Welcome Back, My Love

by Niobia Bryant

  “No third wheeling for me today. I have an appointment with a new client,” Neema said, looking back over her shoulder as she opened the front door.

  She was a talented interior decorator who had recently opened her own design firm.

  “Good luck, Neema,” Armstrong and Meena said in unison.

  “You really can tell us apart?” Meena asked as soon as the front door closed behind her sister.

  “Yup,” Armstrong insisted, rising from the couch to stroll into the kitchen and grab two bottles of water from the fridge.

  He opened the cap to one and took a deep sip, feeling refreshed as he made his way back to the twin’s stylishly decorated living room. Meena was staring off into the distance at nothing. Uh-oh.

  She was a smart woman who was in touch with her opinions and her identity. It made for interesting debates and dialogues, but it also could lead to Q & A sessions that wore him out as she forced him to delve deeper. Armstrong was an admitted surface thinker most times, it was the key to his good-natured personality, so most times he didn’t want to see more than what something—anything—appeared to be.

  “I brought you a water,” he said, handing it to her, admitting to himself that he felt a little trepidation. He gave her a big toothy smile—his charmer—as she looked up at him and accepted the drink.

  “Why?” Meena asked.

  Her favorite question.

  “Why what?” he asked, pressing his thighs against the back of the sofa as he took another sip.

  She looked away from him for just a moment. Their eyes locked again. “Why can you tell us apart, Armstrong?” she asked, her voice seeming to caress his full name that she rarely used.

  “Because she’s not you,” he said without missing a beat, even as he admitted to himself that he liked the way his name sounded on her lips. It was a rarity. “I’ve walked to your front door many times and never once confused your sister for you. Not once. There is something between us—chemistry, vibes, whatever—but only you make me feel the way you make me feel. Only you.”

  Meena’s face became soft and filled with bewilderment all at once. She moved to kneel on the sofa before him and tilted her head up to look at him. She released a breath. “You were the last thing I was looking for in my life,” she admitted. “And now I don’t know what I would do without you. How did you manage that?”

  He took a pause, letting his feelings for her resonate as he wondered if this was the moment for him to be honest with her.

  He frowned as a quick image played out in his mind...

  Armstrong raised his hands to press his palms against her face. “Loving you the way you deserve,” he said without hesitation, bending his body at the waist to kiss her.

  “Love?” Meena gasped, her expression horrified. “Who said anything about love? Get out...and take your love with you!”

  His frown deepened, and he shook his head to free it of the overly dramatic vision.

  “Loving you the way you deserve,” Armstrong finally answered, tired of copping out to his feelings.

  Meena’s eyes widened a bit in surprise.

  His gut clenched as he waited to see just what would unfold.

  She looked down for a moment and then up to meet his eyes again.

  His heart quickened its pace.

  “Love, huh?” she asked, her eyes soft.

  “Absolutely,” Armstrong asserted.

  Meena smiled and began to gently nod. “You are everything I never knew I wanted. Everything. How can I help but love you?” she asked.

  His smile smoothly spread across his face. Big and wide. This was the excitement of Christmas, New Years and every birthday he had ever had wrapped up into one. Loving Meena was good. Knowing he was loved by her in return was even better.

  “Love, huh?” he asked, not shielding his happiness.

  Meena dropped the unopened water bottle onto the seat of the sofa to grip his strong forearms. “Absolutely,” she asserted softly before leaning in to close the small distance between them and bless him with a kiss.

  ∞

  June 2015

  Armstrong’s eyes were filled with merriment as released a belly laugh while watching a rerun of his favorite TV show The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. “Yo, Will is stupid,” he said at the lead character’s comedic antics.

  What he loved most about the sitcom comedy was the family vibe. The comradery. Having each other’s back. The love between Aunt Viv and Uncle Phil. All of it.

  It was all so different from his own life.

