Hoodie (13 page)

“I know, right? I don’t know what they think I’m’ll do to they daughter.”

“Plenty, I would guess,” she replied still smiling.

“Mama,” Anton chided.

“Honey, it’s fine they ask you to go over there. They’re her parents. They have all the right in the world to know who she’s hanging out with whether it’s social or school related. You just let them know that I’d like to have Emma over sometime for dinner.” There was a twinkle in her eye.

“Okay, I’ll tell ‘em,” Anton said grinning. “Now how do I look?”

“Like you scared out of your mind. Come here,” she ordered. “You don’t need a tie on, baby,” and she removed it from around his neck. She unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

“Can you breathe now?” she asked.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna do this,” Anton said. “You know where they live? Avondale Drive, Mama.”

Ms. Robinson whistled. “Maybe we should put that tie back on,” she said grinning.

“Mama, be serious. I’m scared,” Anton pleaded.

“Honey, they are people just like you and me.”

“No they not! They rich!”

“So what? You need to stop thinking about how you’re not good enough. That’s what this is all about, and frankly, it’s got nothin’ to do with an English class assignment. Isn’t that why they want to meet you? You’re doing this assignment with their daughter?”

“Yes, but I know they gonna take one look at me and think to themselves that they don’t want they daughter hangin’ out with a guy like me,” Anton said bitterly.

“Honey, you a good boy. And anyway, why do you care so much? She just a partner for a class assign—”

Anton wouldn’t look at his mother. He knew the realization dawned on her. He kept his eyes glued to the kitchen floor.

“Oh dear Lord in heaven,” she said sighing.

“Are you upset with me?” Anton asked quietly.

“Upset with you?” Ms. Robinson asked. “Why would I be upset with you?”

It was almost too difficult to voice out loud, but he forced himself to. “‘Cause she white, Mama.”

Ms. Robinson stared at her son in disbelief. “White, black, red, green, yellow, blue. Honey, I don’t care.”

She walked over to him and stuck her face underneath of his looking up at him. He smiled down at her.

“You really don’t care or you just sayin’ that?”

“Honey, if you like her and she’s a good girl.” Ms. Robinson paused. “She’s a good girl, right?”

“Yes, Mama. She’s a very good girl. Couldn’t you tell when you met her?”

Ms. Robinson nodded.

“Are you two dating?” she asked.

“No. She don’t even know I like her. At least I don’t think she does,” Anton said.

He noticed a great sense of relief on his mother’s face.

“What’s that look for, Mama? You hopin’ she don’t like me back? See I knew you had a problem with me likin’ a white girl!”

“That’s not it at all,” she replied.

“Then what is it? Why that look of relief on yo’ face?” he pressed.

“Because I know you’re not having sex with her,” Ms. Robinson said.

“Oh God, Mama!” Anton said, flushed with embarrassment. “How you gonna go there with me?”

“Because I’m your mother,” she said. “And I have a right to go there with you.”

“Mama, I’m eighteen! I’m an adult!”

“Boy, I don’t care if you fifty. You still my baby and I have a right to know what you doin’ with yourself,” his mother replied. “And you still livin’ under my roof.”

He grunted.

“How old is she?”

“What?”

“How old is she?” Ms. Robinson repeated with emphasis.

“I think she seventeen,” Anton said.

“And you better remember it,” Ms. Robinson said.

He understood immediately, and not wanting to continue the awkward discussion, he lied and said that he needed to leave when, in fact, he didn’t need to go for another half hour.

“You’ll be just fine, baby,” Ms. Robinson said kissing his cheek. “Just be yourself. Minus all that cussin’ you do.”

“Mama, I don’t cuss,” Anton said.

“Oh who you foolin’?” his mother asked watching him disappear out the front door.

***

He sat in his mother’s car in front of 560 Avondale Drive for twenty minutes studying the façade. The house boasted three stories with a large covered front porch. Though twilight was approaching, he could still make out every detail of the impeccably manicured lawn. Nothing looked real; it was too perfect, and he thought for a moment that perhaps heaven would look like this. He shook his head instantly, ridding his mind of that thought. He didn’t want heaven to look like that. It wasn’t inviting.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, he exited the Ford Escort and walked up the driveway. He noticed Emma’s car and two other cars. One was an expensive SUV and the other a Porsche 911. He smiled sadly to himself thinking that he would die tonight of utter humiliation. He reached the door and rang the doorbell quickly. He knew if he did not, he would lose his nerve and run for the car. Emma answered.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly, moving aside to let him in.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” he asked. His voice sounded strained.

“Because you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she replied.

“Aw, nah, that’d be your daddy’s Porsche outside,” Anton said.

