The Outside Child

by Tiffany L. Warren

  “I am starving,” Marilyn said. “I’ve been fasting for the past few days.”

  Fasting? Brayden sighed. His mother fasted and prayed when she believed she had an insurmountable problem.

  They sat at the table, and a waitress appeared immediately.

  “I will have a pineapple juice mimosa,” Marilyn said. “And would you mind bringing me a selection of items from the buffet? I am worn out.”

  The waitress seemed confused and unsure of what she should do next. She wasn’t supposed to serve guests from the buffet, but since Brayden was a star player from the Dallas Knights, Marilyn felt the rules didn’t apply to her.

  The hostess, who was used to seeing Brayden and Marilyn at the restaurant, ran up to the table.

  “She wants me to serve her from the buffet,” the waitress said.

  “Absolutely, Mrs. Carpenter,” the hostess said. “Would you like that as well, Mr. Carpenter?”

  Brayden opened his mouth to object, but his mother beat him to respond.

  “Yes, he would like that. Thank you, dear.”

  Brayden smiled at the hostess and waitress, hoping that it conveyed his apologies. Their tip was going to be epic.

  “Why do you dislike Chenille?”

  Marilyn’s nostrils flared just a tiny bit, showing her mild irritation at the question.

  “Oh, goodness. You’re getting right to the point, I see. She was perfectly fine, just not my daughter-in-law.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I don’t have any intentions on getting emotionally attached to her. She’s not your wife.”

  “I think she might be my wife. I have never met anyone like her.”

  “I didn’t send you to all those private schools and to the University of Texas for you to marry a ’round-the-way hood chick.”

  “She’s not that.”

  “A respectable young woman wouldn’t show up to our family reunion with those nappy little ropes all over her head.”

  Brayden stared at his mother in disbelief. He wanted to rewind the conversation and never ask her opinion.

  “I love her hair in braids.”

  “What happened to the kinds of girls you dated in high school?”

  Brayden shook his head. The majority of the girls he’d dated in high school had been white or biracial.

  “And you just had to find the darkest berry in the bunch,” she blurted in an exasperated tone.

  “Mama, she is your complexion.”

  It was true. Chenille’s skin color was the same smooth ebony as Marilyn’s.

  “Listen, I’m not saying anything bad about her. I’m just saying you can do better. Get a woman befitting your status.”

  “She is befitting my status. Chenille is incredible, and I hate that you can’t see that.”

  “Have you met her family yet?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “I want to make you a small wager, son. Five dollars says that she’s the best her family has to offer. She probably made it out of a broken home. I bet she learned to apply makeup by watching her mama get dressed for dates with different men every night.”

  Brayden scoffed. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Five dollars. Wait, you don’t have to give me the money. When you find out that what I’m saying is true, I want you to walk away and act like you never knew her.”

  Brayden remained silent. He didn’t care what kind of home Chenille came from. If what his mother said was true, then it made Chenille even more of a miracle. It meant she had the tenacity to overcome any situation.

  “I can tell you aren’t listening to me, as if I haven’t lived a lifetime,” Marilyn said. “If you don’t hear anything else I say, hear this: whatever you do, don’t get that girl pregnant.”

  “I’m going to marry her and then get her pregnant. Maybe three or four times. I want sons and daughters with her. And they’re going to be your grandchildren.”

  “There’s nothing I can do to stop you, but I really wish you would investigate further before giving this woman your entire heart and your last name.”

  Brayden shook his head sadly. He had already given Chenille his entire heart. He wished his mother would celebrate with him.

  “Mama, can you please just be happy for me?”

  Marilyn sighed. “I’ve spent your whole life protecting you. I can’t help feeling like this.”

  “I’m a grown man now. And I’ve chosen my woman. You don’t have to like her, but you’ll respect her, or you won’t be in my life.”

  “Meet the family first, son, before you decide to kick me out of your life. Then, talk to me afterwards.”