  The twelve-year-old rolled over onto his back on the carpeted floor before the television. His mother, Georgia, was in the kitchen with one hand pressed to her lower back and the other stirring in a large pot of speckled lima beans he knew was packed with smoked pigtails and ham hocks—just the way he liked it.

  She was humming a tune he couldn’t make out, but he knew she was tired. It was just the two of them and she worked twice as much to make up for the lack of a husband for her and a dad for him. She was either working as a housekeeper for one of the hotels in Walterboro, sleeping or trying to muster enough energy to spend time with him.

  Her hard work didn’t lead to an abundance. Things were often lean for them. Never hunger but not too many feasts. Their clothes were from discount chain stores or thrift shops, but always clean. He didn’t know what it meant to wear name brand sneakers and sometimes she wasn’t able to keep his hair freshly cut on the regular. They lived in the same an older model mobile home where she had been raised as a child. It became hers when his Gran passed away from a stroke several years ago. It looked every bit of its age, but it was neat and clean.

  He never complained because what they lacked in money they made up for with love and lots of laughter.

  Still, as he got older everything wasn’t as simple as he thought. He began to question the things they lacked and what could make life better. Easier.

  “Ma,” he called over to her.

  She looked over at him, still stirring. “Yeah?” she asked, covering the pot with its lid and sitting the spoon on a small saucer on the counter.

  His mother was beautiful to him. She had big eyes and a wide toothy smile that seemed constant. She wore her hair in a ponytail and her only jewelry were large gold-plated ball studs he bought her with his meager allowance for mother’s day.

  Armstrong wanted to ask her so many things.

  Why aren’t you married?

  Why haven’t I ever met my dad?

  Do you wish we were rich?

  Are you happy?

  But he kept his questions to himself instead.

  He couldn’t. He didn’t want to hurt her by revealing he thought their life could be so different if she were married. A mom. A dad. Their child. A family.

  At that moment he decided he would get married one day, have the family he longed for and all would be right the world.

  The thought of that made him happy.

  “Armstrong, what you wanted?” his mother asked, her eyes on him.

  “You made cornbread?” he asked, deciding against sharing his plans for his future.

  “Now what would lima beans be without cornbread muffins on the side?” she asked, leaning her body against the door frame as she wiped her hands with a dish towel.

  He nodded and rolled over onto his back. Soon the light of the television was reflected in his eyes, but his attention wasn’t on the show but his vision of his life in the future...

  “It’s time,” Armstrong said aloud, letting the memory fade as he looked at the engagement ring nestled inside the jewelry box.

  He was ready to be married.

  He snapped the jewelry box closed and set it on the console of his pick—up as he looked through the mud splattered windshield at the yellow house on the corner of the tree-lined street.

  Meena loved the house and that made him love it because he loved her.

  Climbing from the truck he walked over to the gate, releasing a heavy breath as he tilted hi
s head back and looked up at the beautiful structure. It was clear it was still unoccupied. Just sitting and waiting for someone to love it.

  Since he’d made up his mind to propose a couple of months ago he had become determined to deliver Meena a package deal. His hand in marriage and the house of her dreams. Happily ever after.

  Last year the house had been on sale and twice they did a walk-through with no intention of making an offer but simply to quell her curiosity if the house was as ideal on the inside as it was outside.

  And it was.

  Meena fell in love with it even more.

  Fortunately, the house was never sold. Unfortunately, when he spoke to the real estate agent handling the previous listing, a Lyndsey Graham, she informed him the house was permanently off the market. She valiantly tried to show him other homes listed for sale, but he made it clear it was that home he wanted and that one alone. She agreed to contact the owners and see if they were interested in selling the home.

  They hadn’t been.

  The elderly couple had retired to a condo in Florida but were reluctant to cut all ties to the home where they raised their children.

  So, he kept saving his money, made sure to pay all his bills on time to strengthen his credit score, and prayed that the owners of Meena’s yellow dream house changed their mind about selling it one day.

