TAKE ME as I am

by C Osborne, Laurina

  “No’s okay. I just need to know if I can cuddle up to you, close my eyes and go to sleep.”

  “You don’t want to make love?”

  “I’m not sure. I feel a little hurt except I have nothing to be upset about.”

  “You think I should’ve prepared you to meet my family.”

  “Maybe, but I trust you and I hope we’ll be alright after.”

  “We’ll be fine. I want to make love to you. I want to smell you and taste you and umm … I want it all,” he says kissing me.

  “Mmm … I need to ask you something,” I say, holding his head to stop the kiss.

  “Ask,” he says, looking into my eyes.

  “You can say no.”

  “Ask me.”

  “Can I stay with you for the entire week next week?”

  I see him holding back a smile as he examines my face to see if I’m serious.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I offered Dad my apartment for his lady friend. I can stay at Zo’s, but I thought it would be fun to play house with you if we’re still together.”

  “We’ll still be together. I would love to wake up with you and come home to you.”

  “You could pick me up at Zoi’s after work, so you don’t have to give me a key.”

  “I want you to have a key. It’s time I have a key to your place too, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t want a key and I’m not giving you a key. You show up now without calling and that’s bad enough.”

  He studies my face and then kisses me. “I’m your man and I shouldn’t have to call.”

  “You’re my man and you need to call,” I say, returning the kiss.

  My stomach still gets the tingling feeling and I still want more every time he kisses me.

  Mark’s parents live on a country estate about twenty-two minutes from Victoria. The following morning, my eyes are glued to the surroundings as we drive. I force myself to relax and remain calm. It’s times like these I wish I were more like Zoi. She would be peppering Mark with questions about his family, what she should say and what she should keep quiet about. Me? I’m Eunella and nothing scares me, except me when I want to impress someone. He matters to me and I need to be enough. That’s what I hate about all of this.

  “What if I tell them I’m pregnant? I bet that will shut up everyone, especially your mother.”

  “Don’t say you’re pregnant. Are you pregnant?” he asks as if on second thought.

  “Yes,” I say jokingly. “It’s my last resort, so if I say it just back me up and know that I’ve reached my limit, okay?”

  He laughs. “Okay,” he says, looking out the window.

  We turn left onto a narrow country road for about a hundred yards and stop at a black wrought iron gate. I can’t see the house. He punches in the code and the gate opens. We climb a small turning hill and … oh Lord … there it is, the house of all houses. I can feel my breasts moving up and down with every breath I take and my eyes are glued. I fold my lips shut because I’m about to sin my soul and my Granny Nanny would turn over in her grave to know how ghetto I’ve become. He could have told me. I turn to him and I know the anger I feel is on my face.

  “You would not have come if I had told you,” he says simply.

  If he was West Indian, I would have cracked some bad words; but he isn’t, so I lower my head and squeeze my temple trying to understand. They are billionaires. I look up and the house is screaming take your shoes off and don’t touch anything. I’d be happy to sit here and just look.

  “Tell me why I should ever speak to you again?”

  “I love you more than I have ever loved anyone in my life and this is not my home. It was but … it’s my parents’ home.”

  “Mark, you could have hinted, say ‘Nella you think my apartment is nice and luxurious imagine what you’ll think when you see my parents’.’”

  “You would’ve found an excuse not to meet them.”

  I turn to face him. I want to cry or something to show him how I truly feel.

  “Is Chloe rich too?”

  He nods.

  I nod repeatedly too and pout my lips the way West Indians do when they’re angry and trying to hold it in. I turn my head back to the house.

  “For the record, we are no longer friends. I have some really, really good friends who would never have let me walk into this. They know me and they treat me as if they like me.”

  “I know,” he has the nerve to say.

  “Are they watching us now? Are the security cameras trained on us?”

  “They’re at work.”

  I turn to him and I can’t help myself. I grin and he grins back in response and nods his head.

  “Did you know I would feel this way?”

  “Yes, but I hoped the trust we share would be enough.”

  I laugh. “So you’re saying I need to trust you.”

  “I’m saying that we love and trust each other.”

  I stare at his face. “Do I need to apologize?”

  “No,” he says seriously. “Nella, we’re friends above all.”

  “It’s too soon; I can’t take it back yet.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “I’ll be happy just to sit here and stare at the grandeur. Do your parents expect you to accomplish more than they have?”

  “They expect me to do the best I can.”

  I try to take in the house, so I can describe it to Zoi - two-story mansion with wraparound porches on the second floor. I keep staring: plantation style farm house with turret style bays setting off the exterior. Chop off those turrets and it’s just an oversized two-story farm house. I smile. That’s for the snob that maybe coming my way later. The yard is immaculate with expertly trimmed green grass and winter just ended. At least the trees have dropped their leaves. I like the stonewall, wrought iron fence and the cobble driveway.

  I open the car door and step out. Even the air feels richer, so I hold it in my lungs longer. I’m going to tell Zoi the house is about ten thousand square feet without verifying that with Mark. He’s beside me and I hold his hand.

  “We’re friends, but this is the only slipup you get.”

