When You Come to Me (46 page)

Brandon exhaled deeply, seemed to ponder the idea seriously and whispered against her cheek, “No, baby…I shouldn’t…but you don’t hesitate to come get me if you need anything, okay?”

She nodded compliantly and slid off the bed slowly, taking his hand with her, saying, “Well, at least walk me…”

“Sure,” he chuckled. “I can walk you two feet…”

“Precisely as it should be,” she replied.

And as they stood before the guest bedroom door, she tried to persuade him once more, their fingers tangled in a lingered fashion, Natalie grinning up to him.

“Are you sure? I won’t get mad if you snore…”

Brandon exhaled in the same way he’d done before, paused and shook his head and replied, “Baby…”

“Brandon, it’s cold…you know I don’t sleep well when it’s cold…”

“There’re some extra blankets in the closet by the door…”

“You’re really trying to make this hard, aren’t you? What if your mother comes in here while I’m sleeping and suffocates me with a pillow?”

“Okay, take your delirious ass to bed,” Brandon said, proceeding to shove her in the room, while she tugged on him in an attempt to stop him.

“Brandon,” she breathed.

Yes, her hands were gripping his sides, pulling at his shirt, and her fragile body was pressed against his.

Brandon Greene pressed his forehead against hers slowly and said, “Please don’t say my name that way…”

She looked up at him, rolled her lips in and whispered, “I guess I shouldn’t, should I?”

“Absolutely not,” he told her, pulling her into him. “You don’t understand how hard it is for me to say no to you right now…”

“You don’t have to,” she reminded him, rubbing his waist just right.

“Natalie, you just don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Brandon warned. “And in my parents’ home? Let’s call it a night…”

Natalie sighed. “Fine…I’m sure it’s a catholic thing…”

Brandon nodded and they pressed their lips together once, lingeringly, and when they reopened their eyes, Brandon said, “We should wait, don’t you think we should wait?”

“We should wait,” she agreed. “Not in your parents house…”

“Right,” he said. “Not here…”

“Till the wedding…we should wait till the wedding…”

“I completely agree…till the wedding…I mean, you’ve waited this long…”

“Exactly…just disregard what just happened…”

“Forgotten…”

Natalie took a step inside her dark bedroom, clutching onto the door. She felt as if her knees would give in at any moment.

And she looked at him.

“Goodnight, Brandon,” she breathed.

Brandon took a slow step back himself, sighed and said, “Goodnight, baby…I’ll see you soon…”

And he disappeared behind his bedroom door.

. . .

As soon as she laid her body down to sleep, she knew that she’d have a rough night ahead of her. And she sure wasn’t looking forward to the anniversary dinner the following night, with all the attendees, representing all that she feared of the Caucasian race. And would Martha Greene introduce her to the Greene’s friends? Would she claim her? Would she tell them that she was about to be a part of her family? A Greene? It was almost hard for Natalie to swallow herself, still finding it hard to imagine attaching a new last name to hers…Brandon’s last name.

She longed for Brandon's body to by lying next to hers. But she’ll witness the moonlight through the window, hold the white blanket close to her body and hope that it comforts her soon. She’ll dream of him and their life together and remind herself that she was here for him...always him.

She swung her feet to the floor quietly, a couple of hours before dawn broke, body cast in shadow, her white gown grazing her calves. She walked in the direction of the bathroom, flicked on the light, and after she’d splashed water on her face, she looked in the mirror, examined the dark circles under her eyes, and thought about waking Brandon up so that they could talk. Instead, she opted to be alone, figured that there was no reason to bother him this late, and figured it could wait till daylight broke.

Natalie left the guest bedroom, cracking the door behind her, and tiptoed down the darkened hallway, a low whisper of the breeze rolling through. She descended the staircase and arrived in the kitchen and she allowed guilt to run through her, remembering the times her mama scolded her for roaming through people’s houses unattended. Still, Lord willing, she was about to become a part of the Greene family.

She opened the refrigerator, hoping that she didn’t make too much noise, hoping that there would be something good to eat, hoping that she could take her mind off of Brandon for more than two seconds…

She began fishing, flinched every time that a couple of jars clinked together, slowly became more frustrated when she didn’t see anything that she wanted.

