Page 26 of Married in Michigan
“So when your mom shot down your sister’s engagement to Lyle Burnett…” I prompt.
“It’s not appropriate, was Mom’s verbiage,” Paxton says. “His skin color was never brought up, and she’d throw a hairy conniption if you were to suggest such a thing, but more because being racist is more passé at this point than any kind of actual conviction. She made some kind of excuses about his laundry list of exes, his lack of formal education, how he’s just not polished enough for the deBraun family.”
I laugh outright at that. “Not polished enough? Isn’t Lyle the lead singer of a wildly successful rock band?”
Paxton nods. “Yes, he is. Vein. They have, like, eight or ten number one hits and three platinum albums. Rich on his own terms, successful, and like I said, just a good, solid dude. Not a rock star in the traditional sense of the word. I liked him.”
I let the silence breathe as I consider what he’s saying. “So she made it about his…god, I don’t know, not pedigree, because his parents are both wealthy and successful.” I hunt for the right word. “The appearance, I guess. Like, a rock star isn’t right forthisfamily,” I say, affecting a snooty, hoity-toity tone of voice.
Paxton jabs a finger at me. “Exactly! It’s never one thing, never anything you can take exception to, except for the snobbery of it.”
“But what you’re saying is, his skin color was definitely a factor, just not a spoken one.”
He shrugs. “I have no hard evidence for that, but I was on the receiving end of it myself, more than once.”
I tilt my head. “Oh?”
He hisses a slow breath, scratching at his scalp. “I dated Monique Thompson for a few months.”
Supermodel, actress, climate change activist, and black.
I nod. “I remember the tabloid coverage.”
“Well, most of that’s bullshit, you know. I really liked her. I wouldn’t say there was a chance of it being anything permanent, because neither of us were in a place where we were thinking of it, but we had a good time together and there was real affection between us.” He pauses. “Mom shot it down, hard.”
I frown. “What could she possibly have against someone like Monique? Beautiful, classy, successful, and doesn’t she have an Ivy League degree in humanity or something?”
Paxton laughs, but it’s bitter. “Yeah. She has a BA in anthropology from Columbia. Smart as hell; just fell into modeling sort of by accident. And you said it, she’s classy, a really elegant sort of girl. But Mom made her usual excuses. Not the right angle for the family, you know you’re not pursuing anything serious so why drag it out, your lives are taking vastly different trajectories so you may as well end it before either of you get hurt. That kind of thing. She made it seem like she wasn’t opposed to Monique as a person, but…there was this underlying sense of disapproval.” He hesitates. “I overheard her talking to a friend on the phone later, and she said something like, ‘that girl was entirely tooethnicfor my son.’”
I draw back, disgusted. “She said that?”
He nods, shrugs. “Yeah.”
I’m struggling with how to react, how to feel. “I can’t say I’m shocked, but…still. What the fuck?”
“Right. That was my thought. And that’s what I said to her. I made it clear I heard her and that I was pissed about it.”
“But you didn’t get back together with Monique.”
“No, but she was ready to move on anyway, and Mom was right in that it wasn’t going to be anything serious, so we just let it lie. I never told Monique about Mom’s comment, but I sure as hell haven’t forgotten.” He waves a hand. “I also dated Vera Collins for a while, and Mom pulled the same card, but was much more careful in her reasoning, but I knew full well why she disapproved. I broke that one off myself, though, but only because Vera’s schedule was too crazy for us to ever be together, and her career was her priority.”
Vera Collins—musician, aspiring actress, and daughter of a famous musician-turned-actor, and also black.
I stare Paxton down. “So I’m a ‘fuck you’ to your mother.”
He shrugs. “That’s an element, yes.”
I snort. “Are you sure I’methnicenough to really insult her, though?”
Paxton laughs. “I know nothing about you other than what you look like and your name, so I don’t know the answer to that.”
“Well, you said yourself it’s all about appearances, and I do look like my mother, just with slightly lighter skin.”
He nods, tracing a line down my forearm with a fingertip. “There’s more to it than skin color, though.”
“Such as?”
“The racial thing is mostly my mom. The rest of my family is openly classicist, though.”