by Jade Alyse
“You can get one when you get here. All taken care of.”
“You really want me to come?”
“Yes, Natalie! What kind of question is that?”
“Because, although I haven’t met your parents, I can anticipate that this initial meeting will be a complete surprise to them…”
“This trip will be fine. And besides, you’ll finally get to meet my brothers. They ask about you all the time. They want to know who this black girl is that’s got me all shook up.”
“Aren’t they all married?”
“Not all. Matt isn’t. He refuses to be.”
“So, basically, he’ll be the one to talk you out of marrying me.”
“Tal, once he meets you, he’ll want to marry you himself.”
“Ha, we’ll see about that.”
“I’ll be back in Georgia at the end of the week. Pick me up from the airport?”
“And stay where? Surely not at my apartment.”
“What? Oh, right…you’re still mad about that fight. Six hundred sounds fine.”
“And we can look at the places that I want to look at?”
“Yes, fine…that’s fine,” he sighed. “I can agree to this now because we won’t be living in Georgia, will we?”
“Nope…it’s Chapel Hill, North Carolina for us…”
“Never been…heard it’s nice…”
“Me too,” she agreed. “So start looking for a job…”
“Fine, fine,” he huffed. “My flight arrives at two in the afternoon. Can you be on time for once?”
“Possibly…”
“Well, hell, I guess I’ll see you at three. I love you.”
“Love you more,” she said with a teasing smile to herself. “Goodbye.”
. . .
Brandon and Natalie caught an early flight out of Athens, the morning of October 13th, two days before the anniversary party and just three days following Natalie’s twenty-third. They caught a connector flight in Newark and arrived in Albany sometime just before lunchtime. From there, they caught a cab to the Greene palace in Saratoga, Brandon, pointing out various landmarks, including the Saratoga Performing Arts Center, where his mother, a former ballet dancer, worked and performed in when she was younger.
The Spa City was nestled at the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains, a city known for its quiet sway. She felt as if she’d stepped into a Louisa May Alcott story, like Little Women. Every building seemed to adhere to the same theme of the Victorian era. It was a land dotted with mineral springs and ridged bridges crossing them. The population was a staggering ninety-three percent white, as Natalie read before her visit, making her throat feel parched.
They passed Saratoga Springs High School, a long brick edifice that had been renovated recently, since he graduated in the early summer of 1997, where he played varsity basketball all four years.
“I wasn’t any good,” Brandon told her, smiling. “I was tall, so they stuck me right under the goal, so I could just toss the ball in. I was the tallest boy in the entire school. Soccer was my saving grace. I only used basketball to get the ladies. How’s that for embarrassing?”
“I can see that,” Natalie told him, reaching for his hand. “I’ve seen you play with Scotty…it’s not a pretty sight…”
He then pointed out a pond, a couple of miles from his house, fenced in by blooming trees, where he said that when he was ten, he fell in and would have drowned, had it not been for his father, who just so happened to be driving by and saw him.
“Well, thank God,” Natalie replied, squeezing his hand tightly.
The Greene house was located in a small development called Hartford Retreat, set on over twenty acres of forested land, including a private lake in the back, and the cab pulled into a long, winding driveway, gliding down the concrete incline, to a house, perched beneath a heavily wooded lot, the brick domicile, bathed in speckled morning sunlight.
Brandon and Natalie looked at each other, but remained silent, and then they each removed themselves from the car, she, slowly examining the house of Brandywine brick and forest green shutters with her eyes, trying to picture Brandon living there, seeing it perfectly. She felt her heartbeat then, felt it clearly, watched Brandon pay the cab fare, watched him retrieve their bags from the trunk, she took her bag from him, and reached for his free hand nervously.
“Just breathe,” he told her quietly.
And she nodded, and tried, took a few deep breaths at a time, but she only grew more nervous, started to picture what the Greene’s actually looked like, fearing how they would treat her, hoping that they were as nice and cool-natured as her Brandon was.
