chapter eight.
brix
Inching along in the Arrivals lane at the airport, I turn up the radio to help bring some calmness to my mind.
My parents are the best, but too much of them will drive anyone crazy.
Plus, I’m anxious because I don’t know how this is all going to go when we get home.
Me and Cyn can’t set horses now, so how are we going to be civil with each other in front of my folks?
I shouldn’t care, I really shouldn’t, but I do.
I’ve never disappointed them. My mother would probably faint if she knew Cyn left me.
And my father, he’d look at me with disappointment and then brag about how he was able to keep the same woman for years on end as if that wasn’t my goal.
Tapping on the steering wheel, I inch along to Kendrick, wishing airport traffic wasn’t so bumper-to-bumper crazy.
After another five minutes, I pull over to the side where I see them standing. They’ve never seen this new Denali I’m driving, so I roll the tinted window down on the passenger side and say, “What’s up, old man?”
“Hey,” Dad says with a chuckle, his face beaming.
“Hey, Brixton!” my mother shouts. She’s dressed for a blizzard, earmuffs and all. I’m sure it was colder up north than it is here. Maybe she didn’t check the forecast. It’s sixty-four degrees, and she looks like she’s in Antarctica.
I press the button to open the liftgate and get out. I walk over to my father and throw my arms around him. He hugs me tight and slaps me on the back twice.
“Oh, it’s so good to see you, my boy.”
“Good to see you too, Pops.”
“Unhand my son so I can get a proper hug,” Mom says all dramatically like she’s auditioning for a role in Bridgerton.
“Look at this—she’s starting already,” Dad grumbles.
“Brixton, oh my goodness. There’s my handsome son,” she says as she secures a hug so tight, I feel like I’m permanently trapped in her arms and that perfume she’s wearing.
And she’s showing no signs of letting me go. She’s so layered, I feel like I’m just hugging her coat. She’s lost somewhere inside it.
My parents moved to Rhode Island four years ago, where they had always wanted to retire. Believe it or not, he loves snow. She loves water, so they got the best of both worlds, though now that’s all they complain about when I call during the winter months – the snow.
Her coat releases me, then she immediately wraps her arms tight around me again like she’s intentionally trying to cause me bodily harm.
After releasing me for a second time, freeing me from suffocation, she says, “And what’s this on your face?
Huh? Since when do you wear a beard? My distinguished, handsome doctor doesn’t wear a beard. ”
And so it begins…
“It’s good to see you, too, Mother,” I tell her, wondering what she means by wearing a beard as if I purchased it and put it on like she did that puffer jacket she’s wearing.
“Faith, get on in this car,” my dad says, holding the door. “We’re holding up the line.”
“Yeah,” I say. “We’d better get moving.”
“Woo, I have to get this coat off first, honey. It’s hot down here compared to Coventry.”
Dad tells her, “I told you not to put on that glorified comforter before we left the house.”
“Oh, hush. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
I secure their suitcases in the back, then close the liftgate and send Cyn a warning text to let her know I’m heading back.
I get inside, close the door, shift the whip into drive, and brace myself.
It’s not so much my father that gets to me.
I love my mother dearly, but she can be a bit overbearing at times.
I know she means well with her unwanted suggestions, but some of them are wild.
When I bought my home – my six-bedroom home – she said she would’ve chosen a bigger one.
She usually picks my home apart when she visits.
If she doesn’t like the curtains, a certain rug, or the place settings on the dining room table, she’s very loud and vocal about it.
But she absolutely loves Cyn. Said I couldn’t have chosen a better wife. That’s mainly why I needed Cyn to do this for me. If my mother found out we weren’t together, she’d erupt like a volcano showing signs of unrest.
“So, how’s life in Christenbury Hills?” Dad asks.
“Life’s good,” I say.
Some aspects of that are true, but there’s a lot that isn’t.
“That’s alright,” he says, sounding satisfied and content. “Your Mama ready to get up in that kitchen. That’s all she’s been talking about on the flight down here.”
“Stop your lying, Dean. I ain’t have time to talk about cooking. I had to babysit you on the way down here. You know your Dad is still scared to fly after all these years, Brix?”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, glancing through the rearview mirror to see her face briefly.
She’s looking in a compact, adding another layer of lipstick on, and she’s still wearing the earmuffs.
How do you take off a coat and hat but forget the earmuffs?
I glance over at my father in the passenger seat.
He’s cool as a fan. He cares nothing about what she’s saying.
“Yeah, he is,” she says. “He nearly peed himself.”
