Harmony followed Tori into the living room like she was already a part of the family. And Quentin rushed right behind his daughter…and his fiancée.
"My favorite mother-in-law," Quentin exclaimed before he opened up his arms, leaned over, and embraced my mother.
"Your only mother-in-law," my mom responded with a smile that made me want to growl.
"Not for long, Grandma," Tori said. "Dad's getting married again. And this is his fiancée, Harmony."
"Oh, really?" The smile that was on my mother's face made me want to stomp my foot and scream. Was I the only one who noticed the big fat elephant in the room? I wanted to remind them all that Quentin couldn't marry a woman. He'd tried that with me, and look at how that had turned out.
But the Christmas cheer went on, and as I stood on the sidelines and watched, Quentin and Harmony mixed in as if it were no big deal that a gay man had just introduced a woman as his fiancée.
"Sweetheart!"
It took a couple of blinks for me to turn to the sound of Brock's voice.
"You okay?"
I watched Quentin and Harmony for another moment before I said, "Can I speak to you…in the kitchen?"
He glanced over his shoulder and nodded. "Doesn't look like anyone will miss us."
I rushed ahead of him, moving to the place where the aroma of the slow-baking turkey welcomed us. Waiting for a moment, I stood in silence, making sure we hadn't been followed.
Then, "Did you see that woman, and did you hear what Quentin said?" I was trying to whisper, but it sounded more like a hiss.
"Do you see all of this food?" Brock answered as he lifted a corner of the foil that covered one of the seven dishes that lined the counter. "Man, I can't wait to get stuffed with your mom's stuffing."
"Brock!"
"What?"
"You're not listening to me."
"I am, but I know what you're talking about, and I don't want to talk about it."
"Quentin said he's getting married!" I exclaimed, not caring about what my husband had just said.
He leaned against the counter and sighed, as if he were giving into a conversation that he didn't want to have. Nodding, he said, "I guess you think it's weird that he showed up with her today."
"Uh…yeah."
"Well," Brock began to explain, "he probably only did it because it's Christmas, and he wanted Harmony to spend the afternoon with his children."
"If that were the only weird thing about this, I could handle it, but everything is out of order here. I mean, how old do you think she is?"
He frowned and shrugged. "I don't know. I don't care."
"What about the fact that he called her his fiancée? That means he's engaged." I stopped, and when Brock said nothing, I gave my husband further clarification. "Engaged…to be married."
"Uh…yeah."
"To a woman!"
He looked at me for a moment longer before he turned away and lowered his head to peek into another dish. "Babe, your macaroni and cheese looks so good."
"Brock! Doesn't Quentin saying he's getting married bother you?"
Once again, he faced me. "No," he shook his head, "and I'll only have a problem if it bothers you. Because I'll wonder why you're upset about it."
"I'm not upset…at least not in that way. I'm just trying to figure it out because Quentin's gay!"
Brock shrugged. "That's not my problem."
"Well, suppose Harmony doesn't know?"
"That's not your problem."
"I'm not saying it is. I'm just saying…"
Before I could say anything more, Brock held up his hand. "What Quentin does with his life has nothing to do with you. You don't need to be thinking or worrying about him."
His words were so true. I took a deep breath. "You're right. This is not my business. It's just that I'm…"
"Shocked," Brock finished for me. "I could tell because when Quentin introduced you as Sheridan Hart you didn't go off like you had when he did that before."
"Did he call me Sheridan Hart?" I was so surprised that it sounded like my voice went up an octave.
"See?" Brock laughed. "Yes, he did. But trust me, I understand your being surprised. But that part over there," he motioned with his head toward the living room, "that's his life. This part over here," he wrapped his arms around me, "is yours. And the only time these two lives will meet is at Christmas because of the children. And Christopher's wedding, of course. But besides that…" He stopped as if those three words were a complete thought.
I nodded.
"So, you okay?" he asked.
"I'm okay."
"And you can go back out there and handle this?"
