Grace (BWWM)

Chapter Sixteen

"Who are you that you now have the guts to talk to me like that?" I question, stepping closer. "That you can now even dare to open your mouth to me like that? Ehn? To me, Austin?" I ask, hitting my chest with a hand as my eyes narrow.

As I ask, even he seems surprised by his outburst, but he still has the audacity to open his mouth.

"You brought up my parents—"

"And so what? So what?" His eyes widen and he looks as if he suddenly doesn't recognize me. Austin was always a good boy. Yes, he was sensitive at times, but it was just when the topic of his parents was brought up. Joe and I were always careful about that.

"So what?" He asks, the hurt clear in his voice. "That's how it is?" Even in my anger, I manage to caution myself and pay attention to his tone.

"What I mean is that even with what I said, you then feel the need to talk to me like that? As if I am just some random person? As if I am not the woman that loves you? Ehn? That takes care of you? The way you're speaking to me now. . ." I stop, shaking my head as I stare at him in disbelief. A frown mars his face.

But even after having said this, a bad feeling settles within me. I don't recall ever raising my voice with Austin, much less stepping up to him like this. And not only that, I'm here throwing in his face the one thing I know pains him the most. I see the hurt in his expression as clear as day. I'm not saying that gives him any right to speak to me how he did, but I already know his parents are a sore spot for him.

In my culture, an adult does not apologize to a child. Sure, there are exceptions here and there, but the thought is that when there are matters involving right or wrong, the adult is right and the child is wrong. A child never has a right to tell an adult that they are wrong; this is considered extremely rude.

As I look at Austin now, so angry that I feel that I could even raise my hand at him, I know that I am in the wrong. Yes, we are both in the wrong, especially his coming here like he is, but I've never interacted with him this way. In my anger, I did not care about hurting him. It was almost like I wanted to. No matter what he does, I love him and that is why I am so angry, so hurt—it is why I am worried and running after him so early in the morning.

But Austin is also here—in his drunken state, even though he has a house to go back to—because he wanted to come.

We both stare at each other, upset and surprised. Even though I'm not pleased with him, I still care for him.

"Come on," I mutter, taking his hand. I lead him silently inside the house. I make him food as he stands in the dining room, staring at his feet. I prepare his favorite meal even though I should be sleeping now. He stands there the entire time, not once lifting his head. Austin's favorite Nigerian food is pounded yam and egusi stew. He saw Rose eating it when they were twelve, and she had invited him to have some. He liked it immediately, but I think part of his love for it is because of Rose.

I warm up the already-made stew in the microwave, taking care of the pounded yam in the pot. The familiar scents fill the air and at one point, he looks at me, only to look down again. Once I'm finished, I set the table for him.

"Sit," I say, and he doesn't argue. He follows, and before he can even roll up his sleeve to eat, I grab a bowl, filling it with water and bringing it to him. Yes, I am upset. I am upset and my heart is hurting, but as I take care of him, my anger dissipates. He stares at the water for a moment before placing his hand into it and rinsing. All of a sudden, his eyes brim.

"Thank you," he murmurs. I hum.

"Don't let the food get cold," is my response. He nods. After staring for a while, he eats. Memories fill my mind as I watch him.