Chapter 15 Tasha
fifteen
tasha
"You're bringing a man to the reunion? And his child?" My mother's voice over the phone held the same tone she used when I announced I was going to nursing school instead of pre-med. Equal parts surprise, suspicion, and grudging curiosity.
"It's not a big deal, Mom." I stirred the pasta sauce on Nate's stove, phone wedged between my shoulder and ear. "We've been seeing each other for awhile. Figured it was time."
"How long have you been 'seeing each other'?" I could hear the air quotes.
I glanced toward the living room where Nate and Paige were locked in an intense game of Scrabble. Three months since that night. Three months since he'd broken down in my arms. Three months of carefully navigating whatever this was between us.
"Long enough," I replied.
"Mmm-hmm." The sound was loaded with implication. "And this man is...?"
"A nurse at Metro. He works in the ER with me."
"His name, Tasha Marie."
I sighed. "Nathan Crawford."
“‘Nathan’?”
“Yes. ‘Nathan’.”
A pause. "And how old is Nathan Crawford?"
I closed my eyes briefly. Here we go. "Thirty-nine."
"Thirty-nine." She repeated the number flatly. "And you're twenty-seven."
"Yes, Mom. I can do basic subtraction."
"Don't get smart with me. And his child? Where's the mother?"
"She left when Paige was a baby. Nate's raised her alone. She's eleven. She's great." I surprised myself with the defensiveness in my voice.
Another long pause. "And is he...?"
"White? Yes, Mom. Does that matter?"
"You know very well it doesn't matter to me. But I'm not everyone who's going to be at this reunion. There's Uncle Earl to consider, and your cousin Janelle just went through that awful breakup with—"
"Mom, if it's going to be a problem—"
"Don't you put words in my mouth, young lady. I didn't say it was a problem. I'm just preparing you." Her voice softened marginally. "Are they important to you? This man and his daughter?"
The question caught me off guard. Were they? The answer came easier than I expected.
"Yes. They are."
"Then they're welcome. I'll tell your Aunt Patricia to make extra of her mac and cheese. That child's too skinny in the pictures you sent."
I blinked. "What pictures?"
"The ones from the science fair. You texted them to me last week. Don't act like you didn't."
I had. I'd been so proud of Paige's volcano project, not because it was spectacular (it wasn't), but because I'd helped her fix the wiring the night before when Nate was on shift. It had felt... significant.
"Right," I said. "Well, we'll be there. Sunday at noon."
"One small thing," Mom said, her casual tone setting off immediate warning bells. "Your father's bringing Deanna."
My grip tightened on the wooden spoon. My father's third wife. Twenty-nine years old. Two years older than me.
"Great," I said flatly.
"And Marcus is coming with his wife and the twins."
My older brother. The golden child. The doctor.
"Fantastic."
"And Jasmine got into Howard pre-med. She'll want to talk to you about it."
My perfect little sister, following the path I was supposed to take.
"Anything else? Is Michelle Obama stopping by? Maybe Beyoncé?"
"Don't be dramatic, Tasha Marie. I'm just giving you the lay of the land." A pause. "I'm looking forward to meeting your young man. And his daughter."
After we hung up, I stood staring at the sauce, wondering what cosmic glitch had prompted me to invite Nate and Paige to the Williams family reunion.
It had seemed like a good idea three days ago, after Nate had casually mentioned that Paige seemed to thrive around other kids, but their social circle was limited.
"Something wrong with the sauce?" Nate's voice startled me. He stood in the kitchen doorway, concern etching his features.
"No, just... stirring."
"You've been 'just stirring' for five minutes." He moved beside me, close enough that I could feel his warmth. "Was that your mom?"
I nodded.
"Having second thoughts about Sunday?" he asked quietly.
"No. Maybe. I don't know." I set the spoon down. "My family is... a lot."
"Most families are."
"Not like mine." I turned to face him. "There's going to be at least thirty people there.
Kids running everywhere. My grandmother's going to interrogate you.
My brother's going to give you the third degree.
My aunt's going to ask if you know how to cook anything besides 'white people food. ' And that's just the first hour."
Nate smiled, that small, genuine smile that still made my stomach flip. "I served in Iraq, Tasha. I think I can handle your family."
"Ehhhhh… don't say I didn't warn you." I forced lightness into my tone, but something of my real anxiety must have shown through.
