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Authors: E.N. Joy

BOOK: She Who Finds a Husband
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Chapter Twenty-six
Paige and Blake headed up Interstate 70 toward her parents' house for only the second time in their now almost six months of dating. Blake had practically insisted that Paige arrange for them to go up one Saturday and just hang out with her parents. He'd told her that two major holidays had passed since he'd met her parents, Thanksgiving and Christmas (three if counting New Year's), and he'd yet to spend some real quality time with her mother and father.
Although Paige could almost always bear to stay away from her father for as long as possible, she loved spending time with her mother. But no matter how much time she spent with her mother as an adult, she knew it couldn't make up for all the times she'd wanted to spend with her as a child . . . but couldn't. Usually she never got any alone time with her mother, but this time Blake had asked Paige to hint around to her father that he'd like for him to take him over to the construction company and show him the ropes a little bit.
Mr. Robinson was more than happy to oblige. Although retired, he still had a great deal of control over the company, making it a point to visit the establishment or one of its sites daily just to stay on top of things. For the first time since Paige could remember, this would give her an opportunity to have some alone time with her mother. No interruptions by her father's yelling out orders from another room.
“You nervous?” Paige asked Blake as he drove with her on the passenger side. It was all like déjà vu; everything, right down to Blake's nervous silence.
“No,” he replied without letting two seconds go by before recanting. “I take that back. I lied. I repent. I'm nervous as heck.”
Paige laughed. “I knew it.”
“It's that obvious, huh?”
“You haven't said two words in the last ten minutes. But this time I can't imagine why you'd be nervous. You've already met my parents, and they love you. My mom adores you, and my dad adores anyone who is willing to relinquish their Saturday afternoon to hear all about his thirty-five years in the construction business.”
“I guess I'm just rehearsing in my head what to say.”
“What do you mean rehearsing what to say? Just be yourself. That's the person who they already know and like.”
“Yeah, you're right,” Blake said with a smile as he tapped Paige's knee, then allowed his hand to rest on it momentarily.
Paige felt a tingling sensation throughout her body. She hadn't felt that way since the last time Blake had touched her; when she had finally confessed to him the secret she'd been keeping from him, which was the fact that she was still a virgin. Unbelievably, a twenty-seven-year-old virgin. She had been so embarrassed, initially not being a virgin by choice, but because she'd never dated a man long enough for him to get up to bat, let alone any bases. But after getting saved, Paige had been glad that she had not sinned against God with her body.
Ever since sharing such personal information with Blake, he had been very mindful not to do anything that might arouse either one of them in the wrong way. He wanted to respect both her Christianity and her virginity.
As soon as Blake pulled up in Paige's parents' driveway, her dad came barging out of the house with his jacket on. “You ‘bout ready?” he said to Blake, shaking his hand.
“Dang, Daddy. Can we go inside and at least say hi to Mama,” Paige asked him.
“Oh, she'll be there when we get back. Blake can say hi to her then.” He then looked to Blake. “Ain't that right?”
Blake shrugged, wishing he could shake off his nervousness. He at least wanted to go inside and pray before venturing out with Paige's father, especially knowing that what he really wanted to discuss with the man had nothing to do with the construction business whatsoever.
 