  Brayden wasn’t afraid of meeting Chenille’s family. If anything, meeting them would prove everything that he already knew. The people who raised the love of his life had to be amazing.

  Didn’t they?

  Chapter 18

  When Brayden casually mentioned that he wanted to meet my parents, he caught me off guard. I mean, I was going to invite him at some point, maybe even for Thanksgiving or Christmas, but he beat me to it. His request seemed urgent, though, so I couldn’t deny it.

  I asked my parents to come to my house to meet Brayden, thinking that it might be a more neutral location than their house, in case things don’t go well. But I’m tripping. Why wouldn’t things go well? They will go well.

  Kara is here, helping me clean. The cleaning part isn’t for Brayden. It’s for my mama. She’s always trying to find some dirt when she comes over here, and she always does. It seems my cleaning is never on par with hers. The last thing I want to do is have her embarrass me in front of Brayden about my housekeeping. Because it wouldn’t even be on purpose if she did call me out. She can’t help it. She just blurts stuff out.

  “When is the last time you high dusted?” Kara asks while standing on a chair in front of my bookshelves.

  “High dust? Is that different from regular dusting?”

  “Yes. It’s when you make an effort to get the dust from high places, like the tops of these bookshelves.”

  She takes a swipe at the shelf and a huge cloud of dust rises into the air. Kara coughs and shakes her head.

  “Oh . . . I guess never,” I reply. “I had no idea there was that much dust up there. My bad.”

  Kara wipes the rest of the shelf off and then sits down. There is dust in her hair. I feel horrible about that. I’m sure she just got her hair done.

  “Girl, you should’ve hired a housecleaning service.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Yes, it is. Brayden is going to think you’re disgusting.”

  “He loves me, and shoot, I run a business. I don’t have time to high dust, low dust, or any other dust.”

  “Do you love him?”

  I sit at the dining room table and fold my hands in front of me. I have been afraid to say this out loud, like if I let the words out into the atmosphere something might go wrong. It might be jinxed.

  “Well? Do you?” Kara pesters.

  “Kara, he’s everything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean all the stuff we sit around and say we want the perfect guy to be. He’s all of it.”

  “So why the hesitation?”

  “Because what happens when women fall in love?”

  “We get married and live happily the hell after?”

  “No . . . we start having children, making casseroles, and decorating for holidays. And then we disappear.”

  “Maybe you won’t. Not with Brayden. He supports you so much.”

  “He does. And I do love him.”

  There. It’s out. In the atmosphere.

  “See. That wasn’t so bad. It was a lot easier than cleaning this house.”

  “Shut up.”

  “What are you cooking? At least you have that part down. Has he ever had your cooking?”

  “I’m doing my buttermilk fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, Brussel sprouts, and candied yams. Baking a co
uple things, too. Pound cake, and he mentioned that he loves a good peach cobbler.”

  “When does he get here?”

  “In the morning.”

  Kara bursts into laughter. “Girl, when are you going to have time to cook all that?”

  “As soon as we finish cleaning, I’m going to do my baking. Everything else I can do in the morning.”

  “I was thinking you’d have to pick him up from the airport. He hired a car service, I’m sure.”

  “No. My daddy is picking him up.”

  “You’re leaving Brayden and your father alone for their first meeting?”

  “Yes. What’s wrong with that? My daddy is cool.”

  “Nobody’s daddy is cool with the man who’s hitting his daughter’s spot.”

  I crack up laughing, but then my laughter fades. I hadn’t thought about it like that. I don’t think my father is going to say or do anything crazy in front of Brayden.

  Wait.

  Oh, my goodness. My father is going to absolutely say something crazy in front of Brayden.

  Chapter 19

  Brayden stood in front of the baggage claim at Atlanta Hartsfield Airport rehearsing his speech to Chenille’s father over and over in his mind. It wasn’t a coincidence that Mr. Abrams volunteered to pick him up from the airport. It was confirmation that this was the right time to do what he planned to do.