“You’s a bold-faced lie, Faith,” Dad says. “Stop lying to Brix like that. Son, don’t listen to your mother. It was smooth sailing.”
“It was not. We hit some turbulence, and your father, I lie to you not, Brix, ran to the lavatory like being in the bathroom is going to save you when you plummet to the ground from thirty-five thousand feet in a missile.”
She’s riotous with laughter, falling across the back seat to further indulge in her own amusement.
Dad shakes his head.
brRRIIING!
Her phone screams, making its presence known. She must have the volume dialed all the way up. Leave it up to Faith LaSalle to choose the loudest, factory ringtone possible. The sound is enough to drive a sane person mad. AKA, me.
brRRIIING!
“Will you answer that darn phone?” Father snaps. “I told you to cut that volume down before we left the house.”
“Stop your griping, old man. I’m looking for it.”
brRRIIING!
“She got so much junk in the purse, she probably can’t een find it,” Dad grumbles.
“Shut up, Dean.”
“Ma, you need some help back there?” I ask, glancing through the rearview again. She’s elbow-deep in her purse.
“Nah, I got it, Brix, but I appreciate it, baby.”
brRRIIING
“It don’t sound like you got nothing,” Dad says. “That bag of yours is chock-full of junk.” He shakes his head and, in a lower tone, says to me, “She got a small bag of Rold Gold that’s been in there since last year.”
He chuckles.
brRRIIING!
“Where is your phone, woman?” Dad asks, his agitation growing.
She finally finds the phone and says, “Oh, it’s Pearl!” She answers, “Hey, Pearl, girl! We made it, chile…umm hmm…I’m in the back of Brixton’s car right now. He got a new SUV…looks expensive, too. Hey, Brix, it’s Pearl. You remember Pearl, don’t you?”
“Yep. Sure do,” I say unenthused. How could I not remember Pearl? She’s my mom’s creepy friend who came to my first college graduation and said if I wasn’t married by the time I was thirty, she was gon’ put a bid in.
“Pearl said hey, Brix. Well, she didn’t say Brix. She said sweet cheeks.” She erupts in laughter.
My dad leans closer to me and says, “You ain’t gotta say nothing to that old bat.”
For a second, I wasn’t sure if he was talking about Mother or Pearl. The fact that I don’t know has me tickled.
I say, “That would be rude, Dad.”
I glance in the rearview mirror and say, “Tell her I said hi.”
“Oh, Pearl, Brix said hi….” she cackles and continues her conversation, saying, “You know he’s married, right?
Cynnamon gon’ whoop your tail if she finds out you got a crush on her husband…
nah, not a chance! Cynnamon ain’t leaving him.
When you marry a man like Brix, you don’t let go.
Trust me on that, honey! I raised a king.
” She laughs again. “What you say, Pearl? What you say–you gon’ replace his Cynnamon with some nutmeg?
I ain’t messing with you, girl. You hear what Pearl said, Brix? ”
“Now, why she asking you that, like she got the phone on speaker?” Dad asks. He turns around and says, “Nah, he ain’t heard nothing. Can you hang up so we can talk to our son in peace? We just got here. You can talk to Pearl later.”
“You heard that, right?” Mom says in a gossipy tone, still on the phone talking to Pearl. Lips pursed, she continues, “Mmm, hmm–call himself putting his foot down. Girl, the whole time we were flying down here, he was on pins and needles—thought the plane was gon’ crash.”
“Didn’t nobody—”
“Dad, Dad—” I say to stop him from unleashing his frustration.
“Good golly—Pearl, let me call you back.” Mom sighs and says, “There. I’m off the phone. You happy now?”
“As a pig rolling around in the mud! And check your settings and turn that volume down while you’re at it. Thing so loud, it’s gon’ damage my eardrums.”
“See what I have to put up with, Brix? That’s why you need to move to Rhode Island. You’re the only one who can keep this man in line.”
“I keep myself in line,” Dad claps back.
“Remember that on the flight home. Anyway, what’s on the menu for tomorrow? My mouth has been watering for a taste of Cynnamon’s food. That girl knows she can cook.”
“She can, but y’all know how I do. Everything is being catered.”
“The devil is a lie. I ain’t eating no catered food.”
“Mother, the place is nice. I’ve used them several times before. It’s good ol’ fashioned soul food.”
“And why ain’t Cynnamon cooking?”
“Because she doesn’t have to,” Dad answers.
I say, “Well, she is making some pies, but she’s been too busy working to cook a full meal, Ma.”
“Hmph,” Mom grunts.
Suddenly, what should be a twenty-minute ride seems like an hour.
“How’s work coming along, Brix?” Dad asks.