An American Marriage(28)

“I notice that you never talk about me bringing anybody until after the food is all gone.”

“I’m serious,” I said.

“Next time,” she said. “I promise.” But she was never going to bring anyone around and she would never tell me why not. On these evenings, near 1 a.m. or so, I always offered to escort her back to her own campus and she would say, “I want to stay here.” We slept in my twin bed—her under the covers and me beside her with a sheet between us, for modesty’s sake. I would be lying if I didn’t say sharing the bed with only a stretch of cotton separating our bodies didn’t rile me up from time to time. But looking back, I attribute that to my youth. Once she woke up before the sun and whispered, “Andre, sometimes I feel like I’m not all the way together.” That was the one time I joined her underneath the sheet, but it was only to quiet her trembling. “You’re good,” I told her. “You’re good.”

And if I may say another thing to color the record, they met through me. She had slept over and Roy came by at 8 a.m. trying to hustle up some quarters to do his laundry. He came busting in with no warning, like there was no way I could be doing anything private. In college, I was a hard guy to categorize. I wasn’t militant enough to be an Afrikan with a k, I wasn’t peculiar enough to be a nerd, and it goes without saying that I didn’t have the moves to be a Rico Suave. So I may not have had a natural female constituency, but I did well enough. Roy, as per usual, was drowning in attention. He was tallish, dark, and handsome but unpolished enough that it made him appear wholesome. Since our dorm rooms shared a wall, I knew that the clodhopper act was a technique. Not that he wasn’t country as sugar on grits, but he wasn’t stupid or harmless.

“I’m Roy Hamilton,” he said, staring at Celestial like he was hungry.

“Roy Othaniel Hamilton, from what I hear through the wall.”

Now Roy looked at me like I had shared classified information. I held my hands up. Then he turned his eyes to Celestial again and kept them there. At first, I think it was the challenge of it all. He couldn’t believe that she had less than no interest in him. Even I was confused.

That’s when I realized that her transformation was permanent. This was the new Celestial, straight ahead and direct, the by-product of all that time she spent recuperating with her aunt. Six months in Sylvia’s care taught her two things: how to sew dolls from socks and how to tell immediately when a man was coming at her from the wrong side of the street.

Roy came to my room three or four times to ask after her. “Ain’t nothing up with y’all, right?”

“Nothing at all,” I said. “I been knowing her since we were little.”

“Okay,” he said. “Then give me some intel.”

“Like what?”

“If I knew, would I be asking you?”

There was insight I could have given him, no doubt. However, I wasn’t going to give Roy the map to the core of her. He was a cool dude; even back then I liked him. He and I were almost frat bothers. Part One of my father’s conditions in sending me to school was that I pledge—in his mind, only his first-born son could keep the legacy going. When I showed up for the “informational meeting,” Roy was there, too. Being first-generation everything, he didn’t have too much to write on the index cards, whereas the rest of us were busy inking our bona fides. I was sitting right next to him, so I saw a little blemish of panic bloom on his face. When the brothers came around and asked for his card, he handed it back as blank as the moon. “I didn’t feel those questions could tell you who I am.” He didn’t put the bass in his voice when he said it, but there was a little something there. The Big Brother snorted at him and said, “Fool, fill out the card.” Yet he won a little ground for himself there. Roy glanced over at my card on which I block-lettered my dad’s whole entire family tree.

“It’s in your blood,” Roy said.

I waved the card and said, “Ask me how many times I have seen these people in the last ten years.”

Roy shrugged. “It’s your family.”

I handed my card in and sat beside him again. Things got silly. I won’t go into detail because secrets are secrets, but let’s just say there was ceremonial garb but no sacrificial chickens or other livestock.

“We should break up out of here.” Roy poked me with his elbow, testing the waters.

And when I think back on it, I wish we had headed for the door, escaping with our dignity intact. Flash forward: short version—neither of us made line. Slightly more detailed version—they kicked our asses for three weeks straight and we still didn’t make line. Super-secret version—when we didn’t make line, I was privately relieved, but Roy wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

He and I were friendly, if not friends, but I wasn’t going to present Celestial on a silver platter. Evie raised me better than that. It took another three or four years for them to find each other on their own, and then the time was right. Was Roy the kind of guy you want your sister to marry? The truth is that you never want your sister to marry at all. But they were good together, Celestial and Roy. He took care of her, and to my knowledge, when he promised to have and to hold, he was sincere. Even Evie approved, to the point that she played piano at the wedding. It was an uplifting story: boy chases girl until she catches him and all of that. At the wedding reception, I sat at the head table, wishing them the best. When I raised my glass to their happiness, my words were heartfelt. Anyone who would say different is a liar.