They approached the front door, and Brandon placed his bag down, sighed, and rang the doorbell twice. Natalie licked her dry lips slowly.
It wasn’t long before they heard the light patter of feet coming toward the door. And the door opened, and a tall, white-haired man appeared behind it, he, who shared Brandon’s easy features, t-shaped build and thick hair. He smiled at Brandon, and then looked in Natalie’s direction, glancing her over once.
After a short pause of complete silence, Brandon cleared his throat, glanced down at her and said, “Dad, this is Natalie, my fiancée.”
Mr. Greene’s face did something funny and he murmured, “Oh, dear,” between two, thin beige lips. He then sighed, turned his head in the direction of the interior and yelled, “Martha! Your son’s home! And he’s got a fiancée!”
. . .
Natalie Chandler, the poor girl, now felt her difference, now felt darker than ever, as she sat in the living room on their stiff cream-colored Brookshire sofa, twiddling her thumbs. Her throat was dry; no one had offered her a drink. His parents, as lofty in height and build as their son was, had barely looked at her, had barely glanced her over. Instead, they’d ushered their son into another room, obviously close, because she could still hear their voices, could hear her knight in shining armor cursing at his parents, something she would never dream of doing to her mama, her grandmother, any one of older age and importance to her.
“I want Nat to be my wife, why can’t you understand that?”
“She comes from a different place, son! A very different place…”
“Why the hell does that matter? She’s beautiful, she’s well-educated, she wants to be a doctor…hell, she’s more motivated than Mark and John and Matthew put together!”
“That’s not the point!”
“Well what is the point, mother? Why don’t you say it! Why don’t you both just say what’s really on your mind…?”
Her heart warmed to the way he was defending her, though she still thought that things would be easier if she hadn’t chosen this….
A door creaked, and the three lofty figures appeared in the living room seconds later, all three with the same spent expressions on their faces.
Natalie Chandler climbed to her feet, clasped her hands behind her back, swallowed hard, and Brandon pinching her elbow between his big hand, pushed her slightly forward, clearing his throat.
“Now, mother, father, this is Natalie…Natalie Chandler, my fiancée…”
She tried to smile, tried really hard, knew that it looked very fake, but didn’t care. She was finally meeting his parents! And this is the way they treat her?
They were Jack and Martha Greene, proud parents of four handsome sons, him being the youngest, and the most promising. Will run Greene Contracting…
Their hair, similarly white, snow-white, both thin, both stiff, the father, who was probably once very handsome when he was younger, wore a cashmere sweater, warm brown, making his skin appear as pasty as possible; the mother, who looked even more stiff than the father, arms crossed coldly, in a pale green tea-length dress, short curly hair, which fell across her icy blue eyes naturally, tight-lipped.
They hated her. They despised her. They wanted her out of their lives. She was the typical story: she was financially modest, she was boney, she was quiet, she was black. Not too dark of course.
Heck, if she were any darker, would she have even been invited into the home? She was still black, a “darky”, with dominant genes, which meant that they would have a dark grandchild; a first in the Greene dynasty, and that was obviously something that they weren’t ready for.
Jack Greene extended his hand to her, hesitantly, and her prince still held onto her a little. She attempted to smile again.
“Natalie,” the tall man said in a deep voice. “Jack Greene…welcome to Saratoga Springs.”
She did some type of old-fashioned curtsy, like some dumb girl who couldn’t speak, and she continued her fake smile. She turned her attention to the mother, of whom she was most afraid of, of whom the son had an elevated affection for.
Martha Greene extended her hand as well to the boney girl, cautiously, as if she’d get cooties.
“Martha Greene…pleased to meet you, Natalie Chandler…”
Why did she say her name like that? So pained? So formal? Had they yet to accept that she was about to be a part of their lives?
“Please, come have a seat, Ms. Chandler…we’ve heard a lot of about you,” the mother said. So, she did.
Her man, confident, sexy, aggressive, sits next to her on the sofa facing his parents, and he puts his arm gallantly around her, owning her, claiming her.
She stared ardently at the Greenes glaring back.
