Chapter 97

The bed dips with the new weight, Ma’s subtle fragrance announces her presence before she coughs. I turn my face to the wall, pretending to be fast asleep. It is only a matter of time until she figures out my little lie and I don’t want to view her disappointment.

“Are you done?” she asks, referring to the makeover I started in my room. It remained unchanged since I married but the need to keep busy led me to repaint. I can’t be idle.

My eyes squeeze shut as her fingers weave into my scalp, I reply, “Not yet.” Half of the bathroom wall is coated in paint. I needed a short break. “But I should be done today.”

I have all day, night too. The work keeps me sane. Away from Ma and her supposedly harmless questions. Away from thoughts of him. What is he doing now? He should be behind his desk, eyes narrowed at the figures on his laptop screen. My face sinks into the pillow, does he miss me too? Not a chance, he is with that bimbo discussing pills.

“When does Brandon get back?”

Clearing my throat to push the lump forming there, I reply, “In a few weeks.”

Her excitement at seeing me has waned, in its wake are questions I am not ready to face. Why can’t she be satisfied with the story I told her? Pa hasn’t questioned me. Yet. It’s simple, the lie I told. Brandon is out of town. I don’t want to be alone, so here I am. It sounds perfectly believable to me. I will accept that explanation from my daughter.

Ma’s hands migrate to my back, her slender fingers massage my shoulders and I pretend it is Brandon doing that. His hands are a touch of delicate sensuality. Tears spill from my closed eyelids, I bring my hand over my mouth to stop myself from crying out loud.

I miss him.

“El, I brought vanilla cupcakes,” Ma says in her soothing velvety voice. My eyes open to the blue walls of my room, she tucks her chin between my neck and shoulder, her slim arm slides around my waist and I hold on to it. She knows. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Rolling to my back, my gaze wanders to the ceiling, I place her hand on my stomach and cover it with mine. I am not sure if this is the right time to mention her grandbaby. “No.”

Mirth colours her tone when she asks, “Should I eat your cake?”

“No!”

She tucks the hair matting my sweaty forehead behind my ear, offering me one of her kind smiles. My lips curve in a small smile, I giggle when she pinches my cheeks while making gurgle noises at me. An act she maintains in wistful memory of my childhood self.

Ma claims I was a chubby little angel until I became all gangly arms and legs and a pretty face. It doesn’t matter how much I eat, Ma always calls me skinny. All bones and little flesh. My smile widens. She will be a great grandma. My baby will be lucky to have her.

The new pixie cut frames Ma’s face, giving her a slight resemblance to a dark-skinned Halle Berry. Tall and graceful like a gazelle, I got my height and openness from her. Even the so-called skinniness was inherited from her. But I am far from skinny, I have the right curves, enough flesh for Brandon to grip when he is not scheming with Sophia.

“Come, let’s fix your hair.”

Her voice pulls me out of my reverie, I nod. If I ever come in contact with Sophia, I scoff, I will leave an imprint on her forehead. Maybe an inscription that says: Homewrecker. For Brandon, I will do the same in somewhere more hidden but a different message. The images that float in my mind comfort me, I picture her screaming when she wakes to it.

Accepting the slender arm Ma stretches to me with a grateful smile, I follow behind her to the dresser where she pulls a chair out for me. Our eyes meet in the mirror, the smile returns to her lips. I look away. I don’t want to see myself, the eye bags and dark circles that show I haven’t been getting enough rest. Or any evidence that screams lack of sleep. I have spent this break thinking of him and the thought forces a sad smile to my lips.

Ma puts a comb into my curls, I wince and an apology slips from her. I got to wash my hair today, I haven’t been in the mood to do anything until yesterday when I decided to remodel my room. Pa goes to the pharmacy daily, so does Ma, she shouldn’t be here.

“Braids or cornrows?”

