by Jane Igharo
He’s too close. His scent is suffocating me, his touch is repulsing me, his presence is creating angst rather than soothing it. Just when I can no longer tolerate the discomfort of his nearness and I’m ready to shift away, footsteps echo.
The brisk strides get closer, and within seconds, Rafael appears at the door. As he takes in the scene before him, his eyes well up with emotion. Quickly, I shift away from Elijah, and he becomes aware of Rafael too. All three of us stand in the kitchen, regarding each other.
It’s quiet. Not the still, peaceful type. Nope. Definitely not that. Or the uncomfortable, awkward type. Nope. We’re way past that. This kind of silence mounts tension upon tension; it makes the thin, almost indivisible hairs on my skin spike up, it makes my stomach tighten and heart thump, it makes me sweat and brings me near close to pissing myself. This kind of silence sends an intense shiver through me.
“Get the hell out!”
I’m not sure whose voice that was. Rafael’s lips moved, but that wasn’t his elegant, collected tone. That, what I just heard, was guttural. I don’t know how to associate it with Rafael, but he speaks in the same chilling, unrecognizable voice and all doubt leaves my mind.
“Get out now,” he says, eyes on Elijah, “or so help me God . . .” He rolls his fingers into fists and marches forward.
“Rafael.” I call for his attention, but his predatory stare doesn’t waver from his target. “Stop.” He doesn’t listen, so I stand in front of Elijah, my body preventing Rafael’s rising fist from advancing. “Stop this. Right now.” I touch his arm—my fingertips against his warm skin. It’s the first bodily contact we’ve had since our breakup. His eyes, hard and livid, flick to mine. I hold his stare and gently push his arm down.
“Azere, I’m gonna go.” Elijah is calm, and I’m so grateful. “I’ll call you later.” He flexes the muscles in his jaw, regards Rafael with a condescending sneer, and leaves.
Upon his exit, I switch my attention to Rafael. I’m not sure what’s going on in his head, but the rage in his eyes is disappearing and quickly being replaced with a deep sadness.
“You said there was nothing between the two of you. Remember that?”
I nod. Like a damn fool, I nod.
“Obviously, that isn’t true. So, what’s the truth, Azere?”
“Rafael.” I can’t hold his gaze. I turn away, staring at the view through the window—bleak night dotted with streetlights and falling snow. “Elijah is . . .” He’s the man my father hoped for. The man my mother approves of. The man who will earn me her forgiveness, her acceptance. “He’s the man I was always supposed to be with. I’m sorry.”
chapter
34
Rafael
The hardest part about loving Azere was knowing she wasn’t 100 percent mine. Throughout the course of our relationship, I knew her mind and her heart were divided. With me, she was half happy and half in love. The other half of her was bound by obligation. That half ended our relationship and chose another man.
“Rafael. I’m so sorry.”
“Do you love him?” I hate that I even have to ask this. “Do you love Elijah?”
“Um . . . I . . .” She shuts her mouth.
“Do you want to hear my theory?” I watch her intently as if trying to navigate the blueprint of her mind. “I think you only want to be with Elijah because of your parents.” The two people she’s been conditioned to obey. “Azere, for years, you’ve been restricted by them—dictated to by one and haunted by the other. You’ve put their desires ahead of yours. If you keep living like that, you’ll never be happy. You’ll be miserable. All your life.”
My last words must have had an effect because tears fall quickly, soaking her cheeks and reddening her eyes. I hate seeing her cry. Hurting her isn’t my intention, but my candor is necessary. This is my rescue mission. Though, unlike the fairy-tale–themed movies she once made me watch, there are no dragons to slay or evil queens to overthrow. In this case, the damsel stands as her own obstacle. So rather than using a sword or a life-restoring kiss, I use words, hoping to wake her from the obligation-induced trance she’s been in for years.
“Zere, you have this strength you aren’t even aware of. I see it all the time. Your strength, your spunk, your audacity, your sharp tongue are the best things about you. They make you a great leader, they make you a great friend, they humble me. Maybe it’s time you show this part of yourself to your mother. Maybe it’s time she sees the daughter who has been hiding from her.”
As I leave, walk away from her, my movements are slow, hoping she might reach out and stop me. I exit the kitchen, wait for the elevator to arrive, step inside. The doors slide toward each other, the view of the office gradually disappearing until there’s only a sliver of space and then, there’s nothing.
She didn’t come. She let me walk away. She let me go.
My body shakes as if strained, unable to contain my heartbreak. Everything I’m feeling pours out of me—tears through my eyes, a growl through my mouth.
I’m angry at her, but I’m angrier at myself.
The future I imagined with her is gone, and I know I’m partially to blame. She wanted the truth, and she deserved it, but I couldn’t give it to her. I tried so many times to force the words out of my mouth, but I couldn’t do it. The chance that she would see me differently scared me. It terrified me. So here I am, without her or the strength and optimism to hold on to us or the possibility of a better ending.
chapter
35
For the first time in months, I’m looking at my mother, talking to her, eating with her. This new development occurs because of Elijah. He’s the pass that grants me full access to my family.
