Sharing Space (The Complete Series) (27 page)

I wasn’t being completely honest with Chloe. The thought of telling my parents that she was black had crossed my mind and I’d decided not to. Of course I wondered how they’d react to Chloe being black, but it seemed to me that mentioning it beforehand would be like admitting there was something wrong with it.  I’d never heard either of my parents, or any of my siblings for that matter, utter a racist word my whole life. I trusted that my family was the family I knew them to be.

“Chloe, just trust me. They’re going to love you no matter what color you are.”

***

The next morning Chloe’s inner struggle was obvious. She was excited to see her mother, but nervous at us meeting for the first time. She’d burned the toast at breakfast twice and, when she wasn’t in the kitchen preparing dinner, she was in her bedroom double-checking that it was perfect since it’s where her mother would be sleeping.

“I can’t believe you’re going to sleep on the sofa,” I said as I sliced yams at the kitchen counter.

“We’ve been over this,” Chloe responded while rinsing off a green leafy vegetable in the sink. “I just don’t think it would be appropriate for us to sleep together while she’s here.”

“You think she’s not going to know we’re sleeping together?”

“She may, but she doesn’t have to
know
know, you know?”

“No, but I’m sure that made sense somehow. Doesn’t matter though, she’s your Mom. You know her better than I do. Just remember this conversation when you wake up tomorrow with a pain in your neck.” I walked over to the sink and placed a quick kiss on the back of her neck.

“Don’t start. We have so much to do before she gets here.”

“Like what?” I asked, going back to my potato slicing duties. “We’ve already cleaned this place within an inch of its life. The cooking won’t be too bad since your uncle and Crystal are bringing some stuff, as is Paul. What else is there?”

Chloe turned off the water and sighed. “You’re right. It’s just that I get this way before every visit with my Mom. I always feel the need to show her just how in control I am. I want everything to be perfect.”

“It will be.”

Chloe’s mother had refused our offer to meet her at the airport with a taxi. She said it would be a waste of time and our money, and insisted on taking a taxi on her own. This actually worked out for the best because it gave us more time to get things ready.

After I sliced the yams into circular pieces Chloe seasoned them with cinnamon and nutmeg, then placed them in a casserole dish before layering them with sugar, butter, and vanilla and putting them in the oven to bake.

“My teeth hurt just looking at that.”

“Oh, hush. Doesn’t your Mom make them like this?”

“Kind of. She serves them with marshmallows on top.”

“Really? That’s weird.” Chloe said as she shrugged her shoulders.

“I’m sure she’ll have some made tomorrow. You can try it. I bet you’ll like it.” I noticed Chloe scrunched up her nose. “Listen,” I continued, “If I can try the collar greens, you can try the marshmallow yams.”

“Collard,” Chloe laughed. “Collard greens. With a dee on the end.”

I didn’t care if she laughed at my mistake, as long as it kept her mind off all the worrying she’d been doing.

By noontime the apartment was overcome with the aroma of delicious food. Chloe’s collard greens were in a pot on the stove alongside the candied yams, garlic mashed potatoes, and a large pot roast. I’d already asked Chloe the week before if we’d be making a turkey and she shook her head emphatically: no. Uncle Troy would be bringing the turkey, his award-winning baked macaroni and cheese, and pumpkin pie. While I wiped down the countertops Chloe did one last peek at the completed dishes on the stove.

“Between this, what everyone else is bringing, and tomorrow, I’m going to gain like fifteen pounds by Friday.”

“And you’ll still be sexy as hell,” I replied. I tossed the dishtowel in the sink and pulled Chloe close for a kiss. She had the softest lips I’d ever felt. She hooked her fingers into the belt loops of my jeans and pulled me even closer. She let out a soft moan of pleasure that gave way to one of frustration. “We can’t. We don’t have time. She should be here soon and I still have to shower and change.”

“You never heard of multitasking?” I asked, gently leading her to the bathroom and closing the door behind us. While I reached to turn on the shower, Chloe ran her hands under my shirt, lifted it, and began kissing my back. I groaned, turned, and put one hand on the back of her neck. I pulled her to me and our lips met—softly at first, but the kiss soon turned rough. That’s how it was whenever we started. It was as if we couldn’t get connected fast enough, hard enough. I was sure I’d memorized every inch of her body, every curve, yet every time we touched my hands and tongue probed like it was the first time.

I stepped into the shower and held out my hand for Chloe to follow. She slipped her hand into mine and stepped inside. Placing my hands on her waist, I gently steered her backwards until she was underneath the shower’s spray. Chloe gasped.

“Patrick!”

“What’s wrong?”

“My hair!”

Now wet, her hair was a tangle of slick curls resting on the side of her face, neck and shoulders. “That’s what happens when you stand under the shower, your hair gets wet,” I said.

Chloe smiled. “You have a lot to learn about black girls.”

“Mmmm. Maybe so. I should probably get on that.”