“How comfortable you’ve become…”

Natalie turned around, caught focus of Martha Greene sitting at the breakfast bar…it appeared that she’d been sitting there for awhile, watching her son’s fiancée, completely undetected…

Natalie swallowed hard, retreated from her refrigerator-rummaging mission, and turned to the old woman.

With her countenance stoic and her body in stiff position, Martha Greene patted the barstool next to her, her pale face cast in the moonlight…

Natalie crept toward the barstool, slid in next to the woman, and her look was one of caution, hesitancy, her eyes a victim of the weird way that her heart beat.

The woman cleared her throat, began to tap her fingers slowly…

“I love my son,” she began in the softest voice she’d ever heard. “I love all of my boys…they’re my life, my heart…and…I take quite an interest in how they conduct their lives…especially when it comes to who they get involved with…do you understand that, Natalie?”

Natalie nodded slowly.

“My Brandon, he’s a smart one…he’s so strong, so aggressive, confident, assertive…and sometimes…all of these admirable qualities can turn on him…and…and they can turn into things that keep him from thinking correctly, thinking rationally, thinking things out thoroughly…do you understand that, child?”

Natalie sighed heavily, looked at the woman, whose eyes were Brandon’s, through and in between, and shook her head, “No, I don’t think so…”

“I am almost certain that…that he loves you…”

“Yes, I’m certain of that too…”

Natalie could feel herself getting agitated, could feel the room, despite the loftiness of the vaulted ceilings, cave in on her slowly…she only hoped that the woman, whose presence Brandon held dear, would not say anything unorthodox.

“I’m also certain that somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks that marrying you is the right thing to do, but…”

“But…?”

Martha Greene’s face twisted in a way that indicated that the words she was about to deliver were not going to be the most pleasant ones.

Natalie, preparing for the worst, took another deep breath.

“But…he hasn’t established himself in the marketing world, he’s still so young, and moving to…wherever…for your sake is completely…”

“Completely…?”

Martha Greene cleared her throat again. “Have you…have you ever taken notice of the fact that you and Brandon…are…different? Have you ever thought about the day that your differences will prove to be too much? He cannot support you, Natalie Chandler, on thirty thousand a year…he just can’t. He’ll need his father and myself for a least a couple of years…and we’ve agreed to give him the money under one condition…”

Natalie examined the woman’s face, saw her coldness, felt her throat close, and when she parted her lips to speak, she initially found it difficult, even when she saw no change in the woman’s expression…

“He didn’t,” she breathed.

Martha Greene tapped her pale fingers against the marble bar, sighed heavily, and she whispered, “We haven’t told him, but we can…you can leave this house quietly, leave him a little note and that will be the end of it…”

Natalie fought the tears.

“We think its best,” Martha Greene began. “Think about it this way…you both will have secure futures…you both will not have to worry about supporting each other…I mean, how satisfying is the idea of poverty? If you love him, then this is your chance to show him…this is your chance to let him have a secure future, a happy future…”

Natalie slid off of the barstool, walked towards the door of the kitchen, and turned back to the old woman.

“I’m not leaving him,” she said with a weakened voice. “You can threaten me with every thing you can throw at me…but I don’t care…I don’t care! I’m not leaving him! You’re right, I could be anything that I want to be without him…but with all those possibilities, I’d be nothing if he wasn’t there…I’m nothing...With God as my witness, I’m marrying that man…and you or your husband or any other white person in this godforsaken town can’t do a damn thing to stop me…”

. . .

She caught up with Brandon the following morning as he helped his brothers load up his father’s black Yukon SUV with place settings, name cards and such for the party that evening. She pulled him aside, didn’t say anything initially, only folded her arms, leaving him with a baffled look upon his face.

“What’s with you?” he asked her.

“Your mother,” Natalie said.

“Oh, Natalie, not again,” Brandon whined, proceeding to walk away. “I don’t want to hear that right now…”

Natalie reached for his arm, pulling him back before her. “No, listen,” she commanded.

“What? What could you possibly have to say about her now?”

“She threatened me…”

“Care to elaborate?”

Natalie pulled him in closer, as if to tell a secret, whispering, “She told me that her and your father were going to give you money if you left me…”

Brandon pulled away from her swiftly. “Natalie, that’s fucking absurd, and I can’t believe that you would say something like that about them…”

She looked at him. “You think I’m making this up?”

