A Curve Ball Called Love

“There’s a fine line between right and wrong and like it or not, we’re on the wrong side of things when it comes to reparations,” Douglas said matter-of-factly to one of the guests in attendance.

That statement made Tiffany’s heart skip a beat. She’d failed to mention that politics was one of the topics that were completely off the table. She didn’t know how she forgot to mention that. Perhaps her mistake was making the assumption that he would do something remotely decent at that party.

Please don’t make a fool of yourself, she prayed silently as one of the guests began arguing with Douglas on the reparations subject.

“No, think about it. We went to a continent, stole its people so that they could come and farm our lands for free and when the legal system finally ruled that a crime which it should have been from the start, right? I mean, it was straight up kidnapping and human trafficking after all. So, once the system began remotely favoring the blacks, we began segregation. Telling them that they couldn’t vote or go to the same schools as us or be paid like we were… we owe them,” he concluded.

“See, that’s where I have the problem. We don’t owe them anything mostly because they are long dead by now,” the guest said and Douglas shook his head.

“No, not really. Research has shown that there are still descendants of slavery living in certain areas of the United States today. Besides, you might not have done anything but if we trace back your history, we might find that your great, great, great grandfather owned one of the plantations and like it or not, you have reaped the benefits of that generational wealth while the black people who worked in the same fields have suffered the same generational curse. Always having the short end of the stick.”

Tiffany moved closer. She was impressed at how much he was maintaining his cool and how much he knew about black culture.

“Bottom line, we do not owe them reparations. We helped civilize those animals.”

That man was relentless and by now Tiffany knew just how racist he truly was.

“They were already civilized. They never needed us and our education system has glorified the invasion and scramble for Africa and grossly misrepresented it. To us, we went to save them but to the African continent, it was an invasion. It was genocide because the white men couldn’t have them willingly bend to their will. So, we broke them and made them seem so helpless that to date, they are still considered third world.”

There was a deafening silence that enveloped the room before someone else finally spoke up, changing the topic.

“I read somewhere that you almost considered music as a major,” the woman said and Douglas smiled.

“That’s true.”

A chorus of oohs and ahs washed over the guests.

“Can you play any instrument?” the woman asked and Douglas nodded.

“As a matter of fact I can but I haven’t practiced in a long time.”

“You must know something, even if it’s a nursery rhyme.”

“Hands down, Chopin’s Ballade number one in G-minor is my go-to. It was the first piano lesson I ever had,” Douglas went on.

“You play the piano?” one of the guests asked and Douglas nodded.

“Just a little.”

“Okay, now I have to hear what you sound like. Also, the words ‘a little’ and Chopin don’t belong in the same sentence,” another guest pointed out.

“Please, I couldn’t do a composer like Chopin any justice. I’m not that good,” Douglas said politely. “It’s been some time since I played.”

“But you do know how to play a Chopin ballad, right?” the guest pressed and Douglas nodded.

“Yes, actually more than one.”

“Then we must hear at least one. I might not know which one is ballade number one but I do know that Chopin composed some of the best music known to man.”

“I saw a piano in the living room,” another guest pointed out. “Perhaps it’s time for you to prove to us that it isn’t just an ostentatious display of the Ingram wealth.”

Douglas laughed and looked at Tiffany for a second before he made his way to the living room and sat down at the Yamaha grand concert piano. He played a few keys before he began his ten-minute performance of the piece. Everyone was impressed, especially Tiffany. The room was dead silent as he played. Every key seemed to stroke the air, to somehow bring it alive, and Douglas, he was really in it. He had his eyes closed as he played like a trained concert pianist.

That was what Tiffany thought at that moment; that he could have been a concert pianist. Heck, that’s what he should have stuck to if she’d had anything to say about it. For the first time since they met, Tiffany was seeing a whole new side to Douglas that made her feel a little different about him.

Once the party was over, Tiffany stayed behind to oversee the clean-up crew. She didn’t know if Douglas noticed how she was sneaking looks at him as she kept busy.

“So, boss lady,” Douglas said as he walked to where she was. “How did I do?”

Tiffany looked up from the wine bar she was organizing.

“Actually, you did good. Great really. I didn’t know you could play that well.”

He smiled.

“I had two hours of piano three days a week since I was six,” Douglas explained. “It broke my parents’ heart when I decided to do a business major but what else was I supposed to do at Harvard Business School?”

Tiffany forced out a laugh.

“I know, right?”

“I would have still disappointed them if I chose to go to Berkeley.” He shook his head. “There was no pleasing them.”

Tiffany was just about to say something when the caterer walked up to them.

“All done?” she asked and the caterer nodded.

“We had some left overs and I just packed them up and put them in the fridge. I hope that’s okay,” the blond-haired caterer said.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Tiffany said as she got her purse and pulled out a check. “This should cover the balance we owe you. Thank you for a great job.”

The woman smiled at Tiffany and Douglas before she walked out of the house.

Tiffany turned to look at Douglas, who was taking off his jacket.