I knelt in front of her, kissing the inside of her thighs before making my way to her center. Chloe sighed as I lifted her right leg, raised it, and rested it on my shoulder. I could feel the warm water washing over us both as I teased with my tongue. In between her moans, Chloe murmured by name over and over again, which only made me work my tongue slower. She removed her leg from my shoulder and placed her foot on the edge of the tub, opening herself wider to me.

“Patrick,” she said, her voice deeper and pleading. “If I don’t feel you inside me soon, I’m going to scream.”

“If you insist.”

***

An hour
later we were both dressed, but Chloe was only slightly more relaxed.

“I can’t believe we did that. She’s going to be here any minute.”

I laughed. “You’re cute when you’re neurotic. You think she’s going to be able to tell we had sex in the shower just by looking at us?”

The intercom buzzed. Chloe gave a small squeal. “Well, we’re about to find out.”

The first thing I noticed about Adrian Brooks was how tall she was. She was six feet tall with perfect posture and high cheekbones. She looked more like a retired supermodel than police detective. Chloe and I had gone downstairs to meet her in the foyer and carry up the luggage. She was wearing blue jeans, high brown boots, and a flowing brown poncho. The color complemented her light brown hair, which was slightly streaked with gray.

Once we were in the apartment, Chloe and her mother shared a long hug. They had the same mouth and eyes. Their hair was the same length—a little longer than shoulder length, but styled differently. Chloe’s always hung in soft waves around her face and shoulders and looked as if it were windswept. Her mother’s was curled tighter with not a hair out of place. They looked more like sisters than mother and daughter and I almost remarked on it, but knew it would sound cheesy.

Mrs. Brooks held Chloe at arm’s length and remarked, “You look different.”

“Good different or bad different?” Chloe asked.

“Good. I think.” She raised an eyebrow then turned her attention to me. I knew at once what Chloe had meant. I didn’t have secrets, but the way Chloe’s mother was looking at me made me feel as though I did. I felt guilty about what had just occurred in the bathroom, though she had no way of knowing about it.

“Hello, Patrick.” She walked towards me, extending her hand. Several silver bracelets trickled down towards her wrist as she did. She was smiling, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She was sizing me up. I could feel it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Brooks.” 

“Are you a good guy?”

Her question took me by surprise.

“Mother,” Chloe said sharply.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Mrs. Brooks crossed her arms over her chest and rested her weight on one hip. She made eye contact and I was afraid to even blink. “Chloe tells me you’re a good guy. I just want to know if that’s true.”

“I, uh, try to be?”

“Is that a question?”

“No, I am. A good guy.”

“For your sake, you better be.”

“Okay, that’s it!” Chloe came over and slipped her arm around my waist. “You’re scaring the hell out of him.”

“Oh calm down, Chloe. I’m just messing with him.” Her stern face dissolved into a smile followed by deep laughter, but I wasn’t so sure she had been. She pulled her poncho over her head to reveal a brown flowing tunic, and tossed the poncho on the sofa.  Rolling up her sleeves she asked, “So, what’s cooking in the kitchen?”

*
**

Paul arrived first
, bringing with him fresh cranberry sauce, a large garden salad, and two bottles of wine. Chloe and I insisted that he sit back and allow us to set the table Mr. Tucci had lent us to accommodate all of our guests. Just as Chloe placed the last setting the intercom buzzed, announcing the arrival of Uncle Troy, Crystal, and Brianna. Uncle Troy was thrilled to see Chloe’s mom. It was nice to witness the reunion between brother and sister. Chloe’s uncle looked frailer than he had the week before at the hospital, but brushed off any concerns or questions about his health.

“Letting me go home was the smartest thing those docs ever did. Now, everyone stop fussing over me and let’s eat!”

Dinner was delicious. Brianna, seated to my right, seemed fascinated by me and kept asking various questions. I was expecting that kind of third degree from Chloe’s mother, but she seemed considerably less concerned with grilling me. I hadn’t completely dodged the bullet, though; I was sure there’d be time for an interrogation later. I leaned to my left and whispered to Chloe, “I think maybe your mother paid off Brianna.”

Chloe smiled. “No, she just has a crush is all. It’s understandable.” She rested her head on my shoulder and I caught the raised eyebrow from her mother from across the table.

Yeah, there would be questions later.

Uncle Troy noticed and thankfully took the attention away from me. He looked at his sister with a wide smile on his face. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. Girl, you look all of thirty-five.”

From the other end of the table Crystal laughed and said, “Well you know, black don’t crack.”

“But we sure do spread,” offered Mrs. Brooks.

With a spoonful of mashed potatoes halfway to my mouth I paused to look around the table. Everyone had found Crystal’s statement extremely funny. Apparently, the only people who hadn’t gotten the joke were Brianna and me.

“What—” I started to ask, but Chloe placed a hand on my arm and explained.

“It just means that black women tend to not wrinkle very much as we get older.”

“Oh. And spread?”

“Like junk in the trunk,” replied Paul.

Chloe, Crystal, and Brianna laughed out loud. Chloe’s mother, who was seated next to Paul, gave him an amused look.

“I like this one,” she said, and I felt a bit foolish and jealous.

We were clearing the table for dessert when I found myself alone in the kitchen with Paul.