“I’m thinking that you didn’t get enough sleep last night,” Brandon said, beginning to walk away. “My parents don’t have time to conjure up such things…”

“Oh, they’d make time for it,” Natalie said after him, watching him stop cold.

He paused for a moment and started walking back toward her. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” he asked her speculatively. “Shouldn’t they be paying you not to marry me?”

Natalie fell silent. Yes, that scenario did make more sense. But, that wasn’t how it happened, that wasn’t the way his mother put it…

“Brandon…why would I lie to you about this?”

“That’s a very good question, Natalie,” he sighed. “And maybe you should think about that…”

Natalie folded her arms. And they only stared at each other for a few moments.

“Oh, please, Natalie,” he said, rolling his eyes, sensing her emotion. “I don’t have time for this right now…you’re acting like a baby…why don’t we talk about it later once you’ve had your coffee?”

“Don’t patronize me, Brandon,” she said forcefully through her teeth, moving close to her face. “I know what I heard…”

“Well, that’s between you and your god, Natalie,” he told her. “Because my mother hasn’t said a bad thing about you since we’ve been here…you’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous?” she asked him. “How dare you…?”

“Yea, well…”

“I won’t go, Brandon, I won’t do it…”

“You won’t go where?”

“To your parents’ party…”

“You’d really do that?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes…”

Brandon began to back away, throwing his hands up. “By all means, Natalie…while you’re at it, why don’t we just call this whole thing off? I’m sure, deep down, that’s what this is all about…”

“If you think so, Brandon, then maybe I will,” she said, feeling her throat tighten. “If you can walk away, so can I…”

“Be my guest,” he said. “No one’s stopping you…I, most certainly, am not…”

She headed back up the long driveway, not realizing what had just happened until she got back to the guest room, reached for the bag she’d brought and started to pack her things. There was no such order in the way that she tossed her things inside the bag, throwing them from the left and from the right, her insides heated, her breath caught, her eyes threatening tears.

It couldn’t possibly be over that quickly, right? No…they had way too long of a history for that. So, why was she packing? And why hasn’t Brandon run after her? Isn’t that his job?

She’ll continue to pack out of protest. She's almost certain that he’s coming up the stairs, and he’ll be running, and he’ll be out of breath, and she’ll jump into his arms and apologize for being a fool.

He wasn’t serious when he suggested that they should call it off. After all, she’d resisted the urge to throw the one and a half carat diamond ring back in his face out of spite. That would have really sealed it, right? That would have certainly sent him over the edge.

If she knew him at all, he’d come to his senses, run to her side and kiss her face all over. Yes, she’ll pack slowly. Any minute, her baby would come pushing in the door…

Any minute now…

It’s just a fight…like they always have…no problem…

Heck, even if she insulted his parents and their hospitality, her Brandon will come around…he has too, right?

Any minute…

Only a few seconds away…

Any second…

Where is he? Has it been thirty minutes already?

She’ll leave! She’ll show him!

Natalie Chandler gathered her things, left the guest bed unmade, headed down the main staircase and out of the door. Lugging her suitcase behind her, she trucked up the driveway, seeing neither Brandon, his father’s truck, nor the rest of the family anywhere in sight. This would be her clean break, wouldn’t it? Could she call a cab? No, she didn’t have the money. She would walk. Heck, she was a big girl. She would walk all the way to Albany if she had to.

Well, she probably wouldn’t do that. But she could at least walk until she got to a point of civilization. And then she’d call Maya or maybe Asha. They’d know what to do. They’d suggest her next step. They’d probably come get her if she cried hard enough. But, she most certainly wouldn’t call her mother, would she? Mama would only shake her head, say something mean about him and scold her for taking it this far with him. And then she’d suggest something completely crazy like getting back with Anthony. She would never do that. But things were easier, weren’t they? And his mother had loved her, didn’t she? Had loved her Cajun baked chicken with fried green beans and her sweet tea and her banana pudding, with the homemade vanilla wafers. Ms. Jones had loved playing gin rummy with her the most, even more than her own children! Ms. Jones had loved her pretty coarse hair, long and baby-fine, and the sundresses she always wore. Ms. Jones had loved that she was a God-fearing girl, with her head screwed on right. Ms. Jones loved her laugh, giggly and breathy.