“Nice to meet you, Dr. Harrison,” I said. She frowned and looked at Porter. He shrugged.
“Did Porter tell you to call me that? Oh, you don’t have to be so formal, dear! Eloise is fine. Now, come on in. This cake looks divine! Do you make it? Porter, take that cake and put it on the dessert table. Take the girl’s sweater and hang it up. Boy, I raised you better than that. Let me introduce you to my husband, Desmond.” Eloise spoke so fast, taking me by the arm before I could object. I looked over at Porter. He gave me a sympathetic smile as he hung my sweater up in the coat closet.
Locked arm in arm with Eloise, I was given a quick tour of her home, starting with the foyer. She explained how Desmond was an abstract artist, with much of his work being influenced by his Caribbean heritage. Even she didn’t understand his work sometimes, but she found it beautiful. We stood in front of a painting near the powder room of what appeared to be a woman on a beach. It gave me Romare Bearden vibes.
“He says this is me,” said Eloise with a smile. “I don’t see it.” Her head tilted to the side as she examined a piece. I was sure she looked at it 1000 times a day. Yet, her eyes still were in wonderment.
I stood back a bit. “I can see it. It has your energy.”
Eloise looked at me and smiled. “You think so? Oh, that’s very sweet.” She patted my arm in tender, appreciative acknowledgment.
Finally, we entered the large family room. It looked like something out of Town and Country magazine. I quickly realized Porter’s idea of “just family” extended to friends of his parents and an abundance of laughing, teenage girls. His mother explained she’d also invited her students who didn’t have stable homes or were food insecure. It seemed as if Porter’s kindness and generosity was the byproduct of amazing parents.
The incredibly large television was blasting football while calypso music was simultaneously playing. I recognized the man in the recliner as Porter’s stepfather, Desmond. He was talking to a guy balancing two toddlers, a boy and girl, on his knee. I assumed that the man was Porter’s brother, Todd. They looked like they were having a bit of a spirited argument. I felt nervous, as if I was intruding. I looked down and in front of Todd were several beer bottles and an empty rocks glass.
“Everyone,” announced Eloise. “This is Ari. Porter’s…coworker. They’re working on the soccer stadium project together.”
Everyone turned around to look at me. I heard a couple of coughs and felt a few uneasy stares. The teenage girls were whispering and giggling. I wanted to run and hide, but I felt Porter’s hand on my shoulder. I quickly scanned the room and landed upon Porter’s brother Todd. His brother’s expression was blank, maybe a little confused. After Eloise’s introduction, Desmond got out of his seat and approached us. He hugged me and kissed me on the cheek.
“Eh eh! Porter never say he coworker was so beautiful!” he said in a very thick accent.
“And Porter never mentioned that his stepfather was so talented. I love all the paintings.” I extended my hand toward his and he kissed the top of it.
“Thank you, dahlin!”
I smiled. He reminded me of my father, who was also smooth as silk at charming people.
Eloise shook her head and laughed. “You know how to get on his good side, Ari! Gold star for you!”
Desmond’s booming laugh rose above the noise of the living area. Just then, a woman who could have been a carbon copy of Halle Berry, carrying a tray of charcuterie, entered the room. She placed the tray down on the ottoman between the guests and walked over to extend her hand toward me.
“Hi, Ari! Porter’s told us so much about you! I’m Kim, Todd’s wife. Must be odd to be in that weird environment of all-men. Girl, I know how that is. I’m the lead prosecutor in my district. Only Black girl, too. I’m sure we could trade war stories.” Kim spoke just as fast as Eloise. Before she could say anything else, her children jumped off Todd’s lap and were beckoning her to play with them. “Sorry. The munchkins want me! Nice to meet you! We’ll talk soon!” She smiled and excused herself. Even in that brief exchange, I knew I liked Kim.
“Come with me,” said Eloise quietly. “You’ll have enough time to meet everyone and have them give you the third degree.”
She led me into an immaculate kitchen that rivaled that of a five-star restaurant with its sparkling stainless steel, copper pots that hung down, and granite countertops. But the smells! It was heavenly. The massive island was covered with cuisine representing the entire diaspora. From rice and peas to corn bread dressing and tamales, Eloise had it all covered. She waved me over to a massive cast iron pot on her Viking stove. She opened it and the fragrant smell of gumbo wafted in the air. My stomach growled in response.