Ari turned up her nose. “I don’t think Mrs. Harrison and I can be friends. Good or bad, I’m a Falcons fan.”
I laughed. “It’s Dr. Harrison, actually. Even though she hates anyone to call her that. I think she’d like you despite your affiliation. But you may hate me.”
Ari’s brows knit in genuine concern. “Why?”
I leaned in close, pretending to look remorseful. “I’m sorry but… I’m a Saints fan.”
Ari feigned disgust, placing her hand over her chest. “I don’t know if I should leave this table or what!”
“Before you get the burger?” I teased, sipping the cold stout.
Ari’s lips quirked up. “You’re right. I guess I’ll wait for the burger. In the meantime, I guess I’ll sit here and talk to you, a Saints fan. So, you’re from New Orleans?”
“I was born in Virginia. But my dad’s side of the family has deep roots in New Orleans.” I paused a second to scan her face for some type of recognition of the Harrison name.
Relieved, I continued. “They stationed my dad all over the world. Being a military brat, it’s hard to say where you’re from, you know? I spent most of my childhood summers shuffling between my family in New Orleans or Armonia, my mom’s hometown in west Texas. They were worlds apart from each other, but both feel like home. The best were summers with my grandparents in New Orleans. My grandfather, he would…” I got quiet as I thought about all the summers as a kid, all the hugs goodbye from my parents, and the last time I was in New Orleans in the summer. Standing in the humidity as Marines draped a flag over my father’s shiny gold casket. Reporters clamoring to capture a photo of the prominent Senator Armand Pierre Honoré Harrison burying his only son. I could still feel his hand gripping into my shoulder as he stoically tried not to cry. I sipped my now warm beer. I couldn’t talk about that. Not now.
Ari nodded as she swirled her glass of beer. “Ah, hence the accent.”
“You think I have an accent? I’ve never heard that before.”
“Totally. It’s a mash-up of a lot of things. I like it.”
My stomach weirdly flipped at the compliment. “Thanks.”
Ari took another sip of her beer. “So, your mom…”
“Right! My mom. Mama was the first one in her family to go to college on a track scholarship. It was a big deal in Armonia. She had dreams of going to the Olympics. She and my dad met at Hampton, back when it was Hampton Institute. But she got pregnant with me in college, got married. Now, she’s the principal of the Shabazz Charter School for Girls in Kirkwood. She refuses to retire because ‘those girls need me.’ Her words.”
Ari’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wow, son of a military man, an educator, and Hampton legacy. Impressive.”
“It’s not a big deal.” To anyone else it probably would be a big deal. I was pretty sure my grandparents had something named after them there. A dorm. A boat. Some scholarship or endowment. I didn’t care about stuff like that. Neither did my dad.
Ari eyed me with a little suspiciousness. “It’s nice to carry on tradition. I’m sure your dad would be proud of you!”
“I hope he is.”
Ari reached toward me, placing a warm, soft hand on top of mine. “Trust me, he would be.”
The music faded away as I relaxed and leaned into her touch.
“Thanks. My dad was amazing. Luckily, Mom remarried about ten years ago to a guy named Desmond. Good dude. Total opposite of my dad. My dad was conservative and buttoned up. A tough love kind of guy. Didn’t express his feelings but you felt his love. Des is really laid-back, carefree, and very animated. He’s a well-known visual artist from Anguilla and met my mom when her girlfriends convinced her to go to one of his gallery showings. If it isn’t about soccer, soca, or cricket, he’s not interested. But we get along great because he treats me and my brother Todd like his own sons but isn’t trying to replace my dad. Todd, he’s indifferent to Desmond, but usually respectful. I’m just glad that Des makes my mom happy and is an awesome grandfather to my niece and nephew.”
“So, did your stepfather paint the paintings in your office?” asked Ari. “The ones above your drafting table.”
I smiled, a little taken aback that she even noticed. “Actually, no. I did those.”
“Wow!” Ari exclaimed with a smile. “An architect. A painter. Just an overall Renaissance man. So why didn’t you pursue art?”