  Brayden’s mother’s words weighed heavily on his heart. He didn’t need to meet Chenille’s parents to decide about the love of his life, but he wanted his mother to accept the woman he had chosen. Maybe if he complied with this one requirement, Marilyn would stop complaining.

  When the glistening white old-school Cadillac pulled up in front of Brayden, he chuckled. He imagined Chenille’s father driving a pickup truck or something like that. She was so organic and earthy, he expected her parents to be laid back.

  Mr. Abrams got out of the car, and Brayden couldn’t do anything but smile. The man was clean. He had his autumn colors on, with his dark mustard shade leather sport coat and cream fitted t-shirt. The jeans were the kind worn by a much younger man, but Mr. Abrams had taken care of himself, and was in great shape, so the fitted jeans looked just fine. The outfit was made complete with his proper brimmed brown hat that matched his shoes.

  “Come on there, young man,” Mr. Abrams said. “Don’t want a ticket. Put your bag in the trunk and get in.”

  Brayden lifted his eyebrows in surprise. He’d expected a warmer welcome. It’s not every day a man’s daughter brings home a professional football player. Maybe Mr. Abrams wasn’t a football fan.

  “Brayden Carpenter, sir. Good to meet you.”

  Mr. Abrams nodded politely. “Kent Abrams. It’s good to finally meet you as well.”

  The two men got into the car on opposite sides. Brayden wondered if the finally was a bad thing. It could mean that Mr. Abrams had been anticipating their meeting. It could also mean that Brayden had taken too long to show his face.

  He wasn’t sure which was true.

  “Mr. Abrams,” Brayden asked as they pulled away from the curb, “I’d like to take you for a cup of coffee, before we meet up with your wife and Chenille.”

  “Coffee, huh?”

  “You don’t drink coffee?”

  “I do. But it’s afternoon. I’d much prefer a taste of bourbon.”

  Brayden laughed. “You’re going to get us in trouble with the ladies.”

  “Nah. One drink won’t ruffle them too much. Call me Kent, by the way.”

  “One drink it is, then,” Brayden said with a grin.

  Brayden relaxed a little. Kent had put them on a first-name basis. That was a good thing.

  “Surprised the hell out of me when Chenille said she was introducing us.”

  “Really, why?”

  “The last guy she brought home didn’t end up sticking.”

  “It wasn’t her idea that we meet. It was mine.”

  Kent gave a laugh that came from his belly. “Might’ve been your idea, but Chenille is all grit, son. If she didn’t want it, it wouldn’t be happening.”

  “Fair enough. She is all grit.”

  Kent pulled into the parking lot of a small bar and stopped the car.

  “Let’s go and get that bourbon,” Kent said.

  Brayden followed Kent into the bar, noticing their difference in height and width. Kent was not a small man, but he was nowhere near as imposing as Brayden. So much for the idea that women fell in love with their fathers. Looks-wise the men couldn’t be more different.

  The two men sat at the bar, and Kent removed his hat, revealing a head full of salt-and-pepper curls. He looked much older that way, but still as distinguished.

  “Your regular?” the bartender asked Kent.

  Kent nodded. “Two. Get one for him, too.”

  It felt strange not to be recognized. He was known in Atlanta, but not at this hole in the wall bar. There wasn’t a place in Dallas Brayden could go without being noticed.

  The drinks came quickly: double shots of bourbon in grown-man glasses. Brayden raised his glass.

  “Cheers.”

  Kent nodded and smiled. “I hope we’ve got something to celebrate.”

  “Well, now that you say that, there is something I’d like to talk to you about.”

  Kent drank his bourbon all the way down. Brayden did the same. They set the glasses down on the table and stared at each other.

  “Speak your mind,” Kent said.

  Brayden wondered if it was too soon or if he should just go ahead and say it. He didn’t know Kent. Maybe he’d think Brayden was an idiot for doing this. Maybe he’d be insulted that the first thing Brayden wanted to talk about was marrying his daughter.