“So our son tells us you want to be a doctor,” Martha Greene said, crossing her legs with graceful sophistication.
Natalie nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And you’re from?” the father questioned, leaning in.
“Decatur, sir. Decatur, Georgia.”
She didn’t want her accent to get the best of her, so she did her best to remain as sophisticated as possible.
“Ah, how quaint,” the mother said, half-smiling.
Then came the silence, the awkward kind. And her gallant Brandon cleared his throat and spoke.
“Nat applied to five different medical schools and got into all of them,” the son began. “She’s decided to go to Duke.”
“Where did you apply, Natalie?” The father asked in the same deep voice that her son dons, which, of course, drives her mad.
All of the places that her mama didn’t want her to go.
“John’s Hopkins, Harvard, Wake Forest, Duke, and University of North Carolina, sir.”
“Well, that’s very impressive, Natalie,” Martha Greene said.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Now, can I pose a question to you both?”
“Of course you can, Mother,” the son replied.
“Natalie has decided to go to Duke for medical…will you move to North Carolina, son?”
“Yes.”
“She will be in school a number of years,” Jack Greene said.
“I don’t care.”
“What about the business? You’ve said your entire life that that’s what you want to do…take over Jack’s business.”
She looked at him for the first time since they got into the house. Her stomach fell.
“Well,” the son began, still looking at her. “Things change. I can put the business on hold for a few years before I try and run it. I go where she goes.”
“That is not wise.”
“I don’t care. I don’t care about the money and I don’t care about the business as much as I thought I did.”
Both his parents were silent. They will not start an argument now; they will wait until they can have their son alone again. They are far too sophisticated for a public altercation.
“Very well then,” Martha Greene said, tossing her wispy-white hair out of her eyes.
The son took Natalie’s hand.
“How did you two meet?” Jack Greene asked. “Class? An organization? Dormitory?”
Oh, no, it was nothing like that…it was all a mistake, a humongous accident.
The old Greene couple listened intently to the story of the young engaged couple; how they met, how they came to be, why Natalie had that ring on her finger, why Brandon now hated Sophia. And when they finished, Brandon’s parents only looked at each other silently, Martha Greene’s small mouth, a gaping mess. Jack Greene turned to glance at his son, visibly attempting to search for the right words.
“What an…uh…interesting story,” said the snow-white Jack Greene. “So…it happened just like that? Just like you explained? Brandon invited you to our little party and here you are.”
Brandon looked at his Natalie, smiled warmly, turned back to his furrow-browed father and nodded slowly, “Yes, Dad, just like that…”
“It’s unusual, we know,” Natalie Chandler told them. “But, we also know that our getting together is…um…unusual, as well…”
“A surprise, surely,” Martha Greene said.
The white and polished Greene coupling exchanged glances; the mother’s legs crossed tightly, the father clearing his throat nervously. Natalie sat impossibly close to her fiancé on the family’s impossibly uncomfortable cream Brookshire sofa, and his large hand moved to her upper thigh, causing the fair Mrs. Greene to part her lips slightly.
“Have you two set a date, then?”
Brandon and Natalie, then, exchanged glances, realizing that they hadn’t spoken much about any wedding at all.
“No,” Brandon Greene told his parents.
“No?” Martha Greene clarified.
Both the prince and the Georgia peach shook their heads like sheepish children.
Silence fell upon the room, and lasted for many, many seconds, Natalie, the poor girl, feeling her comfort level and equally her confidence falling by the wayside.
Then, Mrs. Greene looked upon her son’s face, which matched her own, caution tickling her throat, and said, “Brandon, you must realize that this is strange for us…as much as it is for her, I’m sure…”
Her…as if poor Natalie wasn’t even present…
“We didn’t even know that this girl existed,” the mother continued. “And suddenly, you bring her into our home and say that she’s going to be your wife? We thought you were still with Sophia…?”
“Mom, I haven’t mentioned Sophia in a year,” Brandon said. “Shouldn’t that mean something? And ‘she’ has a name…”
The mother fell tight-lipped.
