The house girl runs into the room. “The front door is still locked, ma,” she whines to my mother.
“Then…who could it…was it you?” Mum barks at the girl.
“No, ma. I wouldn’t do that, ma.”
“Then how did this happen?”
If I don’t say something soon, my mum will decide it was the house girl and she will fire her. After all, who else could it have been? I bite my lip as my mother rails at the cowering girl, whose beaded cornrows quiver with her frame. She doesn’t deserve the rebuke she is getting and I know I must speak up. But how will I explain the feeling that struck me? Must I confess to my jealousy?
“I did it.”
They are Ayoola’s words, not mine.
My mum stops mid-rant. “But…why would you…”
“We fought, last night. Tade and I. He dared me. So I pulled them apart. I should have thrown them away. I’m sorry.”
She knows. Ayoola knows I did it. I keep my head down, looking at the petals on the floor. Why did I leave them there? I abhor untidiness. My mother shakes her head, trying to understand.
“I hope you…apologized to him.”
“Yes, we have made up.”
The house girl goes to get a broom to sweep away the remnants of my anger.
Ayoola and I don’t discuss what has taken place.
FATHER
One day he was towering over me, spitting pure hell. He reached for his cane and then he…slumped, hitting his head against the glass coffee table as he fell to the floor. His blood was brighter than the dark color we saw on TV. I got up warily and Ayoola came out from behind the couch, where she’d been taking cover. We stood over him. For the first time, we were taller. We watched the life seep out of him. Eventually, I woke my mother up from her Ambien-induced sleep and told her it was over.
* * *
—
It has been ten years now and we are expected to celebrate him, to throw an anniversary party in honor of his life. If we do not we will end up fielding difficult questions, and we are nothing if not thorough in our deception of others.
“We could have something in the house?” Mum suggests to the awkward planning committee gathered in the living room.
Aunty Taiwo shakes her head. “No, too small. My brother deserves a grand celebration.”
I am sure they are celebrating him in hell. Ayoola rolls her eyes and chews her gum, adding nothing to the conversation. Every once in a while, Aunty Taiwo sends a worried glance her way.
“Where do you want to do it, aunty?” I ask with icy politeness.
“There is a venue in Lekki that’s really nice.” She names the place, and I suck in my breath. The amount she has offered to contribute wouldn’t even cover half the cost of a venue like that. She expects, of course, that we will dip into the funds he left and she can flex, show off to her friends and drink lots of champagne. He doesn’t deserve a single naira, but my mother wants to keep up appearances and so she agrees. With the negotiations over with, Aunty Taiwo leans back against the sofa and smiles at us. “So are the two of you seeing anyone?”
“Ayoola is dating a doctor!” Mum announces.
“Ah, wonderful. You people are getting old o and the competition is tight. Girls are not joking. Some of them are even taking men away from their wives!” Aunty Taiwo is one such woman—married to a former governor who was already married when she met him. She is a curious woman, visiting us whenever she flies over from Dubai, seemingly impervious to our dislike of her. She never had any children and she has told us, time without number, that she considers us her surrogate daughters. We consider ourselves no such thing.
“Help me tell them o. It’s like they just want to stay in this house forever.”
“You know, men are very fickle. Give them what they want and they will do anything for you. Keep your hair long and glossy or invest in good weaves; cook for him and send the food to his home and his office. Stroke his ego in front of his friends and treat them well for his sake. Kneel down for his parents and call them on important days. Do these things and he will put a ring on your finger, fast fast.”
My mother nods sagely. “Very good advice.”
Of course, neither of us is listening. Ayoola has never needed help in the men department, and I know better than to take life directions from someone without a moral compass.
BRACELET
Tade comes to pick her up, Friday at seven. He is on time, but, of course, Ayoola is not. In fact, she has not even showered yet—she is stretched out on her bed laughing at videos of auto-tuned cats.
“Tade is here.”
“He is early.”
“It’s past seven.”
“Oh!”
But she doesn’t move an inch. I go back downstairs to tell Tade she is getting ready.
“No problem, there’s no rush.”
My mum is sitting opposite him, beaming from ear to ear, and I join her on the sofa.
“You were saying?”
“Yes, I am passionate about real estate. My cousin and I are building a block of flats in Ibeju-Lekki. It’ll take another three months or so to conclude the construction, but we already have takers for five of the flats!”
“That’s amazing!” she cries, as she calculates his worth. “Korede, offer our guest something.”
“What would you like? Cake? Biscuits? Wine? Tea?”
“I wouldn’t want to put you out of your way…”
“Just bring everything, Korede.” So I get up and go to the kitchen, where the house girl is watching Tinsel. She jumps up when she sees me and assists in ransacking the larder. When I return with the goodies, Ayoola still has not appeared.
“This is delicious,” Tade exclaims after taking his first bite of the cake. “Who made this?”
“Ayoola,” my mum says quickly, shooting me a warning look. It is a stupid lie. It is a pineapple upside-down cake, sweet and soft, and Ayoola couldn’t fry an egg to save her life. She rarely enters the kitchen, except to forage for snacks or under duress.
“Wow,” he says, chewing happily. He is delighted by the news.
I see her first because I am facing the stairs. He follows my eyeline and twists his body around to see. I hear him suck in his breath. Ayoola is paused there, allowing herself to be admired. She is wearing the flapper dress she was sketching a few weeks ago. The gold beads blend wonderfully with her skin. Her dreads have been plaited into one long braid draped over her right shoulder and her heels are so high, a lesser woman would have already fallen down the stairs.