  What if he didn’t bless a damn thing? What would the rest of the weekend look like then?

  Quickly, Brayden decided.

  “I want to ask Chenille to be my wife, sir. I know it’s old-fashioned, but I wanted to get your blessing first.”

  Kent smiled. Then he chuckled. Then his chuckle turned into a full-bodied laugh.

  “Sir?”

  “I sure appreciate you being a man and asking for my daughter’s hand in marriage.”

  “But . . .”

  “She would be mad as hell about this.”

  Brayden relaxed, exhaled, and joined in the laughter.

  “I know she would, but I want your respect, Kent. I didn’t think you’d respect me if I didn’t ask.”

  “I’m sure that when I get to know you, I’ll have plenty to respect. I trust my baby girl’s judgment.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You planning to do it this weekend?”

  “Um, no, sir. I’m still picking out the ring.”

  “So, it’s a secret? You trust me to keep it?”

  Brayden nodded. “I don’t know if I trust Mrs. Abrams, though.”

  “Smart man. Let’s go see about those women. I’m sure my daughter is panicking about me saying something crazy to you.”

  “Why would she think that?”

  “Because I pegged her last boyfriend from the very start. Said he’d cheat, and didn’t mind that he heard me.”

  “How did you know?”

  “He couldn’t keep his eyes off my wife’s behind. His girlfriend’s mother. Didn’t even have enough respect to do that.”

  “She didn’t listen to you.”

  “She did not.”

  “Maybe she will this time.”

  Kent shook his head. “This time I’ll keep my opinion to myself. It might give you a fighting chance.”

  Brayden hoped he had more than a chance with Chenille, especially since she already had his heart. He was, however, happy that his mother was wrong so far.

  Kent was going to make a great father-in-law.

  Chapter 20

  My mother loved Brayden from the very start. She’s been fussing over him since he and Daddy came from the airport smelling like bourbon. She was easy, though. My father is harder to impre
ss, so I’m watching him more closely.

  “You met in Jamaica?” Mama asks. “How romantic. Every woman dreams of meeting a handsome, rich man on a vacation.”

  I have never dreamed that.

  “I was there working, though. I was looking for my paycheck.”

  Daddy laughs. “My girl.”

  “She was working, and I was eavesdropping on her conversation with the front desk clerk at the hotel,” Brayden says.

  “He was a lifesaver,” I say. “I owed him a date after he gave me and Kara his hotel suite.”

  “Well, I don’t care what you say, that is romantic,” Mama says.

  “I suppose.”

  Brayden clears his throat, I guess sensing my discomfort with this conversation. It’s not that I don’t want to talk about my man to my parents. It’s just that they’ve only recently seen me brokenhearted, and might not have that image out of their heads yet. The image is only recently removed from the forefront of my mind.

  “Any big holiday plans?” Brayden asks. “Or traditions?”

  “It’s usually just the three of us,” Daddy says. “Unless we get on the road and drive to Baton Rouge to meet up with my brother and his family.”

  Yes, my Louisiana cousins. Mama doesn’t really get along with them—they’re too bougie—but every now and then we do go there for the holidays. I wonder what Mama will think of Brayden’s folks. Marilyn is a step beyond bougie. She acts like a one percenter, but not the mellow generational wealth kind. She acts like the nouveau riche, the ones who are living large now but have government surplus cheese in their history.

  Plus, Marilyn doesn’t like me. So I think she and my mama aren’t going to be fast friends. Or friends at all.

  “Would you like to join us in Dallas for Christmas? I wanted to ask Chenille if she’d come, but I haven’t had the chance.”

  I tighten my lips into a line. “You should’ve asked me. I’ve got a gig.”

  I’m not going to mention that it’s not an important gig. It’s a junior pageant being put on by a local modeling agency. The show is on Christmas morning at an Atlanta megachurch. I can absolutely hand it off to someone else, probably even Kara.

  It doesn’t matter, though. Brayden should’ve asked me first before he invited my parents to Dallas.