  He takes my left hand in his and puts his right hand around my shoulder. We walk toward the house, up the stairs and stop at the front door. Mark presses his thumb to a pad and the door clicks. We enter and the door closes automatically behind us. Inside, the house has extra high ceilings. To the right of the entry is a small formal sitting room and to the left is a set of closed double doors. I actually like the house, the feel of it, the decorations, no glitz or gilded-gold, tacky furniture pieces.

  Mark is looking at my face and I give him a guilty grin.

  “Your parents’ home is beautiful; I like. May I see your room before you show me anything else?”

  He smiles big and I know what he’s thinking, but I’m keeping my legs closed.

  He shows me his room and then the rest of the house. Even if his parents hate me it’s okay. I’ve experienced a multi-million dollar house and they cannot take that away from me. The view of the mountain, the ocean, the pond, a garden that looks better than the New York Botanical Garden in the winter, and fields, beautiful fields as far as the eyes can see. After the tour of the house, which has three floors, including the walk-out basement at the back by the pool, Mark takes me to the kitchen to meet the housekeeper.

  She proposes lunch, but Mark offers to take care of it. It’s a gourmet kitchen designed by a chef and his mother hates to cook. As he prepares lunch, we talk about his life in this house, Granny, his siblings, and his friends. I wish I knew him then. After lunch, we sit in the family room, in the walk out basement, which is evident from the back of the house but not the front, looking at his family photo albums. He allows me to take a five by seven photo of him looking like a Mexican with long hair. His dimples are obvious and back then his full, very pink lips were also his best feature. He was a real cutie.

  “I have a picture of you dressed in
your school uniform with a long braid and knee socks.”

  I laugh. “You mean you saw a picture of me.”

  “No, I have a picture of you,” he says, easing up and pulling out his wallet.

  He has a picture of me.

  “You stole that,” I say laughing.

  “From Zoi’s photo album; she had two.” He runs his fingers over the matted finish with a crooked smile on his face. “I love the way you look. Your hair was really long and that braid makes you look younger than you probably are.”

  “That was my signature, one braid framing my face and a bun in the back. I wore my hair like that almost every day and only changed it when it got on Zoi’s last nerve.”

  “Tell me about you then.”

  “I was a tom boy, kind of. My job was to terrorize Zoi’s boyfriends and make sure she did her homework. Matt and I were friends then and we spent our time studying or doing homework. He took the picture. There’s one with me wearing his shades and another one that Zoi took of Matt and me. I was chubby back then.”

  “You were not chubby and you look a little like Zoi but a lot like your Dad. Were you happy?”

  I look over my shoulder and nod. “I was.”

  At around four o’clock we’re still laughing and enjoying each other’s company. We’re both dressed in corduroy pants and turtleneck tops and being very casual sitting on the floor snacking on fruits, vegetables, cheese, ham, dip and mineral water. We’re going through his wedding album and to my surprise I’m not jealous. When I see his tongue in her mouth in one of the pictures, I point to it.

  “Are you jealous?” he asks jokingly.

  It wasn’t until he asked and seeing the look on my face he puts his arm around me and we kiss.

  “Markham, I see you arrived safely,” a voice says and I jump.

  Mark holds my shoulder firmly and kisses me again before he answers.

  “Hello, Mother,” he says and attempts to stand before she stops him.

  “Don’t get up, you look very comfortable, and this, I assume, is your friend,” she says, coming into the room closer to us and directly across from me.

  I slowly ease myself up and onto the leather sofa while holding her gaze. I stand and put out my hand.

  “Hello, Dr. Gagnon, I’m Nella Blakely. It’s nice to meet you.”

  She takes my hand as she carefully examines my face. She is trying to figure out how old I am.

  “Hi, Nella, welcome to our home. I’m sorry I had to work today, but Markham assured me it would not be a problem.” She still has a trace of her West Indian accent and I feel a little less scared.

  She is younger than I imagined, probably in her sixties although she appears to be about fifty-five. She has light-brown eyes and the blond highlights in her brown hair complement her light skin.

  “Mark was a great host and your home is beautiful.”

  “Thank you. Mom says you’re from one of the smaller islands.”

  “Yes, St. Matthews. I grew up there.”

  “Please sit,” she says as she sits too.

  “Is your family still there or in New York?”

  “In New York.”

  “Your parents?”

  “My father usually lives in London, but he is currently in New York.”

  “So your parents are divorced,” she says with satisfaction.

  “No,” I say slowly, “my mother died in London when I was four.”

  Her eyes open in shock. She looks down at Mark as if to tell him he could have warned her, but his eyes are on the area rug covering the hardwood floor.

  “I’m … I’m sorry. I had no idea. That must’ve had a devastating effect on you.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “Mom, maybe you should wait until dinner, so Dad won’t have to ask her the same questions a second time.”

  She turns her eyes on Mark and I expect her to give him the look, but he smiles at her and she grins back. What they share is real. She loves her son and wants what’s best for him. I change my mind about her and decide that even if they piss me off I won’t tell them the truth about how I met their son. It was the ace up my sleeve and, of course, the pregnancy, which I’m still saving as my escape hatch.

