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Those events were the absolute worst. Even when I was lucky enough to find another kid there, things were painfully dull, at best, and other times just plain painful. The fancy get-ups were annoying as a child, and constantly being reminded of my posture, my manners, and my grammar had been exhausting. Once I escorted the last girl on my mother’s list of, ‘You just have to take her, Hayes,’ debutante girls and went off to college, I put all things from the Gullah Society behind me.
“Don’t you groan at me like embracing and uplifting our culture is such torture for you. Do you need a history lesson or a reminder of why the work the Society does is so important?”
Holy crap, the spoon was down, and she was coming to sit next to me at the table. This was definitely moving into the history lesson arena.
“No, of course I don’t, Mother. I know it’s important and I’ll even help you out when I can, but finding an apartment and a job needs to be my top priority now. I’m not even sure I’ll be staying here, remember? I’m applying for jobs worldwide.”
Now, she had a huffy sigh of exasperation to spare. The scholarship made her give in to my going to college on the west coast, but she wasn’t going to entertain my going anywhere other than South Carolina for the rest of my life. But that was a fight for another day. I heard the ladies coming up the porch through the screen door and knew I would be out of focus and off the hook for the time being. We all tucked into the food once the pleasantries and cheek kisses were done.
Mom, Aunt Hattie, and Ms. Eileen drilled me through the entire meal. It wasn’t a breakfast, but an inquisition. What was my plan? Was I staying in South Carolina? Why would I go back to California? Was my ex dating? Was I dating? Did we plan to get back together? What exactly happened between the two of us? It was endless, and the meal I walked into the room salivating over was now laying in my stomach like a buttery, syrup- covered brick. They didn’t hurl questions at me with lightning speed, but it still felt like every other bite was sandwiched between questions.
Somehow, I managed to answer, not be rude, or disrespectful, and not really divulge anything in too much detail. It was truly an art to have a conversation with them. When I checked my watch, I realized we had already done two rounds of coffee. I’d answered multiple invasive questions and was hoping to make my exit. I volunteered to clean up so they could get their things together for their meeting. Prayerfully, they would be gone in the next half hour or so, and I could put my newly clean body back in my old pajamas and sleep some more.
Luck wasn’t on my side and was obviously visiting some other boy’s house today. I kept a silent prayer going that it would just be a couple more minutes of small talk and I would be in the clear. However, I was so wrong. Mother never gave in that easily.
“Hayes. Hayes, did you hear me? I want you to help us load the sample room, set up displays and sample design books so we can show Sterling what we’ve been exploring,” my mom said when she came back into the kitchen.
“Is he going to be there to help you unload?”
“No. I mean, of course he’ll be there, but you can unload fine by yourself. We can park close to the conference room entrance.”
“What?” Shit. This is what happened when you didn’t listen closely and pay attention when you spoke to my mother. “No. Mother, I am not coming with you. I already have plans for today.”
“Hayes, do not lie to your mother! Your only plan for today was rotating in that bed to prevent bed sores. Now, I need you to do this, and we could use a young person’s perspective on our plans. It would be nice if more people from your age group got involved.”
She said things like, ‘my age group,’ like I was still eleven years old. Basically, that was the passive-aggressive way of telling me to get my ass in the car and to do as I was told. She wasn’t buying my BS plans and clearly would not be leaving me to my own devices for the day. I got everything organized in the trunk and climbed into the back seat next to Ms. Eileen with a box full of what looked like picture books.
“Mother, do you really need these things for this meeting today?”
“Yes, Hayes,” was all she cared to respond with.
For the rest of the drive, they talked amongst themselves and mercifully were done grilling me, for now. We pulled up to the building, and I wasn’t out of the car before Mother was instructing me on how to carry a box. I wanted to ask her if she was serious. Instead, I did what I always did and nodded my head in agreement to whatever she wanted.