  With one last look at the house, Armstrong made his way back to his truck and climbed inside. Once behind the wheel, he reached for the ring box and stroked it with his thumb as he drove. He was anxious for the day the piece of jewelry was freed from the box and on her finger.

  Meena and he were in love. They had jobs and together they would build a firm foundation upon which to have children. Beautiful brown babies with Meena’s smile.

  Maybe even twins.

  The thought of that made him smile.

  Armstrong continued on his drive to Holtsville. The music playing on the radio was slightly warbled from its age but he could just make out the sounds of a 1990s R & B song by Jagged Edge. It didn’t matter. His thoughts were elsewhere. Visions of his future with Meena played like a film in his mind.

  Meena walking down the aisle to him.

  Holding her as they had their first dance.

  The heat of their honeymoon night.

  Carrying her over the threshold of the yellow house on the corner.

  The sweetness of the birth of their first child.

  Mrs. Meena Mann.

  The thought of that made him nod.

  As he turned down the road off Highway 17 leading to the sprawling home and farmlands of Meena’s step-grandparents, Kael and Lisha Strong, Armstrong could already see the glow of lights from the yard and the sound of music mingled with that of laughter and talking. There was a party going on.

  Meena told him they were celebrating another successful year of cattle ranching by both the Strong Ranch and Kahron’s Circle S Ranch, plus the highly profitable contract her Uncle Kaleb’s dairy farm acquired to be the sole provider of milk for a large candy manufacturer. The Strongs was made up of a family of successful, hardworking ranchers, save for her Uncle Kaeden who served as the financial manager for each of the three farms.

  Armstrong respected each one of the men of the Strong family and in time he had come to earn their respect as well. He enjoyed being in their boisterous company and was looking forward to the festivities.

  The expansive front yard was filled with parked cars and people. Large white string lights and paper lanterns illuminated the grounds and seemed to give the large two-story house an intimate glow. He shut off his truck, lovingly stroking the dashboard as it roughly vibrated as if in relief.

  “Mann-Mann!”

  At the sound of Meena’s voice, his heart instantly hammered. His eyes searched the crowd and he smiled as he spotted her up on her toes and standing in a semi-arc made by the Strong men as she waved her hand back and forth.

  He made his way towards them, glad that he changed out of his torn and stained work clothes before he headed to Summerville to purchase her ring. The men all turned to face him. Each tall and broad with silver hair that grew far before them reaching senior years.

  She moved beyond her family to reach him, looking pretty and festive in an off-the-shoulder red summer dress. “You like good,” she said, stroking the front of his navy button-up shirt as she rose up on her toes to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and hugged her close.

  At the sound of numerous throats being cleared, he gave Meena a wink as he respectfully put a little distance between them. A glance over her head confirmed that six pairs of eyes were boring into him. Moving past her he extended his hand to each. Her grandfather, Kael, her stepfather, Kaleb, and her uncles Kahron, Kade, Kaeden, and Quinton. Each grip was firm. Very much so.

  Armstrong made sure to match it with the strength of his own. The Strong men would respect nothing less.

  “Congratulations on another good year in farming,” he said, his hand lightly resting on Meena’s hips.

  Armstrong bit back a smile as the men all shared a long look before resting their eyes back on them.

  “Uh oh,” Meena mumbled under her breath.

  “Exactly,” Armstrong agreed.

  “We fight hard for two things,” Kael said, sliding the tips of his fingers into the front pocket of his denim pants.

  “Family and farming,” Kade, the eldest and tallest Strong sibling, provided.

  “And in that order,” Kaeden added. His build was strong and muscular.

  Kahron, the quiet one—the way too quiet, not sure if he’s to be trusted one—nodded. “And when it comes to outsiders we don’t like either messed with,” he said.

  “And you’re an outsider unless we’re related by blood or marriage.” That was Kaeden.