I nodded, but only because I wasn't going to lie out loud. None of this felt normal enough to handle, but I was going to do what my husband wanted. I was going to return to the family festivities and pretend that life was exactly the way it was supposed to be, when Brock and everyone else in that living room knew that it wasn't.
But if they wanted to pretend, so would I. Today was going to be nothing less than one big fairy tale of a Christmas.
Chapter 8
Maybe if I'd had time to talk to Tori while we were setting the table…but I didn't because Evon was there, helping. Or maybe if I'd had time to talk to my mother when we were setting out the food on the buffet…but I didn't because Evon and Harmony were there, helping. Maybe if I'd had time to talk to anyone before we all sat down to our Christmas lunch, I could've stopped the question that had been brewing inside of me.
At least I'd waited until after Brock blessed the food. He was carving the turkey while the rice and gravy, mac and cheese, collard greens, and yams made their way around the table.
The chatter continued as everyone talked about how good the food looked and gave their compliments to my mom, who'd prepared most of the dishes.
My mother had just given her thanks to everyone when my question slipped out of my mouth.
"So, Harmony, did you know that Quentin is gay?"
The world in that dining room stopped cold. Not another word was spoken, not another fork moved, even the air stopped circulating.
In the first moments, I wondered why the room had become so silent. It wasn't until I heard the groan from Christopher and saw the "oh-no-she-didn't" look from Tori that I realized I'd actually asked that question out loud.
I did a quick scan of the faces around the table and every single one of them was shocked. But I wanted to tell them all to stop looking at me that way. They all knew they wanted to ask the same thing.
But since the stares continued, I explained, "I mean…you know…Quentin and I were married for a long time…and I just wondered if he told you our story…since you're engaged…and all."
"Sheridan," my mother tapped her cane on the floor. "Can I speak to you in the kitchen?"
"Sure," I said, though I wondered what my mother could want right at this moment. Harmony was getting ready to give us the scoop, and I didn't want to get up and leave.
For a moment, I thought about asking my mother to wait, but here's the thing—even though I was grown, Beatrice Collins was a black mother. And with a black mother, there were just certain things you didn't do. Telling my mother to wait a few minutes was one of those things.
Everyone was still sitting there with their wide eyes on me. I just smiled and said, "I'll be right back," as if they would miss me. Then I followed my mom into the kitchen.
"What's up, Mom?"
My mother stared at me for so long that I started to get uncomfortable. "What's up?" she finally said. "I swear I raised you better!"
I squinted, trying to figure out what my mother meant. "What're you talking about?"
"How rude can you be?"
"What?"
"Asking Harmony that question."
My mother lost me there. "What was wrong with that? I just wanted to know if she knew."
"It was rude."
"No, it wasn't," I insisted. "I wish someone had asked me that b
efore I married Quentin."
My mom sighed. "Is that what this is about? You're still mad at Quentin? After all of these years? After this wonderful life that you have?"
"I'm not mad at him, Mom. I just wanted to know how a gay man could suddenly be marrying a woman?"
"Why do you care?"
I shrugged. I wasn't sure if it was so much that I cared; I think it was more that I was curious. I think.
My mother said, "What he does and why he's doing it is none of your business. That's between Quentin and Harmony. It has nothing to do with you, it has nothing to do with your children, so you need to keep your nose out of it."
"I'm not…"
My mother went into that mom thing and held up her hand. "I'm not playing, Sheridan," she said. "We need to just go back in there and enjoy ourselves over all of that good food I slaved so hard to prepare. Just let everyone enjoy their Christmas, and you keep your curiosity to yourself."
What I wanted to do was cross my arms and stomp my feet since my mother
was treating me like an insolent teenager. But instead I nodded, then made a motion with my hand for my mother to go back to the dining room in front of me. Then I followed her.
Inside the dining room, the conversation continued as if no one had been disturbed by me or my question. And I have to say, that bothered me even more. I didn't care what my mother said; my mom and everybody else wanted to ask the same question. It was a perfectly normal question, and after what I'd been through with Quentin, I deserved an answer. After all, it wasn't like I'd gone to his home and gotten in his business. He'd brought this to my house.
