An arranged marriage. An illicit affair. An unforgettable passion. A forbidden love...
A spoiled socialite clashes with a streetwise mechanic who challenges the order of her privileged life while an arranged marriage threatens even more.
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As tired as I was Monday night after staying until close at the garage, I knew better. I made sure to drive on over to my mother and grandmother's to stop in for a visit.
Outside of Uncle Rod, my mother and grandmother were the only family I had. My father had died when I was a baby, after that, my mother lost contact with his side of the family. It was unfortunate, but it made me extra grateful for the family I did have.
I had a key to the house, but I always knocked or rang the bell just out of respect.
It had barely been a minute since I'd rang the doorbell before my mother was coming and opening the door for me.
"Well, look who's showin' his face," my mother remarked as she stood back, taking me in from head to toe.
These days, I was usually a hermit and made sure to stop by once a month at least. It was trash on my part, seeing how they only stayed a few blocks away from me.
"My fault." I leaned down and engulfed my mother into a hug, pressing my face into the crook of her neck as she hugged me back. Nice and tight. I was her only child, and I had to do better on keepin' in touch with her.
Deep into the house, I could smell the remains of the evening's dinner.
It smelled like brown sugar ham, one of my grandmother's famous recipes next to her renowned potato salad.
"What y'all got goin' on in here?" I said as I made my presence known as I stepped further into the house after my mother let me in.
"Is that Keith?" my grandmother, Betty Jean's, voice filtered through the house as I recognized her location in the dining room.
I made my way to her to greet her with a hug and a kiss. Betty was at the dining room table, with a late-night mug of tea in front of her. Her face lit up at the sight of me and that itself made me smile.
At eighty, Betty was a ray of sunshine in this dark world. Nothing kept her down or angry, a trait I wished I'd inherited. Then, I wouldn't have battled with my depression for over a year. Wouldn't have walked around with that perpetual chip on my shoulder. I was working on it, little by little. I was here, not home like I'd usually go after work.
"Hey, Betty." I gave her a hug and planted a kiss on her cheek, which she returned hard and long as she often did. When I was a boy, she was always emphasizing how important it was to "love hard." She hugged you like she didn't want to let go, told you you were handsome or beautiful, smart and funny, and squeezed extra hard on those tough days when you weren't feelin' it.
"Big Man!" Betty professed as I stood away from her embrace. She'd been calling me that since I was a little boy. "What you doin' bein' so tall, Big Man?" she'd asked me when I'd gone on a growth spurt that never seemed to be ending when I was six.
