A Promise From My Heart

15.

YUSUF'S POV

The last time I knew such profound pain that ate every cell of happiness in me leaving only bones of sadness and misery was the first few months after mum's death, the loss of our pregnancy and those days that the actual fact of what I have lost knocked me so hard that it nearly left me breathless. Those times, I had lost hope in everything I believed in. A year since mum's demise, the passing of our children, Amy's way of coping with our loss and my family falling apart and laughter and joy seized in the house.

With shoulders that felt heavy like I had a mountain on them, my initial step was an uninterested effort to order three wraps of shawarma for my wife and I. Shawarma was Amatullah's best snack, a thing we had in common. She hated pizza just like I did. I have no reason to why she disliked pizza but mine might have been due to the fact that the first pizza I ate was cold and the course was unpleasant to my taste bud.

The next step was to order all shawarma with extra chicken and three sausages and everything else extra to make it rich the way we loved it. I paid, collected an alphabet handed over to me and under the attendant's clipped voice and rude command, I took a seat on one of the plastic chairs and tables in the dining area.

Normally, I may have been here with my wife, listening to her blathering about what was going on around us and filled with calm and contentment, thinking about the happy family I might pay a visit the following weekend and the family I was going to build, a future I was hoping to have.

Today, the main thing that pulled me out of the gloomy confinement of my room was the image of my car which was still at the mechanic's workshop and the desire to visit my wife who was yet to speak to me.

I moved back to my parents' house after mum's death. The house Amatullah and I lived in was a rented one bedroom apartment. I felt like I needed to be closer to my family in their time of need. Being nearly forty-five minutes away from them won't make things easier, not in a place like Lagos where traffic was one of its major problems. Besides, that house was a reminder of what happened.

There was an impulsive need to break into tears but I forced the urge down my throbbing throat, adding to the heaviness on my heart as the activities around me faded and quietened. A gloom had descended over the house. This time it was so thick like a covering of fur made from grief. It took the pestering need to check on my family to drag my body out of bed, do my normal morning routine before heading downstairs.

No one had come out of their rooms. The kitchen was as neat as the way Kenny had left it the night before with no sign that anyone had being to it. After a glass of water, I took it upon me to check on every one. Alhaja was on her prayer mat, doing supplications with her tasbhi in hand. I found dad in the rocking chair, so deep in thought that he had not hear me come in. Noor was in bed crying. I gave her the space she might need. Kenny was playing a video game on his laptop, headset on his head. There were heavy bags underneath his eyes.

I gave TY a call when I got back to the room. I needed to know how she was doing on a day like this. She sounded groggy on phone. She was handling it in her own way. TY had not given anyone the chance to see past her defiant character. When we speak about mum, she sounds as though she had gotten over mum's death and her grief has ended sooner than everyone else. From her, I learnt everyone had their own pace of grieving. She moved on faster than everyone else but that does not mean she loved her mother lesser than we all do.

The conversation was cut short by the voice of a man in the background. There was a pregnant pause between us before she said she will call me back and ended the call. I had to will my mind not to think about it. I was not ready to make myself angry or sadder than I already was. Then, I thought, what if it is my fault? What if she had actually put her threat into action? I should have given her that money. Had she needed it desperately that I had, out of stubbornness, refused to give her? What have I done?