The large, handsome, very well-put-together man that waved in response to Aunt Hattie sent me into selective mutism. I was literally trying to drink him in and memorize every detail about him. If he had been covered in hair from head to toe, he could’ve passed for a big ol’ black bear. I wasn’t considered short on any chart, but this man looked like he could bench press me for sport. I did my best to fall back behind the ladies and say as little as possible, so I could take in as much of him as I could.
From his well-shaped mustache and extended goatee to one of the tightest fades I’d seen in a long time, this man was checking boxes for me left and right. He had the sleeves on his oxford rolled up midway with a printed vest buttoned over it. His jeans were crisp without a crease and showed off thighs you’d want to climb like tree trunks. The ink on his forearms was black and I couldn’t make out any distinct designs, but I would not be opposed to tracing each one of them with my tongue. His collar was open, and a thick silver chain of links hung down his throat. Both of his wrists sported thick black leather cuffs. I assumed one must be his watch.
What I didn’t see was a ring. Yup, he would be yummy, guilt-free eye candy for the next few hours. I cleared out a space in my head and let him take up residence. How did this man get roped into planning a gala with these old society women? Right then I decided however long I had to stay would be worth it to find out.
Chapter 2
Sterling
My sister and her little side projects and favors were killing me. Note to self, tell Cassandra no.
“No, I need you to get the shots I asked for because we are going for a specific look. If you can’t handle it, I’m more than happy to find another photographer. I don’t care what my sister promised you. This isn’t some personal art exhibit for your work. You’re a factor in a much bigger equation. Get it done and don’t call me back until you have the answers and pictures I want.”
This is what I got. It served me right. It was one hundred percent my fault. My sister was the only person in my entire life that I allowed to ‘bully’ me into doing things, even if the potential stress and disaster that followed were practically guaranteed.
We were both forces to be reckoned with in our own right, but she had me at age by six years. When our mom passed away while I was in my last year of college, Cassandra was already married with two of her own kids and sort of added me to her brood without asking. I had no vote. Suddenly, Sunday dinner was at her house. Holidays were at her house. I needed to discuss my graduate school plans with her. I’d had to come out to her before our father. She felt compelled to be there with me just in case he reacted poorly, even though I was going into it pretty much knowing he’d figured it out already. We’d been raised by modern, accepting, and very aware parents. His acceptance was a foregone conclusion.
Sometimes her suffocating mama-bear routine was tolerable. Other times, she was insufferable. Today was insufferable. Insufferable and on an anniversary cruise, so even if I wanted to rant at her, it was virtually impossible. Unless she called me, which likely wasn’t about to happen.
I called my assistant and asked her to put together a little treat for the trio of ladies I needed to meet with in the next hour. Hopefully, French pastries and spa gift cards would make them more understanding of the bad news I was going to deliver.
First, I let my sister rope me into donating to the Gullah Historical Preservation Society. Then, it was joining the Society. Next, she hit me with we need your planning expertise on this committee or that. Her final below-the-belt hit came when she oh so subtly reminded me that Mother had been a part of the Society and how important it was for us to both work to keep the legacy alive. Five years later and I’m co-chairing a gala committee. I’m bringing in donors and going to City Council meetings. For the most part, I enjoyed it, not that I would ever tell Cass that with a straight face. I had to give her a little grief or she wouldn’t think twice about dragging me into all sorts of things she just knew I needed in my life.
I loved South Carolina and all the history of our ancestors in this area. Hell, I had a minor in history studying that very thing. It was the party planning and attending events that drove me nuts. Half of the older ladies refused to believe I was gay for real, so they kept trying to fix me up with the right woman. Short of shouting, “I prefer cock!” I really didn’t see a more effective solution to that particular problem. So, I went on several very polite and very awkward dates. The other half of the ladies believed in my gayness as much as I did and swore they had the perfect gay nephew or grandson that would sweep me off my feet. In reality, all that happened was I ended up dancing the night away at those events with a bunch of widowed old ladies that smelled like they’d rolled around in a garden all day.
