looked up and he tossed her a wink. Her lips curved in a proud smile before she turned away once again, acting quiet and demure, an act he found somewhat amusing.
“Paaaaax!” Jacob stomped into the dining room wearing a thick black hoodie, baggy jeans, and beat up sneakers. Paxton got up from his chair and went to embrace the man, pleased to see him. Jacob took a chair next to him, a greasy smile on his ruddy face.
“Ahhhh, you must be Ivy! Excuse my manners!” Jacob popped back up from his seat like a jack-in-the-box, rounded the table, and forced Ivy out of her chair for one of his bear hugs. Paxton and Ivy laughed as he embraced her so tight, it seemed she would not be able to breathe. When he let go, he held her around her waist and looked her up and down.
“Pax gets all the pretty girls! Nice to meet you.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek.
“Nice to meet you too, Jacob.”
“You can let go of her now…holdin’ her close like you’re 8th graders at a fuckin’ dance.” Everyone turned and looked at him; his mother’s eyes bucked but Paxton simply took another gulp of his beer, not giving a shit what anyone thought of his sudden burst of jealousy.
“Oh, cool it!” Jacob chuckled, though his tone was hitched with that all too familiar invitation to verbally brawl.
“Hey, Mom, where’s Michael and Gabe at?” Paxton questioned, now more interested in his other brothers’ whereabouts.
“Oh, Gabe’s at work, I believe, and I have no idea what Michael is doing.” She shrugged. “I think he may be out of town.”
“He is,” Jacob chimed in.
“Yeah.” Paxton sat back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “I tried to call both of them before I got here but didn’t hear back from Michael. Then we played some phone tag and Gabe was saying he was havin’ some sort of car trouble.”
“Yeah, that Buick of his is acting up again.” Dad sighed.
“I offered to get him something else. He needs a dependable ride for work. I’ll remind him again.” Paxton and Gabe had a tumultuous relationship, more so than what he had with any of his other brothers, but he still wanted the guy taken care of. He was still his brother, and he didn’t want him to needlessly suffer. Gabe needed the financial help, but he was the only one who’d refused it over the years. Major had stated a while back that once, in a drunken stupor, Gabe had admitted he was jealous of Paxton and hated him. Paxton had laughed it off, but that admission had hurt him to his core.
Minutes later, all of the food was on the table and Dad was discussing a robbery in the old neighborhood, at a gas station in Lowell where one of his old work buddies worked the late-night shift. The stories got stranger and funnier as the evening wore on. The food was great—a simple, home cooked meal. As time passed, it seemed his parents loosened up, even laughing at some of Jacob’s outlandish tales that more times than not, involved wanton blasphemy and someone drunk out of their mind.
“So, Ivy, Paxton tells us that you’re a reporter for a paper in Vegas? That must be exciting,” Mom stated as she dipped her spoon into her mashed potatoes and gave it a swirl, as if churning butter.
“Yes, I’m a journalist with the Las Vegas Sun. I really enjoy it.”
“Is that like a sensationalist rag or the real deal?” Dad chimed in, looking at her intensely as if he really gave a shit.
“If you mean do we delve in gossip versus fact and pertinent news, then no. We’re an honorable, reputable paper. We do have celebrity news, which is something I often cover actually, but it’s not—”
“So, like, when you interview celebrities, like my son, what exactly are you tryna find out?”
Paxton sucked his teeth, preparing to jump in in case things went
awry.
I knew shit was going too damn well… Here he goes…
“Well.” Ivy placed her fork down and faced the man head on. “All sorts of things. It varies from person to person. There is no ‘one size fits all’ formula. I treat each one as an individual. Your son, for instance, has a rather cult-like following and his fans are interested in all sorts of things about him.” Dad shot him a glance as if he needed to look into his eyes to make sure Ivy was talking about his own flesh and blood—see it to believe it. “Everything from whatever brand of toothpaste Paxton prefers to his political views are often of great interest to his audience.”
The older man rocked back in his seat and nodded, then smiled.
“Yeah, I could see that.” He tossed his napkin onto the table. “Paxton said you’re really good at your job. You have a nice voice, you know that?”
“Thank you.” Ivy smiled, though he suspected it wasn’t the least bit genuine. She was probably internally rolling her eyes, but kept her award-winning grin plastered on her face nevertheless. Always able to keep her cool under pressure…
“She sounds like that one chick,” Dad looked at Mom and snapped his fingers. “You know, that one news reporter on WCVB.”
“Claire McDonald,” Mom said matter-of-factly, as if she’d been asked a Jeopardy question. Claire McDonald was a Black newscaster well known in the community. Now that Dad mentioned it, Ivy did sound like her.
“Yeah, Claire McDonald. It’s uncanny. I guess you learned that in school, huh? How all the reporters talk?” The man smiled as if he didn’t really need her to answer; he simply knew he was correct and a confirmation would suffice.
“Actually, I’ve pretty much just always spoke this way, but yes, there are classes in journalism on speaking.”
“The news people here never sound like they’re from Boston!” Dad griped, causing Ivy to fight a laugh. It was obvious by the way she covered her lips with her hand and leaned forward, feigning seriousness.
