momentarily biting into her shoulder. He relaxed and stepped slightly away from her, dropping his arm.
“Date?” He murmured the word under his breath, but somehow her mother seemed to hear him. She gave Brandon a smile that was a combination of condescension and understanding. Suzanne recognized the look well. It was her mother’s patented ‘This may hurt a little, but I’m doing it for your own good’ look. She’d seen it a lot growing up.
“Suzanne’s been seeing a friend’s son. He accompanied her to one of her father’s cocktail parties Friday before last, and has been looking forward to their next date.”
Hurt slashed through Brandon’s eyes for a brief second before his gaze shuttered. “You didn’t tell me you were out with someone else that night.”
She couldn’t think of what to say. She wanted to tell Brandon that she’d only been out with Antoine at her mother’s request, that she didn’t even like him. But the words caught in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to disparage her mother’s friend’s son in front of her mother.
“Brandon…”
The air hummed with awkwardness. She reached for him but he stepped back.
“Excuse me, I should check the food.” Brandon turned on his heel and headed back down the hall, leaving her alone with her parents.
Suzanne pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers, wondering how she’d gone from looking forward to dinner and snuggling on the couch with Brandon to the knotted tension of the scene that filled the hallway.
“That was…” She shook her head. “You had no right to tell him that, Mother.”
Her father tsked. “Don’t blame your mother for this situation, Suzanne. She didn’t say anything untrue, did she?”
“Really, Suzanne,” her mother began, but she pursed her lips at the sound of Brandon’s approaching footsteps.
When she caught sight of him, dressed once again in his white t-shirt — now sporting a few stains and splashes — with his duffel in hand, Suzanne felt the blood drain from her head. His face was still closed off, smile gone, the skin around his eyes tight.
She lifted a hand, but he stopped several feet from her. Suzanne bit her lip, tears beginning to sting her eyes. Her voice trembled. “H-how’s the jambalaya?”
“It’s ready. I put it on low. You can eat whenever you want.”
She didn’t miss the ‘you’. Her heart shriveled and her next words almost stuck in her throat. “You’re not staying?”
Her parents were watching the exchange with stone-faces. She wanted to push them out the door and beg Brandon to stay… but that wasn’t how she was raised. She knew what her grandmother would say about that. Unfortunately, Suzanne wasn’t her grandmother, and the strong, elderly woman was gone.
Brandon gave a brief shake of his head, his gaze hovering somewhere around her forehead. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I need to check in at the station. Enjoy the food.” He nodded at her parents. “Mr. Headley. Ms. Headley.”
He slid past them both, graceful despite his bulk. The click of the door closing was loud in the silent hallway.
Suzanne’s breath caught in her throat, a soft whimper. Her mother sighed.
She turned away from her parents and stumbled into the living room, cutting off the low music and flopping onto the couch. She should be sitting here beside Brandon, eating delicious jambalaya and laughing over some cheesy science fiction movie. She put her head in her hands.
Behind her, she heard the tak-tak-tak of her mother’s heels on the wood floor. “What were you thinking, bringing someone like him home?”
“Someone like him, Mother?” She spoke without racing her head. “Do you mean white, or blue collar?”
“Suzanne Headley!” Her father’s voice cut through the room, making her flinch. “Apologize to your mother. You know very well we don’t care about skin color. Insinuating otherwise is petty and insulting.”
She shook her head. “Sorry. But
“Date?” He murmured the word under his breath, but somehow her mother seemed to hear him. She gave Brandon a smile that was a combination of condescension and understanding. Suzanne recognized the look well. It was her mother’s patented ‘This may hurt a little, but I’m doing it for your own good’ look. She’d seen it a lot growing up.
“Suzanne’s been seeing a friend’s son. He accompanied her to one of her father’s cocktail parties Friday before last, and has been looking forward to their next date.”
Hurt slashed through Brandon’s eyes for a brief second before his gaze shuttered. “You didn’t tell me you were out with someone else that night.”
She couldn’t think of what to say. She wanted to tell Brandon that she’d only been out with Antoine at her mother’s request, that she didn’t even like him. But the words caught in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to disparage her mother’s friend’s son in front of her mother.
“Brandon…”
The air hummed with awkwardness. She reached for him but he stepped back.
“Excuse me, I should check the food.” Brandon turned on his heel and headed back down the hall, leaving her alone with her parents.
Suzanne pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers, wondering how she’d gone from looking forward to dinner and snuggling on the couch with Brandon to the knotted tension of the scene that filled the hallway.
“That was…” She shook her head. “You had no right to tell him that, Mother.”
Her father tsked. “Don’t blame your mother for this situation, Suzanne. She didn’t say anything untrue, did she?”
“Really, Suzanne,” her mother began, but she pursed her lips at the sound of Brandon’s approaching footsteps.
When she caught sight of him, dressed once again in his white t-shirt — now sporting a few stains and splashes — with his duffel in hand, Suzanne felt the blood drain from her head. His face was still closed off, smile gone, the skin around his eyes tight.
She lifted a hand, but he stopped several feet from her. Suzanne bit her lip, tears beginning to sting her eyes. Her voice trembled. “H-how’s the jambalaya?”
“It’s ready. I put it on low. You can eat whenever you want.”
She didn’t miss the ‘you’. Her heart shriveled and her next words almost stuck in her throat. “You’re not staying?”
Her parents were watching the exchange with stone-faces. She wanted to push them out the door and beg Brandon to stay… but that wasn’t how she was raised. She knew what her grandmother would say about that. Unfortunately, Suzanne wasn’t her grandmother, and the strong, elderly woman was gone.
Brandon gave a brief shake of his head, his gaze hovering somewhere around her forehead. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I need to check in at the station. Enjoy the food.” He nodded at her parents. “Mr. Headley. Ms. Headley.”
He slid past them both, graceful despite his bulk. The click of the door closing was loud in the silent hallway.
Suzanne’s breath caught in her throat, a soft whimper. Her mother sighed.
She turned away from her parents and stumbled into the living room, cutting off the low music and flopping onto the couch. She should be sitting here beside Brandon, eating delicious jambalaya and laughing over some cheesy science fiction movie. She put her head in her hands.
Behind her, she heard the tak-tak-tak of her mother’s heels on the wood floor. “What were you thinking, bringing someone like him home?”
“Someone like him, Mother?” She spoke without racing her head. “Do you mean white, or blue collar?”
“Suzanne Headley!” Her father’s voice cut through the room, making her flinch. “Apologize to your mother. You know very well we don’t care about skin color. Insinuating otherwise is petty and insulting.”
She shook her head. “Sorry. But
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