But the fact that Harmony hadn't answered, and the fact that she seemed only to be surprised by how direct I was, made me believe that Harmony did know Quentin's history.
So, why was she with Quentin? What kind of woman would marry a gay man?
And then it hit me!
"So, Harmony, where are you from?" my mother asked.
At first, my mother's question threw me off. Wasn't she the one who had just told me not to ask questions? But then, I realized my mother and her questions were exactly what I needed to find out the truth.
So as Harmony talked, I listened and kept my eyes on her.
"From Detroit," Harmony said. She paused for a moment as she chewed the rest of the yams that she'd just put in her mouth. Then, "I was born and raised there. Stayed until I left for college."
I almost stopped her there to ask when she'd graduated from college since I was curious about her age, too. But I decided I'd keep my focus on one thing at a time.
Harmony kept talking about how she loved Detroit and hated what was going on in that city now. And as she talked, I kept my mouth shut and my eyes on her. I stared, I searched, I squinted, and then finally, I sighed.
Harmony's throat was as smooth as the rest of her skin; she didn't have an Adam's apple.
Harmony was born a woman. So there went that theory.
"How did you two meet?" my mother asked.
For someone who'd just told me to stop with the questions, my mother sure did have a lot of her own.
"We met at a nurses’ convention where Quentin was speaking."
"Oh, you're a nurse?" I asked.
The room went silent, and it almost felt like everyone was holding their breath…as if they were waiting for me to add an addendum to my question. Something that would shock and embarrass them all.
But when I said nothing else, a huge exhale filled the room and Harmony answered.
"Yes; I'm an RN."
"In fact, that's how I actually met Harmony," Quentin piped in. "As she said, I was one of the presenters at their awards ceremony, and I presented her with her pin for fifteen years of service."
"Fifteen years?" my mother said before I could get the words out. "Really?"
Harmony laughed. "I know what you're thinking. Everyone says that I look so young. Sometimes when I walk into a patient's room, they ask to see my drivers' license."
"Well, you know what they say," Tori piped in. "Black don't crack." She waved her fork in the air.
"What you know about that?" When my mother asked that, everyone laughed…except for me.
I didn't see anything funny. Okay, so Harmony wasn't twenty-one like I originally thought. And though I thought she was still a little young for Quentin, who was I to judge when my younger husband was sitting right next to me. But age was only a number and not the issue. The issue was—Harmony was a woman.
"Well, black sure 'nuff don't crack," Quentin said. "I was up on that stage and when Harmony walked out, I was like, 'Bam!'"
Again laughter, again not from me. I tried to imagine that scene. Quentin on stage speaking, and then this voluptuous woman comes out…and then, what? Her looks made him stop?
No! I didn't believe that. Quentin wasn't into women.
That's why I couldn't help it. That's why another question slipped right through my lips. "So, Quentin, when did you stop being gay?" When the table quieted and Quentin frowned at me like he wanted to fight me, I explained, "I mean, what made you change your mind? I didn't know that could happen." I was hoping that at least somebody would look at me and nod their agreement. But just like before, no one looked like they were on my side.
"Oh, come on now." First, I looked at Brock, then, Tori, Christopher and Evon, and finally, my mother. "Y'all know you want to know. I'm just the only one bold enough to ask." No one said a word. So to lighten it up a bit, I added, "It kinda makes you want to say, 'Where they do that at?'" Again laughter, but this time, I was the only one who laughed.
Tori moaned, Brock shook his head, and my mother gave me a wicked side-eye glare.
Christopher said, "Ma, can I speak to you…in the kitchen?" He was already standing.
What did he want? I was tempted to tell him no, but then, when I glanced around the table, I thought it might be best for me to excuse myself, even if it were just for a moment.
I followed my son, and once we were alone, I faced him. Christopher stood, all six-feet-two of him looming over me. With his arms crossed and his lips pressed together, he presented quite a threatening picture.
