Chapter Thirty-Five: Imaginary Halo.
MY GRANDMOTHER HAS NEVER gotten along with my mom.
It was one of the many things that stayed constant in my life.
It didn't matter how many years have passed, how many events have occurred in our lives, she never liked her. Even when she had first met her before my parents had become romantically involved.
Despite the evident dislike, my father's mom always treated my sister as her own. That's another thing I loved about my family and it showed on Christmas. It showed since my grandmother, my aunts, uncles and adjacent family showed up on our doorstep two nights ago. Blood didn't unite us and that was never seen as a negative in the Okusanya household.
"Jaime, watch out!" One of my younger cousins yelled as three of them ran right by me chasing one another. I flattened myself to the wall, watching them breeze through, giggling and screaming as they burst through the kitchen door.
Oh, shit. I followed them past the door but didn't pay attention as they were scolded by one of my aunts to stop running. My focus on was my mom, a short beauty with deep brown skin, an afro high in the sky that was pushed back with a colourful scarf used as a headband. The nail of her thumb was being disintegrated by her teeth as we both stared at the cause of her anxiety, my grandmother.
Who was tasting the fried rice my mom had tasked herself with for dinner tonight. Oh, fuck.
Our house was filled with aromas. I could see trays that held moi moi, chin chin, efo riro that I knew would be served with amala, jollof rice and more that I recognized and failed to. Some of the food was ordered but most of it was brought or made by my family members who were starting to bring everything out to the dining room.
One of my uncles moved past me with a tray of scotched eggs, shooting me a smile as I quickly took one. Eventually, I had no choice but to look at my grandma and mom as my grandmother tasted the fried rice once again, her expression completely unreadable. Mom had moved onto her other thumbnail at this point.
The thing was that my mom could cook basic things. My father was the one who did most of the cooking in the house when we were living here. But she always tried to make traditional food that her parents didn't teach her. She tried. My sister and I would know. We've both gone through the number of changes she's made to different meals over the years.
She couldn't cook well. But she gave it her all every time. I think her reason for trying to cook traditional food was because she made sure that even though she wasn't born and raised in Nigeria, she wanted us to have a connection to it someway somehow. Thus, the family dinners. Thus, seeing our grandparents whenever we could even though grandma didn't like her. My mom's overall effort was something I'd like to think I shared with her.
But now I sighed when grandma gave my mom a face filled with disapproval at her effort. She was quick to push her out of the kitchen before she completely took over. I discreetly followed my mom as she walked upstairs to her bedroom where my dad was sitting at the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone.
My father, a handsome man with dark brown skin rose to his 6-foot height. He was the spitting image of my late grandfather who I found myself missing the most today. But my dad's face was accompanied by a frown. He glanced at me before reaching her, holding onto her shoulders. "Emi, what's wrong?"
But the look on her face summed up everything. "I'll talk to her." He said, about to leave when she held him back.
"It's okay. She's trying to fix it instead. I'll never get it right anyway," The laugh she let out was pitiful. "It's been around 20 years. You'd think I'd get it right."
"But that has nothing to do with African food, mom," I said. "You can't cook."
She raised a hand to swat me and I laughed, dodging her move but I caught the discreet smile on her face, "Sorry, but it has nothing to do with you not being able to cook something like fried rice."
"Well, she expects me to be the perfect wife."
"Well, you were born here." I reminded her. "And your mom didn't teach you how to make it but you tried. Grandma doesn't have to be such a—" I caught myself on my curse, not missing my father's raised eyebrows. "Rude person about it. If anything, she should help. Not kick you out of your own kitchen."
"She kicked you out?" Dad asked. "Physically kicked you? I know you're small Emi but--"
My mom glared at my father, hitting him lightly on the arm as he laughed and embraced her. "Leave me alone." She mumbled against his shirt.
"I'm sorry." But he didn't stop chuckling over her head, his love for her so clear in his eyes. It hadn't faded away in all the years they've known each other. I recognized that look in so many other versions of that love within my family. I thought I was about to have something like that for myself at some point.
My father's hand came tugged on one of the beaded twists I had put my natural hair in for the day. The twists framed my face so neatly, one would think I didn't get frustrated, storming into my sister's room in near tears when I was trying to do the hairstyle this morning.
"What's going on here?" The voice made me grin as I turned to face Abisola's dad, Henry, who poked his head into the open doorway. I gave him a big hug as my father cheered from behind me at the sight of his friend.