  The other Dr. Gagnon comes home right before dinner is due to be served. The dining table seats fourteen and we sit as a couple across the table from each other. I put my hand on Mark’s leg and he holds and squeezes it. I sneak glances at his Dad. Mark has his face, his kind, dark eyes. He asks me to tell them about myself and I give them the short clean version. He’s a radiologist, looks to be about sixty-five and asks me to call him Jacob. They ask about my first marriage, my children, my grandmother, my father and finally, my finances.

  “Markham said you were his competition for the president’s job, what happened?” his mother asks.

  “I had completed my doctorate a few months before I met the committee for the new company and decided that I needed more diversity at the top. I had a good lead on an assistant professorship and made a decision to pursue that.”

  She runs her tongue over her teeth with her mouth close as she contemplates what next to ask.

  “So what are you earning now? A lot less, right?”

  “Yes. Less than half of what I used to earn, but I’m not feeling the effects yet since I’m still on severance.”

  I sense Mark’s surprise and I can see his mother taking note of it too as does his father. Mark and I had never talked money. We had no reason to.

  “So what will happen after your severance runs out?” Mr. Gagnon asks.

  “I’ll be fine and by then I will have made the adjustment.” I stop. I’m really saying all this for Mark. “My sister and I pooled our resources to send our children to college and we have paid for that except for my last son’s graduate education. My job now is to save for retirement and I have two years to save for grad school for Zander along with my usual expenses. If things get tough, I teach a dance class for women one night per week, I can increase that to three nights. I also write a column for my friend’s magazine, which is less for the money and more to get published for tenure.” I don’t mention my retention bonus, which is my rainy day fund.

  “So you will not be dependent on Markham to help you?” his Mom asks.

  I look at Mark and he’s glaring at his parents.

  “Mark and I have not discussed my finances nor have I asked about his. He’s hearing all this for the first time. I have never asked Mark for help financially and I have no intention of doing that in the future. My sister and I have some investments, including the apartment building we live in and if things don’t go as expected I do have a place to run to.”

  “I thought your sister had a husband,” Mrs. Gagnon says.

  “She does, but all of this took place before she got married two years ago.”

  “So you don’t need Markham’s money?” Mr. Gagnon asks.

  I lay down my fork and turn my head to Mark. He reaches over and touches my leg.

  “Mom and Dad, the most I’ve spent where Nella is concerned is on cabs to her house before I bought my car. We eat at her house most of the time or cook together at mine. I’m ashamed to say that the only gift I’ve ever bought Nella was for Christmas. Nella only realized today, that my family is wealthy, so please move on.”

  “How long were you married before you got a divorce?” Mr. Gagnon asks.

  I believe we had covered this, but I answer.

  “I left after eight years, but the divorce wasn’t final for six years after that.”

  “Why did you leave?” Mrs. Gagnon asks.

  I swallow and close my eyes.

  “There were more than just the two of us in the marriage.”

  “Did you try to work it out?” she continues.

  “No.” I say firmly, keeping direct eye contact with Mrs. Gagnon.

  “Where is he now and what does he do?”

  “He’s the chief minister of St. Matthews.”

  They
both raise their eyebrows at me showing they are indeed impressed. I hope my face shows that I don’t give a not-so-polite shit.

  I sense they want to believe in me, but it takes a while. I don’t lose patience with them; I answer their questions and laugh when I think they’re funny or unbelievable. After dessert I want to leave, so I can call Zoi and Dad and maybe Joline.

  Mark senses my torment and tells his parents he wants to take me to downtown Victoria to look around. I groan on the inside. He didn’t tell them we’re staying at a B&B. His mother informs me that my room will be ready when I return.

  In the car, I refuse to say it.

  “Say it, get it off your chest,” Mark says, as he starts the car.

  “No. I will not be the difficult black woman. I will be the understanding girlfriend who trusts her man.”

  “I know you’re being sarcastic but thank you.”

  “Is it alright if I call Zoi?” I ask, and without waiting for his consent I find and open my phone.

  “Tell me fast,” Zoi says impatiently.

  “I can’t really talk; I just needed to hear the voice of someone who loves me.”

  “Was it that bad?”

  “No, I just need to vent and I can’t right now.”

  “Call me back when you get to the hotel.”

  “Can’t, we won’t be staying at the hotel tonight.”

  “Oh Lord, she put her foot down, poor Mark.”

  “Poor Mark? What about me?”

  “You still have me; think about him, they’re his parents for life.”

  “Point taken. How’s my niece?”

  “She misses you.”

  “Kiss her for me and tell Darnell and Dad I say hi.”

  “I love you, Nell.”

  “I love you too, Zo, bye.”

  “I love you too,” Marks adds, after I drop my phone in my purse.

  “I know.”

  He takes my hand and kisses it and I move closer to him in the car and keep holding his hand.

  “Did Dad know all this about you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “He had me investigated. He asked if there was anything I wanted to discuss with him before he made the call. I told him no, but to call me after he obtained the results.”

  “Is that when you told him you wanted to marry me?”