When my mother called me a week after Elijah came by the office, she cut straight to the point—no pleasantries.
“Elijah told me he spoke to you,” she said when I answered the phone.
“Yes. He did.”
“And what did he say?” she asked even though I suspected she knew.
“He wants to be with me.”
“And you don’t like his offer?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying, Azere? He told me you wanted time to think. Think about what? Eh? You have a second chance with Elijah, and you want to squander it.”
“Mom, I just need time.”
“Azere, in your condition, despite your stupidity, a man wants to marry you. In fact, he is not any ordinary man o. He is a medical doctor, an Edo man, a man your father would have proudly approved of. Yet you are contemplating your answer.” She scoffed. “If you are trying to shakara or play hard to get, don’t o. The time for that has already passed. At this point, you should be playing easy to get.
“Anyways. This conversation has taken longer than I wanted. In fact, it has exhausted me.” She sighed long and loud as if truly fatigued. “Azere, let me simplify things for you. If you choose Elijah, I will forgive your past stupidity. You can even rejoin the family in time for Christmas. But if you choose that white man, things will be as they have been for months. I will not be your mother, and you will not be my daughter. Simple. The decision is yours.”
A few days after that conversation, I had dinner with Elijah at Khao San Road, a Thai restaurant we used to frequent. Halfway through my bowl of green chicken curry, I leaned into the table, narrowed my eyes, and studied him.
“Elijah, why do you want to be with me?” I asked. “I don’t get it. I’m having another man’s baby. And even though Rafael and I are no longer together, we’re always going to be connected because of our child. Why deal with all of that? Why not just move on—find another girl with a lot less baggage?”
He opened his mouth and then closed it as if he knew he couldn’t give the routine I love you as an answer. “Azere, when I learned you were pregnant, I tried to move on. When you told me you were happ
y with Rafael, I tried even harder. But I . . . I just couldn’t do it.” His voice thickened with emotion, and he looked away, his gaze wandering aimlessly before settling on me again. “Azere, during those years when I was away, when we didn’t talk, I still believed that somehow, we would end up together. I suppose that was the mistake I made, thinking you wouldn’t carry on with your life. You did.” Tears touched the corners of his eyes. “If I had handled things differently back then, we could be married right now with a child or two. Just like we wanted. Do you remember, Azere?”
I nodded, recalling the life we had planned, a life forged into existence by naivety, hope, love, and a certainty that we would be together forever. I craved it, the simplicity of that life—the knowledge that I would have made my parents proud, that nothing would have been threatened or compromised.
“I made a mistake back then,” Elijah continued. “And I know I’ll make another if I don’t fight for you and for us—for the family and the life we can still have. This is me fighting, Azere.”
“Elijah.” The sincerity in his eyes was spellbinding, alluring. I was tempted to give in to him, but I couldn’t. “I’m not over Rafael.” It was only fair to tell him the truth. “I still care about him.”
He frowned and considered what I had said. “Um . . . okay. Then we’ll take things slow. Will that be all right?”
“Yeah. Slow. Very slow—be friends first. Just friends.”
“Yes. Of course.” His lips stretched until a wide smile made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “We’ll take things as slow as you want, Azere. No problem.”
Unfortunately, things aren’t moving at a pace I would like because only two weeks later, we’re sitting side by side, having Christmas dinner with my family. My mother, thrilled about the decision I had made, extended an invitation to Elijah, and he accepted without hesitation or consideration for the word slow. I glance at his hand on my shoulder. It seems strange there—out of place. I wiggle, shrugging gradually until it falls off.
“It’s so great to have the whole family together,” my uncle says. He reclines into the chair and rubs his stomach, which almost looks as round as mine. “It’s been so long since we’ve all been together.”
“Yes, o. To God be the glory. Azere finally came to her senses. Praise God.” My mother eyeballs me. “You and that yeye man.” She bends her lips. “Nonsense. But you and Elijah.” She smiles. “Perfect. Your father would be pleased.”
“You can’t please someone who’s dead,” Efe mutters.
“Yes, but you can honor them.”
“And dishonor yourself.” She stabs a slice of moi moi with her fork and coats it in tomato stew. “Because that’s what she’s doing.”
“Efe.” Jacob says sternly. “Stop.” For my sake, he’s trying to keep the peace just as I begged him to before showing up with Elijah. “Can we just enjoy the meal?”
It’s quiet again. We eat and drink, and then Efe clears her throat. Immediately, I know the peace at the table is in jeopardy.
“I’m just trying to understand how we’re all sitting here, acting like everything is okay when—”
“Efe.” I hold my sister’s gaze. “Please. Stop it.”
She glares at me, shaking her head. Then she pushes her chair back, stands, and storms out of the dining room.
chapter
36
I bang my knuckles against my sister’s bedroom door. Three knocks and she doesn’t answer. Rather than attempting the fourth, I twist the knob and push the door open. She’s lying facedown on the bed with her head under a heap of pillows and stuffed animals.
“Efe.” I sit on the edge of the queen-size bed. The linen on the mattress is carnation pink, matching the walls and most of the stuffed animals mounted on her head. Thankfully, the white furniture—a dresser, nightstand, and chaise longue— dilutes the heavy dose of pink in the room.
