Chapter 15 Tasha #2
"There's no time for breathing at a Williams reunion, you know that." She linked her arm through Nate's, effectively separating him from me. "Nathan, let me introduce you to my husband, Carl. He was military too, you know. Marines."
As she swept Nate away, I met his eyes over her head. He gave me a small smile that said, I've got this. Paige looked up at me questioningly.
"Go ahead," I told her. "The trampoline's through there. Try not to break anything vital."
She hesitated. "Are you sure?"
The concern in her young face touched me. "I'm sure. Go have fun. I'll come find you soon."
As Paige scampered off, I took a deep breath and plunged into the crowd. Within minutes, I was surrounded.
"Girl, you didn't tell us you were bringing a whole man to the reunion!" My cousin Aisha materialized beside me, cocktail in hand. "And he's fine! Little salt and pepper action going on."
My first instinct was to launch into explicit detail about exactly how fine Nate was—the way his shoulders looked in that blue shirt, what those hands could do, how his voice sounded when he—but then I caught sight of Paige bounding across the yard, and something in me shifted.
I was more than just Tasha-who-brought-a-hot-guy-home now. I was part of something bigger, more important.
Sigh.
"It's not a big deal," I finally muttered, snagging a drink from a passing tray.
"Oh, it's a big deal. Aunt Patty is already planning your wedding. And Grandma Rose just asked if his 'people' are from here or 'up North.'"
I groaned. "It's been five minutes."
"It's been five years since you brought anyone home," Aisha countered. "What did you expect?"
Before I could reply, my brother Marcus appeared, his twin boys hanging off his legs like little koalas.
"Little sis," he greeted me with a one-armed hug. "Mom says you brought a boyfriend. And he's old enough to be your father."
I bristled. "He's thirty-nine, not sixty."
"Hmm." Marcus studied me with the same assessing gaze he probably used on patients. "Is it serious?"
"It's... evolving."
"That's not an answer."
"That's all you're getting."
He sighed dramatically. "Always so difficult. You know Mom's worried."
"Mom's always worried about something."
"She wants you to be happy."
"I am happy."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Are you? Because you don't seem happy right now. You seem stressed."
I barely resisted the urge to dump my drink on his perfectly pressed shirt. "I'm fine."
"If you say so." He extricated himself from his sons. "Boys, go find your mother. Tell her Aunt Tasha's here." As they ran off, he fixed me with one last look. "Just be careful, Tash. Relationships with that kind of age gap can be complicated."
"Says the man who married his college sweetheart and never looked at another woman," I shot back.
"Some of us just get it right the first time," he replied with infuriating smugness before disappearing into the crowd.
I downed half my drink in one go, feeling the tension build in my shoulders. This was exactly why I'd hesitated to bring Nate and Paige here. Every interaction felt loaded, every comment a potential minefield.
I made my way around the yard, fielding questions about Nate, about my job, about when I was going to "settle down properly" or "come to my senses and go to medical school." By the time I spotted my grandmother holding court under the elm tree, I was ready to fabricate an emergency at the hospital.
"There's my Tasha," Grandma Rose called, patting the seat beside her. "Come sit with your grandmother."
I obeyed, leaning in to kiss her papery cheek. At eighty-one, Rose Williams was still sharp as a tack and twice as dangerous.
"Where's this man of yours?" she asked without preamble.
"Mom kidnapped him," I replied. "Probably interrogating him in the garage."
She chuckled. "Your mother means well."
"Does she?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Grandma Rose fixed me with a penetrating look. "She wants for you what she thinks will make you happy. Problem is, she doesn't always know what that is." She patted my hand. "Neither do you, sometimes."
I looked away. "I'm doing fine, Grandma."
"I didn't say you weren't. But you've always carried that chip on your shoulder. The one that says you have to do everything differently from what's expected, just to prove you can."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it? You were brilliant enough for medical school.
Everybody knew it. But you chose nursing because your father pushed too hard for medicine.
" She held up a hand when I started to protest. "I'm not saying nursing isn't a fine profession.
Lord knows we need good nurses more than we need mediocre doctors.
But I wonder sometimes if you make choices based on what you want, or based on what will surprise everyone else. "
The words hit uncomfortably close to home. "Nate's not like that. He's not a choice I made to shock anyone."
Her eyes softened. "Then he must be special indeed."