“Porsche,” Emma corrected.

“That’s what I said. Porsche.”

“No, no, it’s pronounced Porsh-a,” Emma explained.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked testily.

Emma smiled apologetically. She hadn’t meant to be condescending. “No. I’m sorry. Come in.”

She watched him walk into the house with trepidation.

“You’re all dressed up,” she observed. She wore a springtime dress, but then she always dressed nicely.

“I’m havin’ dinner with yo’ parents,” he reminded her.

“You just need to relax. It’s not like you’re asking them for my hand in marriage,” Emma said laughing.

Anton grunted. That was the best he could do for a reply as she led him through the entryway to the kitchen. He was too nervous to notice anything around him except for the high ceilings. They made the entire place look cavernous. Her mother was at the sink when they entered the kitchen.

“Mom, this is Anton,” Emma said.

Emma’s mother turned around and smiled.

“So nice to meet you, Anton,” she said, but he wasn’t sure he believed her.

She was a copycat of her daughter, or rather, her daughter was a copycat of her. Long auburn hair framing her face. The same light blue eyes and creamy complexion. She looked as young as Emma. He didn’t think before he spoke.

“Wow, you two could be sisters,” he said.

“Well, I’m flattered,” Emma’s mother said beaming. She didn’t miss a beat.

“I’m not,” Emma muttered.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Chapman. Should I not of said that?” Anton asked anxiously.

“Are you kidding?” Mrs. Chapman replied. “What mother doesn’t want to be told she looks as young as her daughter?”

Anton smiled and relaxed.

“And call me Kay,” she added.

“Aw, no ma’am. I can’t do that. Where I come from, that’s disrespectful,” Anton said.

“Fine, then call me
Ms.
Kay. Is that better?”

Before he could answer, Emma cut in. “Mom, you wanted us to set the table?”

“No, I wanted you to set the table. Anton is our guest.”

“Oh, it’s a’ight, er, alright. I can help,” Anton said.

“That’s very nice of you, Anton,” Mrs. Chapman replied.

She handed Emma a stack of plates with utensils and cloth napkins—cloth napkins, he thought disbelievingly—and pointed to the glasses sitting on the kitchen island for Anton to take. Don’t you drop those glasses, he thought, picking them up carefully with shaky hands and following Emma to the dining room.

He watched her set the table, holding the glasses all the while until she pointed to where they belonged. He placed them delicately on the table and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Call me Ms. Kay,” Emma muttered under her breath.

“What’s that?” Anton asked.

“Nothing,” Emma said. “Just my mom being my mom.”

Anton didn’t know how to reply.

“Come on,” Emma ordered, and he followed her out of the room.

They walked down a long corridor decorated with family photographs. The ceilings seemed higher in the hallway, Anton noticed, thinking that couldn’t be right. How’s a hallway gonna feel larger than a regular room, he thought, then remembered that they were rich. The guest bathroom was probably the size of his duplex.

They entered a large study where Emma’s father sat behind a looming, dark cherry executive desk. He looked like he was in the middle of some important business, and Anton wondered why Emma didn’t knock first. He felt immediately uncomfortable all over again just as he was beginning to relax after having successfully placed the glasses on the table.

“Baby girl,” her father said looking up from his work. Anton noticed that it became completely inconsequential to him once he saw his daughter.

“Hey Dad,” Emma replied. “This is Anton.”

Mr. Chapman stood and walked around the desk to shake Anton’s hand. He had a firm, authoritative grasp, and Anton tried hard to match it.

“Nice to meet you, son,” Mr. Chapman said. “We’re happy you came tonight. We’ve heard so much about this project of yours and Emma’s. It’s fascinating. I hope she’s being a good partner to you.” He looked at Emma who smirked at him.

“Oh, yes sir. She keeps me on track,” Anton said, and then thought better. “Not that I don’t do nothing, I mean, anything. It’s just I have a hard time stayin’ organized.”

“Ha! So do I,” Mr. Chapman said pointing at his desk.

It was littered with stacks of papers, piled high and teetering on the verge of collapse. There were at least a dozen old coffee mugs sitting around. Anton could only imagine how long they’d been there. Folders and binders of all sorts were thrown about haphazardly. Anton wondered how this man could be so successful when he worked in such a mess. A lone picture frame sat at the corner, and he imagined the picture contained in it was of Mr. Chapman’s wife or the family.

Mr. Chapman walked over to the desk and picked up the frame as if he read Anton’s mind.

“This is my favorite picture,” he said and showed it to Anton.

To Anton’s surprise, it was not of his wife or the whole family. It was of Emma. And she was very young.

“Dad, why do you have to show everybody that picture?” Emma asked.