Except for one thing—I was still the mama. And just like Beatrice Collins, I was a black mama, and Christopher knew that. So he wasn't going to take this too far.
That's why I said, "You have a problem with me asking questions, too?"
He nodded. "Yeah, your questions and your language."
I frowned. "Language?"
He freed his arms and held out his hands to me. "'Where they do that at?’ Really, Ma?"
I laughed, but when Christopher didn't laugh with me, I said, "Oh come on. You know that was funny. I was just trying to take the edge off since everyone seemed so upset."
"You think?"
"What's the big deal, Christopher? You know everybody sitting at that table is thinking the same thing, but I'm the only one who has the guts to ask."
"No, Ma, that's not it. You're the only one thinking it, 'cause the rest of us are just gonna let Dad live his life. I mean, really, why do you care?"
Now, I had to pause. Because that was the same question that Mom had asked me. "I don't care," I said. "I'm just asking a few questions."
"Questions that are none of your business. Just leave it alone."
"It's just…"
"Come on, Ma, please. I invited Evon to have dinner with us because I knew you and Grandma were going to stick your foot in the food and she was gonna see all the love in our family."
"So how am I stopping that?"
"Because you're sticking your foot in your mouth. You're making everyone uncomfortable. Just stop it with all the questions!"
Why was everyone pretending that I was doing something wrong? I was just asking questions, and I wasn't going to stop until somebody gave me answers. But I looked into Christopher's eyes…and he was begging me.
"Okay," I said with a sigh. "I'll bite my tongue."
"And bite anything else you have
to, please, Ma!"
"I said okay." And I would keep that promise. I would just do whatever I had to do to make it through the rest of this lunch. Maybe if I got Quentin and his fiancée out of here, my questions would go with him.
Yeah, that's what I would do. Just get everyone to finish up the rest of their lunch, gulp down their dessert, and twenty minutes from now, I'd be free!
With that plan in my mind, I hugged Christopher. "I'm sorry."
"It's all good. I just wanna make sure that Evon doesn't give me back that ring."
I was glad when Christopher chuckled with me. "She's not gonna do that. She knows she has a good thing in you."
"Yeah, but she might run for the hills after spending this afternoon with my crazy mama."
"Okay, okay. I get it." I followed Christopher back into the dining room where Evon stood, clearing away the dinner plates.
"I'll do that," I said, taking over. "You just sit down and enjoy yourself."
Ordinarily, I would've been happy for the help. And cleaning up with Evon, would've given me even more time to bond with her. But right now, I couldn't think about bonding. Every bit of energy had to go to keeping my mouth shut.
So cleaning up was a good distraction. Because busy hands keep the tongue silent. I was sure that was a scripture somewhere in the Bible. And if it weren’t, it needed to be.
"Are you sure you don't want any help?" Harmony asked. "I'd be happy to." She pushed back her chair.
The sincerity in her eyes and her voice made me want to apologize for everything that I'd said. My intent was never to make anyone uncomfortable.
Before Harmony could rise all the way, though, I held up my hand. "No seriously. I just want everyone to have a good time today, so just stay here. I've got it under control." I paused and added, "But thank you," hoping that Harmony would understand that I meant no harm.
When Harmony smiled back, I was relieved. All was well, and the conversation once again resumed at the table.
While everyone chatted, I cleared the table. But even as I worked, the questions wouldn't leave me alone. And now, there was a new question tossed into the mix—why did I care?
Inside the kitchen, I took my time stacking the dishes on the counter. I was about to rinse them and then put them in the dishwasher, but instead, I just paced the length of the kitchen. All of these questions rolled around in my head. They wouldn't leave me alone, and I was afraid to go back into the dining room. Because something evil was going on in there. Something had control of my tongue, and I couldn't stop my thoughts from slipping out. If I had my way, I would've just stay in the kitchen. I wouldn't leave until everyone was out of the house.
Merry Ex-Mas Page 6