"Hi Jaime," He said with a smile of his own that slipped off of his face at the sight of my mom's face. "Oh, no, what's wrong?"
"Mom." My dad said, pretending to shove me out of the way to get to his close friend. The two of them gripped each other hard as if they hadn't seen each other two days ago.
"Don't let her get to your head, Emi."
"Henry, you have her as your mother-in-law and you'll see." My mom muttered.
"Then it's a good thing I didn't marry David."
The two men laughed as Abisola appeared at the threshold with her husband, Michael behind her. My sister shared my skin, eyes, and height. She was less curvy than me and wore her natural hair short, shorter than her husband Michael whose hair was currently in locs that almost touched his shoulders. My sister was stunning and it showed even more when she greeted us all with a wide smile. "Dad! I thought I heard you."
"Hey!" The chattiness in my parents' bedroom grew even louder as Henry's wife and kids filled the hallway. My adjacent family entered the room, everyone greeting each other.
And for a moment, everything connected to Herringway, everything connected to Jasper Bay was gone. All of it. And I walked into the living room with Michael in tow, the two of us ready to play card games as more of my family entered the room and found their own spots.
This was my home. This was my constant. And this was what I was missing.
Christmas had been the same, tons of presents, arguments, and times I had been forced to play the piano sitting against the wall in the living room that I had been acquainted with for over a decade. I didn't mind it. I'd glanced over the heads of my family, adjacent and non-adjacent to see my sister standing next to her husband, shooting me a smile as I played songs I hadn't touched in a long while as everyone listened intently.
I'd seen some old friends, though not as many as I had in the past. Then again, most of the people I considered my friends were back in their own hometowns. Immanuel, I heard from the most over texts. I didn't expect to hear much from my roommates as they spent winter break with their family and old friends.
After a long day of boxing day shopping with my family that reminded me why I was grateful I wasn't back in Jasper Bay working. I laid down on my bed for a moment of peace.
Or as much peace I could get with Abisola and Michael's dogs moving about in my room. Cooper was under my hand, laid out on the bed as I scratched his belly. Daisy and Tommy were on the ground. All three of them were surprisingly settled up here. They didn't like a huge crowd of people and downstairs was where the entire crowd of my family was gathered.
My disappearance was apparently noticeable when my mom knocked once and entered my room. She narrowed her eyes that I shared with her at my posture before she turned her gaze to look at the room I haven't changed in the past three years.
She moved to the other side of the room, bypassing Tommy who was making his way towards my desk. She ignored the numerous posters on my wall, my sweaters laid out on the ground and my luggage opened in the middle of my room and went to the shelf next to my closet.
"Your sister told us about school, you know." My mom mumbled as her hand brushed across the numerous, the countless trophies standing tall and short on the shelves.
I sat up. I knew Abisola told them, but I didn't think we'd have to have a conversation about it right now during the break. During a break from everything and anything to do with Jasper Bay.
She stood on her tippy toes, reaching high to grab one of my bigger trophies before she sat next to me. I had received it when I was 13. First place. I could still play the winning piece to this day. If I closed my eyes and imagined hard enough, I could feel the keys beneath my fingers.
"You know," My mom said. "Abisola used to call us all the time when she was in PA school up north. She'd call crying."
Abisola didn't cry. Now that I thought about it, I'd seen her cry only once. When we learned our grandfather had passed. "What?"
My mom nodded. "Even in her undergrad. She was juggling volleyball, clubs and her courses. She was always so stressed. She never had her breakdowns around you. Didn't want you to see her like that, she told me. When she was in PA school, although she wasn't playing volleyball anymore, she was still stressed, of course. Took everything in me not to run in the middle of the night, grab her and bring her home."
My mom placed my trophy next to Cooper. Then she put her hand on the back of my neck. My dad had said my mom was small, sure, but that didn't matter when she spoke with unwavering resolution and determination that I was lucky to have found in a few people back in JB. "But she called because she knew she could call. No matter what happens, you have us. Okay?"
Tears suddenly filled my eyes, "Okay."
Her hand went back to my trophy, her finger gliding along the engraving of the title. "You were always so gifted with the piano. It came so naturally for you but you worked hard. Every trophy you got up until you left for university you earned because you worked hard, Jaime."