His expression softened. He reached out, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. "Hey. What's really bothering you?"
I looked away. "I just... I don't do this. Bring people home. Especially not..." I gestured vaguely between us.
"Especially not older white guys with pre-teen daughters?"
I winced. "That sounds terrible when you say it out loud."
"But accurate."
I met his eyes finally. "It's not you. Or Paige. It's... complicated."
"Most important things are." He didn't push, didn't demand explanations. Just stood there, steady and patient.
Something in his quiet acceptance loosened the knot in my chest. "My dad's bringing his new wife. She's twenty-nine."
Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Ah."
"And my brother's going to be there with his perfect wife and his perfect twin boys and his perfect medical practice. And my sister just got into pre-med, which is what I was supposed to do before I 'settled' for nursing."
"Settled?" His eyebrow rose. "You're one of the best nurses in the ER."
"Try telling my family that. Marcus puts people to sleep for a living and he's practically royalty."
"He's an anesthesiologist?"
"The youngest one at Johns Hopkins," I confirmed with an eye roll. "We've all heard. Repeatedly."
Nate was quiet for a moment. "We don't have to go."
The simple statement, free of judgment or pressure, made something in my heart twist painfully. "No, I want to. I want them to meet you. And Paige." I took a breath. "I just want you to be prepared. For the chaos. For the questions. For... all of it."
He stepped closer, his hands finding my waist. "I think we can handle it."
"Even Paige?"
His smile widened. "Especially Paige. She's been talking about nothing else since you mentioned your cousin has a trampoline."
I laughed despite myself. "It's more of a death trap with springs, but yes."
"Then it's settled." He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "Now, can we eat? Paige is forming revolutionary movements in the living room over hunger."
As we set the table together, I tried to shake the lingering unease. It wasn't just introducing Nate to my family that had me tied in knots. It was the realization that I cared—deeply—what they thought of him. Of us. Of whatever this was becoming.
And that terrified me more than any family reunion ever could.
___________________________________________________________
Sunday arrived with merciless sunshine and humidity that turned the air to soup.
I'd changed outfits three times before settling on a yellow sundress that my mother had bought me last Christmas (a strategic choice).
Nate wore khakis and a blue button-down that made his eyes look even more intensely green.
Paige had agonized almost as much as I had, finally choosing a purple skirt and white top, her hair in neat braids that I'd helped with the night before.
My parents' house was a forty-minute drive from Nate's place in the suburbs. As we turned onto the familiar street, my stomach clenched at the sight of cars lining both sides.
"That's... a lot of vehicles," Nate observed, his calm facade cracking slightly.
"Told you. Thirty people, minimum."
Paige leaned forward from the backseat. "Are there really going to be that many kids?"
"At least ten," I confirmed. "Most of them are monsters. You'll fit right in."
She grinned, braces flashing. "Awesome."
We found a spot three houses down. As we walked back, I could already hear music and laughter from the backyard. Nate reached for my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I was grateful for the anchor.
"Ready?" he asked.
"No," I admitted. "But let's do it anyway."
We entered through the side gate, and the full chaos of a Williams family reunion hit us like a wall.
The spacious backyard was transformed—tables laden with food, coolers overflowing with drinks, children shrieking as they ran through sprinklers.
And everywhere, family. Aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, family friends who'd been around so long they might as well be blood.
"Tasha!" My mother's voice cut through the noise. Loretta Williams approached, resplendent in a teal dress and matching headband, arms outstretched. "Finally, you made it."
She embraced me briefly, then immediately turned her attention to Nate and Paige. I watched her eyes make a lightning-fast assessment—taking in Nate's posture (military straight), his age (evident in the silver at his temples), and his eyes (warm but guarded).
"You must be Nathan," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Loretta Williams. Tasha's mother."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Williams," Nate replied, his handshake firm. "Thank you for having us."
"And this must be Paige," my mother continued, her expression softening as she looked at the girl. "My, aren't you pretty as a picture."
Paige smiled shyly. "Thank you for inviting us, ma'am."
"Ohh, listen to those manners!" Mom looked impressed. "Well, come on back. Everyone's dying to meet you. Paige, honey, the other children are over on the trampoline. Though you might want to get some food first."
"Mom, give them a minute to breathe," I protested.