  “And I don’t recall a wedding,” Quinton finished.

  “Fellas,” Meena said, her tone urging.

  All six pairs of eyes dropped down to his hand on her hip.

  Armstrong nodded in agreement and withdrew his touch. “No problem,” he said, thinking his status in the Strong family would change from outsider to insider sooner than they thought.

  ∞

  November 2015

  “I’m shaking, Mann-Mann. Look.”

  Armstrong looked down at the hand Meena presented him. It was indeed trembling.

  He chuckled. “Why are you nervous?” he asked. “You’re not getting engaged.”

  Meena face became panic-stricken. “Definitely not. Don’t even get the appeal but my sister wants this, and I want it for her.”

  Armstrong’s stomach tightened. He clenched and unclenched his jaw. Disappointment filled him like mercury rising in a thermometer set in boiling water.

  It was the odd, even if not often, moments when Meena revealed her disdain for marriage that kept Armstrong from proposing. He was still saving money, keeping his credit score high, and had his real estate agent making her monthly call to the owners of Meena’s dream house, but his nerve to propose was fading.

  Was he ready to get married? Definitely.

  Was it disconcerting to be constantly reminded that his reluctant girlfriend didn’t believe in the institution of marriage? Most definitely.

  He fell quiet as Meena peered through the window of the storefront of Uplift Coffeehouse and Bookstore on Main Street in Walterboro. They were surrounded by both the Jackson and Strong families invited to look on as Neema surprised her boyfriend Dane Jackson with a proposal. Everyone was well aware of their break-up because of her fear of love and commitment. The excitement and anticipation of their reuniting was clear from the energy of the crowd.

  The closing of the car door echoing into the night air reached him. Armstrong turned and looked over the heads of the crowd to see the twin’s father, Ned Ali, walking from his car parked across the street. He was still dressed in his uniform and must have come straight from the auto mechanic shop he owned and operated.
>
  Ned was of average height with a boyish face, bald head, and silvery beard. Meena and Neema had his eyes.

  Armstrong weaved through the crowd to reach him in the middle of the street. “How you doin’, Mr. Ali?” Armstrong said, extending his hand.

  “I’m alright and you?” Ned said, shaking the hand offered as he looked past him to the crowd. “Did I miss it?”

  “No, sir,” he said, walking beside him to the storefront.

  “Good.”

  Armstrong reclaimed his spot beside Meena as her father greeted everyone.

  “Hello, Twin,” Mr. Ali said, coming to stand beside them. He bent his frame to press a kiss to Meena’s cheek.

  It was clear the smile she gave her father was forced. “Hey, Daddy,” she said, never taking her eyes off the scene unfolding before them inside Uplift.

  Armstrong was proud of the good front she was putting on. He was well aware of the anger and disappointment she harbored at her father for the shattering of their family years ago. Still, she held her tongue, respected him, and put on a good façade.

  “Doesn’t Neema look beautiful?” Meena asked, her voice soft and filled with wonder as she took in her twin sister stepping down off the small corner stage of Uplift dressed in a white maxi dress with a band of flowers around her head.

  “You’ll be next,” Ned said, smiling down at Meena and giving Armstrong a friendly wink of encouragement.

  Her face twisted in aversion. “Nah, I’m good,” she said. “Marriage is nothing but the set-up for broken expectations. Mann-Mann and I are good just like we are. Right?”

  He noticed her father’s eyes on him. In question. In reflection. In open curiosity.

  Armstrong settled his arm around her shoulders. “Good as gold,” he said, lying his behind off and feeling unease because he was not a man quick to tell untruths. His Mama always taught him a lie was nothing to tell.

  The twin’s mother, Zaria, and her husband, Kaleb, eased through the crowd to stand beside Ned. The men shook hands.

  “Thank you for making it, Ned,” Zaria said, looking pretty under the streetlight with her hair up in a top knot with her large hoop earrings dangling above her shoulders.