“The reason why I brought her to this house, was so you could get to know her,” he told them, glancing down at his fiancée once. “And I trust that you’ll get to know her. I understand that this may be shocking…but…I love her…and I want you to see it as much as I feel it…”
Their meeting showed slight success when Natalie was invited to stay for dinner. Then, she figured that they had no choice but to invite her in, because she had nowhere else to go. Elation also warmed her, when she heard the news of being invited to stay in the guest bedroom for a couple of nights. Martha Greene herself, Brandon and his tiny brown companion in tow, were shown the comfortable bedroom, draped in pastel colors, a wrought iron sleigh bed, fanciful curtains, and a picturesque view of a small lake on the backside of the house. Brandon Greene, who’d been carrying her bag, laid it down on the bed, instructed her that his room was past the hall bathroom, to the right, if she needed anything. He had to go pick up his grandmother from the retirement home twenty miles away in the next town over, so she could come for dinner. She then watched his mother fuss over him, messing with his hair, telling him that she’d never liked it when it got too long.
“Mom,” he whined, pushing her hand away. “I like it this way…”
“Well, what happens when you’re going to look for a job? I’ll bet they’ll feel the same way that I do about your hair…”
“It’s fine, right, Tallie?” Brandon asked her. “Tell my mother that it’s fine.”
Of course to Natalie it was fine. If Brandon were bald he would still be just as handsome, because he had that face. She wasn’t sure if she was in the mood to spite the mother so quickly, noticing the way his mother looked at her, as if her opinion of his looks sho
uldn’t matter at all, and she resisted the urge to reach up and tousle his hair the way she did whenever they were laying around together. Instead, Natalie Chandler looked up at her magnificent-looking fiancé, sighed and said, “Well, it could stand to be a little shorter, baby…”
“Precisely,” Martha Greene said, overly pleased with herself. “I can schedule a haircut for you in the morning. I would like everyone at the anniversary dinner to see the Brandon Greene that they’re used to seeing…”
Brandon only sighed with defeat, shrugged his shoulders and said, “Whatever you say, Mom…”
“Very well then,” Mrs. Greene said, taking her sons arm gingerly. “We should be going…Brandon, you’re driving…”
“Mom, if I drive, Grandmother will drive me crazy…”
“That’s just something you’ll have to deal with…let’s get going.”
Martha Greene started to push Brandon in the direction of the door, but Brandon stopped, and turned to Natalie. He took her shoulder, kissed her goodbye, whispered, “I’ll be back soon…I love you,” into her face and continued his way out the door with his mother, disappearing down the hallway, leaving her to the silence and chill of the bedroom. The whistling breeze hit the small-paned window.
She got the urge to roam the house, following an extended stint, sitting on the bed in the large house, twiddling her thumbs.
She tiptoed toward the bedroom door, peeked out, and stepped out into the hallway, barefoot. A red carpet runner followed the length of the corridor. She stepped slowly, like a little child, pinching at the hem of her slimming ivory tea-length dress, her finely coarse hair, falling gracefully into her eyes as she ran her fingers along the eggshell walls, and white chair rails. The house, cool and inaudible, had a comforting scent of fresh linen, running the perimeter of the interior.
Natalie Chandler approached the top of the loosely winding, open staircase of cherry hardwood, the railings trimmed in crisp white. She descended them slowly, the open foyer ahead of her, the vaulted ceilings above her, inviting in fresh northern sunlight, the walls around her, tastefully painted in a sage hue, the living room to the left, the dining room to the right. She headed around the back of the staircase, found an empty kitchen immediately, equipped with a breakfast bar of dark marble, stainless steel appliances with copper-flecked backsplashes, and a pretty bay window with a view of the wooded back lot, with a peek of the sparkling lake. And the hearth room, with brown leather couches, a small coffee table, ottomans and a big screen television as the focal point. It was there that she found the holding spot for all of the family photo albums, and the cherished family photos, trapped in gold framing, mounted on the wooden walls.