 
While Blake and Paige's father had immediately headed off for her father to begin showing Blake the ins and outs of the construction business, Paige remained at the house with her mom. The two women were in the kitchen. Paige's mother stood at the counter placing the ingredients for a cake in the bowl. Paige sat at the kitchen table nibbling on a couple of slices of the ham her mother had prepared.
“Mom, why don't you come sit down and rest? That will give us time to talk. Besides, you said yourself you've been up since six this morning, and now you're over there slaving over some cake.”
“Oh, I'm fine. I want to get this cake made before your father gets back.”
“Figures,” Paige mumbled under her breath as she sank her teeth into a piece of ham and yanked like a dog at feeding. She was more than just a little bit perturbed that even in her adult years she couldn't get her mother to pull herself away from doing something for her father long enough to have a five-minute conversation.
“What was that?” Paige's mother asked.
Paige hadn't meant to make her snide comment as loud as she had. It was just intended for her ears; her own release. But obviously she hadn't expressed herself in a low enough tone. “Nothing, Mom,” Paige said at first as she stood to go into the living room, but then decided she'd bitten her tongue long enough. She was a grown woman, and her mother would just have to accept it; that her daughter had an opinion, a voice, and that she'd never end up like her. “Actually, Mom, I did say something. I said ‘it figures.'”
“What figures?” Her mother continued mixing without even looking up at Paige.
“It figures that you'd rather stand over there until you collapse just to please Daddy instead of take five lousy minutes to devote to a conversation with your daughter.” Paige felt moisture running down her cheeks and couldn't believe she had worked up tears.
“Oh, honey, you sound like a spoiled brat,” her mother said, still not looking up.
“Spoiled kids get doted with attention and everything they want. I grew up anything but spoiled. I couldn't even get my own mother to teach me how to use a tampon. You know who had to teach me how to use one, Mother? Sylvia from next door. And she was a year younger than me. She'd already had her period a year and her mother had taught her how to use one. I cried so hard that day in Sylvia's bathroom. She didn't know I was a virgin. That's when she told me I should use Maxi Pads. And you know what? I'm still a virgin. I bet you didn't even know that about me, did you, Mom?”
By now Paige had tears streaming down her face. She was sniffling and snotting. Shoulders heaving. Of course, her mother was now giving her daughter her undivided attention.
“Honey . . . I . . . I—”
“You're what?” Paige stood up in frustration. “Sorry you allowed Dad to force you to be at his beck and call. And while you were so miserable slaving for him you missed out on the time with your daughter?”
Mrs. Robinson dropped the mixing spoon into the bowl. “Force? Sweetheart, I don't know what you've been thinking all of these years, but I love your father, and I love doing things for him. He's never forced me to do anything a day in my life. I don't always say the words ‘I love you' to your father, so my way of showing him versus telling him is doing things for him. I love pleasing my man,” her mother assured her.
“Mom, you can save it, because I saw your face that day. I saw how good it made you feel the first time you all met Blake and he offered to get you a dinner roll instead of you jumping up and down like a jack-in-the box doing for everybody else.”
“You're right, it did make me feel good. It made me feel good for you.”
Paige was confused now, and it showed all over her face.
“Sit down, sweetie, and let me explain something to you,” her mother said.
The two women sat down at the table. Mrs. Robinson took her daughter's hands into her own. “I know how you are. ‘Spite the house you grew up in and how you witnessed my relationship with your father, I knew you'd never be like me. God didn't cut you from the same cloth as me. He cut you from the same cloth as your father.”
“I'm nothing like Dad.” Paige was appalled at the fact that her mother could even make such a comparison.
“Oh, but you are.” Mrs. Robinson smiled while patting Paige's hand tenderly. “You're strong like your father. You're independent like your father, and you always know what you want like your father. And that's okay, honey. There is nothing wrong with that, but at the same time, you have to know your role as a woman. And from the bottom of my heart, I honestly thought that was the example I was displaying to you all those years. I had no idea you thought I was allowing myself to be some doormat. I love your father, and when God blesses you with a man whom you love the way I love your dad, you'll happily want to do all those things for him as well. And you'll do them cheerfully.”
Paige could tell that her mother wasn't just feeding her a line. She could tell that she meant every word she was speaking. And come to think of it, Paige couldn't recall one time when she had ever heard her mother complaining about anything she did for her father. Seems like Paige had been the one doing all the complaining.
“I'm sorry, Mom,” Paige apologized. “I guess I just never looked at things that way. I guess I was just too busy being jealous.”
“But you had nothing to be jealous of, Paige.”
“I was jealous of Daddy. He had you. Brandon had Daddy, and I had no one.”
“Dear, you always had me. It's just that every time I invited you to do something with me, you declined.”
“Yeah, but it was always domestic things. Wanting me to go grocery shopping with you to pick out a list of things Daddy had requested. Wanting me to help make dinner with you, something Daddy had requested. Wanting me to sew or stitch something up, something of Daddy's.”
“But those are the things a mother is supposed to do with her daughter; shop, cook and sew. I just figured you were a tomboy . . . or gay,” Mrs. Robinson added.
“Mom!” Paige said. “You didn't.”
“I did,” she confessed. “Now I know all that fasting wasn't even needed.”
“I honestly can't believe you thought I was gay.”
“Well, what was I suppose to think? Seemed like you wanted to spend more time with your brother, Brandon, than you did me. Heck, I have to admit, I used to be a little jealous myself.”
“Why didn't you say something then, Mom?”
Mrs. Robinson paused for a minute. “I guess the same reason why you never said anything to me.” She shrugged.
Paige shook her head. “Mom, I could kick myself. All these years wasted.”
“Girl, please. We ain't wasted nothing. For all these years, I've loved you to death. For all these years, I've adored everything about my little girl. I love you, Paige.”
“I love you too, Mom,” Paige said as she embraced her mother.
“All right. Let me get back to this cake.” Mrs. Robinson stood up.
“And don't forget to save me the bowl.”
“No matter how old you get, you always gonna lick the cake bowl, just like—”
“I know,” Paige finished her mother's sentence with a smile, “just like my father.” Paige's mother winked, then turned her attention back to the preparation of the cake.
Paige sat at the table and came to the conclusion that the person she had tried to avoid finding in a man; demeaning all their characteristics as flawed, just happened to be the person whom she was . . . her father.
 
 
When Blake and Mr. Robinson came through the front door, Paige and her mother had just finished their conversation and were putting icing on the cake.
“You two back already?” Mrs. Robinson called out from the kitchen.
“What do you mean already?” her husband replied. “We've been gone for hours.”
Paige looked up at the kitchen clock. “It's only been a couple of hours, Daddy.”
“Well, it seemed like forever.” He excitedly rubbed his hands together, and then threw Blake a look. “I couldn't wait to get back home so that . . .”
Blake shot Mr. Robinson a stern look and tried to inconspicuously shake his head.
“Couldn't wait to get back for what, honey?” Mrs. Robinson curiously inquired.
Paige's father looked over at Blake for help. He figured that since he had cut his sentence off, he should be the one to finish it, and that's exactly what Blake did.
“Uh, he couldn't wait to get back to get some of that cake,” Blake stammered, pointing at the two-layer cake with cream cheese icing. “He kept going on and on about the generational recipe for that cake.”
Both Paige and her mother glanced at each other with peculiar looks on their faces.
“Samuel, you know darn well I make cakes from the box,” Mrs. Robinson said. “There ain't no family recipe for cakes; not that I know of anyway.”

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