Across the yard, I spotted Nate emerging from the house with my mother, both of them laughing about something. The sight was so unexpected it made my breath catch. He looked... comfortable. At ease in a way I hadn't expected.
"He seems like a good man," Grandma Rose observed, following my gaze. "Steady. The quiet kind who sees more than he says."
"He is."
"And the girl? His daughter?"
"Paige. She's amazing. Smart, kind. She reminds me a little of Jasmine at that age, but more serious."
"And how do you feel about being in her life? That's a big responsibility, loving someone else's child."
The question startled me. I'd been so focused on navigating my relationship with Nate that I hadn't fully considered what it meant for Paige.
"I care about her," I said finally. "A lot. More than I expected to."
"That's the thing about love," Grandma Rose said. "It never comes the way you think it will. Never looks like what you planned."
Before I could respond, a commotion near the trampoline drew our attention. My heart sank as I recognized one voice rising above the others—my father's new wife, Deanna.
"I said no roughhousing! You're going to hurt someone smaller!"
I was on my feet and moving before I fully processed what was happening. As I approached, I saw Paige standing near the trampoline, face flushed, while Deanna towered over her.
"What's going on?" I asked, stepping between them.
Deanna turned, her perfect features arranged in a mask of concern. "Oh, Tasha. The older kids were getting too rough on the trampoline. I was just making sure everyone stays safe."
I looked at Paige, whose expression was a mixture of confusion and embarrassment. "Were you roughhousing?"
She shook her head. "We were playing a game. Taking turns."
"She pushed my Jason," Deanna insisted, gesturing to her four-year-old son—my stepbrother—who was indeed crying nearby. "He could have been hurt."
"I didn't push him," Paige said quietly. "He fell when he was trying to do a flip. I tried to catch him."
I believed her instantly. Paige wasn't the type to push smaller kids—if anything, she was too careful, too conscious of others.
"I'm sure it was an accident," I said, keeping my voice level. "Right, Jason? Did Paige push you, or were you trying to do a flip?"
The little boy, momentarily distracted from his tears, looked up. "Flip," he admitted. "But I fell."
Deanna's perfect features hardened. "Well, regardless, I think the big kids should let the little ones have a turn now."
"That's fine," I said smoothly. "Paige, why don't you come meet my grandmother? She's been asking about you."
As we walked away, Paige leaned close. "I really didn't push him, Tasha."
"I know you didn't, kiddo," I assured her, squeezing her shoulder. "Deanna just likes to make everything a bigger deal than it is."
"Who is she?"
"My father's new wife."
Paige processed this. "She's really young."
I laughed, unable to help myself. "Yes, she is."
"Why doesn't she like me? She doesn't even know me."
The innocent question pierced me. "It's not about you, Paige. Some people just... need to feel important by controlling situations. It doesn't reflect on you at all."
She nodded, seeming to accept this. "Your family is really big. And loud."
"Too much?"
"No," she said thoughtfully. "It's kind of nice. Different, but nice. Dad's so quiet all the time. Sometimes our house feels too... empty."
The observation, so simple yet profound, hit me hard. I'd never thought about what it might be like for Paige, growing up in that orderly, often silent house with just Nate. How different from this—the noise, the chaos, the overwhelming presence of family everywhere you turned.
"Well, if you ever need some noise, you know where to find us," I said lightly.
"Could we come back sometime? For a regular visit, not just a special occasion?"
A feeling like a slow sunrise spread through my chest. "I'd like that. I think Grandma Rose would too."
By the time we reached Grandma's shaded spot, Nate had found his way there too.
He was sitting beside her, listening intently as she showed him what appeared to be old family photos.
The sight of them together—his head bent respectfully toward hers, her gnarled hand gesturing animatedly—made my throat tighten unexpectedly.
"There you are," Nate said, looking up with evident relief. "Your grandmother has been showing me pictures of you as a teenager. The braces phase was particularly enlightening."
"Grandma!" I protested.
She cackled. "Every young man should know what he's getting into. Besides, I only showed him the nice ones. Not the ones where you shaved half your head."
"You shaved your head?" Paige asked, eyes wide.
"Just half. It was a phase."
"A statement," Grandma corrected. "Everything with you was a statement."
Nate's eyes met mine, warm with amusement and something deeper. "Still is," he said softly.