On a whisper, I say, “Braids.” She points to the cupcakes on a plate, my insides twist with delight at the sight of Capri Sun packs littering the wooden surface. I send her a guilty smile. She knows I lied. “Ma.” She makes a face at me in the mirror. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asks when my hair is up in different sections and my lips quiver. “My baby.” I sniff, my head tilts to her. “You will be fine, I promise.” I nod, I believe her.

When I am done munching the cupcake like a starved animal, I take a long sip from the Capri Sun without the straw. Ma’s mortified expression as the juice trickles down the corners of my lips has me giggling, I open my mouth to talk and a belch escapes me.

My actions leave her in shock, her mouth opens and closes without a word. I pout while blinking. After all, I am her baby. Babies belch all the time. She burst into rapid speaking of our dialect. I stomp my feet into the rugged floor. Okay, I frown, I won’t do it again.

“Ma,” I call out to her in a childish voice to end her tirade. Her angry gaze cuts through me in the mirror. I bat my lashes and she scowls, one hand on her hip. “I love you.”

That always works, she will come around. Her nostrils flare, I bite my lower lip to keep from giggling at the stern look that crosses her face as her chest heaves in resignation.

“I love you too, pig.” She tugs harshly on a section of my hair. I yelp at the mild pain that travels through my scalp, and the smug look she sends my way has me scowling at her.

Snatching another pack of Capri Sun from the dresser, I make sure to use the straw and sip slowly. When I am done, I say, “I will tell Pa you called his only daughter a pig.”

Her laughter warms my soul. She throws her head back while squeezing my shoulders, and I let out a long, exaggerated hiss. “Sorry,” she whispers, sarcasm lacing her tone.

I squint at her. She returns to fixing my hair with a smile, and it feels like I have taken a trip down memory lane. Drinking Capri Sun, chewing whatever was available, candies mostly, while she braided my thick, long hair, sometimes, querying me about my schoolwork and rewarding me with praises or otherwise as the occasion deemed fit.

“When Pa and I got married, it wasn’t as rosy as you think it was,” she says. My eyes lift to her face which takes on a lost look. Though her hands are working on my hair, I know she is somewhere in South Africa. “We didn’t like each other. That man...” She grits her teeth, shakes her head slowly and for a brief moment, I wish I witnessed her first date with Pa. “He frustrated me. I frustrated him right back,” she adds with a small laugh.

Crouching so her face is right before mine, she palms my cheeks, her warm breath hits my nose. She asks in a whisper, “Does Brandon treat you well? Does he treat you right?”

In the first week of our marriage, she asked this. Her concern was barely hidden behind the jokes and questions. But today is the first time she is asking it to my face. I swallow hard and nod, I don’t want to ruin the relationship she is building with her son-in-law.

“But...” She leaves the statement hanging, I rub my hands over my knees and she smiles.

“He’s like a book without an end.” I shake my head to stop her from interrupting. “I think I know him but he keeps hitting me with surprises. I don’t know my husband.”

The silence that takes over encourages her to say, “We can never fully know people.”

“I know, Ma. I do.” My eyes close, I exhale. “But I want to know him to some extent like you know Pa.” Smiling to mask my hurt, my eyelids flutter open. Ma watches me, her fingers run in circles on the back of my hand. “It’s difficult. Each layer of him I uncover reveals a thicker one. We take one step forward and he brings us ten steps backwards.”

“Did he do something?” she asks. Her eyes rake over me with uncertainty, I nod. I don’t want to heap my marriage troubles on her. Until today, I have never heard her complain about Pa to anyone. But I am tired of keeping it to myself. “Very bad?” I nod and choke on a sob. She opens her arms for a hug and I launch myself into her motherly embrace.

Rubbing circles on the small of my back, she squeezes me tight. “What will you do?”

I sniff and sit up, eyes landing briefly on our fingers laced on my thigh. With her free hand, she wipes my cheeks dry. “I don’t know.” But I am tired of hurting. I miss him.

“Can you forgive him?”

The answer is simple. “Yes.” Her lips split into a wide grin, my lips pucker. “Thank you.” Her arms wrap around me in a hug, calm washes over me and I say, “I am pregnant.”