“Azere, go away.” The mountain of plush fabrics muffles her voice. She says something else but it’s inaudible.
“Okay, let’s talk.” I swat her butt playfully. “Come on.” I swat it harder this time, and her head jerks up. Pillows and stuffed bears fly up, landing on the bed and the floor.
“Are you trying to further flatten my already flat ass?” she says, pouting.
“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “You have a great ass.”
She props up on her elbows and turns to view her round behind that bulges in blue jeans. After an inspection, she nods, agreeing with my statement.
“So,” I say. “Dinner. What was that about?”
“That was me calling you out on your bullshit. That was me speaking for you because apparently, you forgot you have thoughts and desires separate from Mom’s.”
“I’m aware of all these things, Efe.”
“Are you?” She shuffles on the bed and switches to a sitting position. “Because it doesn’t seem that way. You’re here with Elijah, the man Mom chose for you, when your heart isn’t in it.”
“Who says my heart isn’t in it?”
“I’ve been watching since you came through the door with him. He touches you in the slightest way and you cringe. He turns to you and you turn from him. I don’t even think you’ve made eye contact with him all evening. Instead, you find ways to occupy yourself—checking your phone, reading the label on the salad dressing bottle.” She’s calling me out on the gestures I performed subtly, hoping no one would notice. “You didn’t act this way when Rafael came over.”
“Efe, don’t even go there.”
“Well, I’m about to.”
“Then I’ll leave.” I stand, and she snatches my wrist before I can move further. “Let go.”
“No. Talk to me. What happened between you and Rafael? Huh?” Tugging my hand, she forces me to sit. “Why did you guys break up? You never gave me the details.”
“It’s complicated. I don’t wanna talk about it, so drop it.”
To my surprise, she obeys. She lets me dwell in silence for a short while.
“You know, Rafael came over a few times,” she says when seconds pass.
“Wait.” I shake my head, clearing it of any trivial data to make way for this major, mind-blowing information. “What? He came over here, to the house?”
“Yeah. Over the past months, since the day you left with him and Mom shut you out, he’s been coming by.”
“Coming by?” I gather a fistful of bed linen and rumple it in my heating palm. “To do what?”
“To speak to Mom,” Efe says. “To apologize.”
“Apologize. For what?” He did nothing wrong—nothing at all.
“His exact words: ‘If I have disrespected you or your family in any way, I sincerely apologize. It was never my intention.’” My sister nods. “Yep. Then he told Mom he cared about you. He promised to take care of you and the baby—to protect, provide, honor, love, all the good stuff.”
Tears touch my eyes. “And what did Mom say?”
“Trust me, you don’t wanna know.”
Of course. “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming by?”
“He asked me not to. Nothing good ever came from it, so he thought there was no point telling you.”
I’m speechless.
“He loves you, Azere,” Efe says, yanking on a stuffed bear’s flimsy ear. “He really, really loves you. Like . . . like Christian loved Satine in Moulin Rouge! Like Jack loved Rose in Titanic. Like Winston loved Stella in How Stella Got Her Groove Back. Like—”
“Okay, okay. I get it,” I say, laughing. “I get it.” And I do because she’s communicated using the one thing I truly understand. Love stories. “I get it.”
“Then throw one back at me.”
“Like . . . like Westley loved Buttercup in The Princess Bride.”
“Aha!” She claps. “You got it.” We laugh but not enough to forget ourselves and our cu
rrent discussion. “Zere, do you love him? Do you love Rafael?”
Rather than answering, I roll my lips into my mouth.
“Fine. Don’t talk. But I know you don’t love Elijah. You did. Once. But that was a long time ago. Plus, he broke your heart.”
“How do you know that?” I never told her a thing about Elijah—the relationship or the falling out.
“I’ve always known. I know you two dated.” Her top lip curls upward like she’s about to snarl. “I know he took your virginity then bailed like a little bitch.”
“Seriously, how the hell do you know that?”
“Back in the day, I used to eavesdrop on all your conversations with Jacob,” she says. “Usually by pretending I was listening to my iPod.”
A mischievous thrill sparks in her honey-brown eyes. She’s proud of herself.
“I had no choice. I had to.” No apology, no regret. “Zere, we’re two years apart, but you’ve always treated me like a child. You never tell me about your problems. You’ve always just turned to Jacob and then later, Christina. Meanwhile, I’ve always been your baby sister and never your friend.”
“Efe, that isn’t—”
She grimaces, and I close my mouth.
“You didn’t even tell me you were pregnant. You told Jacob and Christina. I’m your sister, Azere.”
My younger sister. The two years that separate us in age means she’s more vulnerable than I am. Because of this, I never wanted to burden her with my issues or ask her to be the keeper of my secrets. I always thought it was my responsibility to care for her, to protect her. But maybe that was the notion that put distance between us.
“Efe, I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just that in my mind, you’re a—”
“I am not a child, Azere,” she says, her voice thick with conviction. “Disregard my collection of stuffed animals and consider other facts. I’m twenty-three. I’m in law school, and I’m hella smart.”