As I wondered where this was going, she released her touch from the trophy once again to face me, "You put in the same effort with school, even more. It can be very hard sometimes so if you need to take a break, take a break. Trust me, nothing good will come of you if you're working under what you believe to be the worst stress of your life. You will spiral and you may spiral sometime again in the future from all the pressure you're putting on yourself and you put so much pressure on yourself. You did the exact same with piano and after your last competition I think you stopped playing for a while because of it."
I was brought back to the first time I had played the piano willingly, not because of a job or a competition, but simply for leisure back in October. To being in the piano club with Laurence and happy to be playing with and without him. To having that conversation on one early November day about love for something that was never meant to be turned into a chore in the long run.
All that pressure on myself had finally started to ease since last month. My mom must have known that but I was glad she decided to speak to me about it nonetheless.
"You need to know that we're here for you," She continued. "You can call anytime. You need to understand that."
"I understand that," I assured her.
The tension in her face eased the longer she looked at me. "Good."
"I didn't want to depend on you guys." Like I've done my entire life.
"That is not you depending on us. That's you having us in your corner where we will always be, you got that?"
I nodded.
"The Dalhousie thing—is it something you really want to do?"
I thought about the moment of anxiety that rose upon the mention of the program. That feeling in my chest I couldn't control. I thought about how my initial intentions to even apply was because I had felt so behind compared to everyone else I knew that had goals and knew what they were working towards. I may not have had a direct goal like everyone around me but I had a general direction in what I wanted to pursue. And that settled me.
"I don't know." She waited for me to elaborate. "Um, there's no guarantee I'll get something and there's no guarantee that I'll get into the position I want to get into—involving physics or biophysics."
"It's not going to be the end of the world if you don't get it."
I didn't respond to that. I knew that but I was still having trouble grasping that idea.
"And this," She gestured around my head as if pointing to an imaginary halo. "This sadness around you since you got here...I don't like it. But that's not because of school, is it?"
"It's not," I confessed, sighing because I hadn't been good at hiding anything. "But I'm getting over it."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," I wasn't lying when I said that. It was going to take time. "Abi's been helping. And my friends. But I'm sure."
She roamed my face, searching as if the answers weren't all over my face. She didn't press me to speak about it. She didn't tell me that I had to reveal to her everything inside me. Instead, she clasped my hand, squeezing it once before patting Cooper on the head. She put my trophy back in its place on the shelf before she turned to me.
"Come downstairs when you're ready," She twisted to head out the doorway but then stopped, "Or don't. If you don't, text Abi and I'll bring you food."
"Thanks, mom."
She shot me a wink and closed the door behind her. Cooper whined, pressing his face into my hand. Even with the door shut, the chatter downstairs only grew louder and morphed into laughter that made me grin down at Cooper. "Cooper, I think we have the best family in the world."
He nuzzled into my hand and I took that as him agreeing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Iman: WHAT DID I SAY?
I groaned, rolling over in my bed. Prayer music was coming from downstairs, seeping into my bedroom. It must have been my grandmother. They were live-streaming her church's New Year's Eve service to our TV downstairs where my family gathered for the hundredth time that week.
Iman had won the fifth game of archery we were playing through our phones. He was at a family party. I knew he was spending it with Aven's family without asking. Their families spent the Christmas holidays together, I recalled that from one of our past conversations. I made sure that Iman didn't bring up Aven. Or he made sure that throughout our conversations to never bring up Aven. Either way, we didn't speak about him but I couldn't help myself but connect things iman said to him.
For instance, Iman had brought up over text how he was getting over the flu. Because of him, his coach had sent a reminder to their team for everyone to get their flu shots. My mind instantly went to Aven's fear of needles and I had to stop myself from the empathy rising within me as I listened to Iman explain his symptoms over a voice note message.
Suddenly, my phone flashed with Iman's contact name. I stared at his contact picture. It was of the two of us, me with a purple bucket hat on my head and him mostly wearing yellow, representing our school colours at last year's Homecoming. I stared at the picture thinking of this year's Homecoming. Thinking of my yellow hat. Thinking of him. Fuck.
The contact picture disappeared and I put my head in my hands and sighed into them.
I wasn't going to think about him. I had made it my mission since I came back to Port Yonge to not think about him. Some days once I did, I was quick to be distracted by something else. Some days, like today, I did and allowed myself to think about him.
And I did hard. Even if it was for a second.
"Okay," I shook it off, sitting up from my lying position. Shook him off my mind. Literally. I shook out my fingers like I had played the piano for three hours straight.
Then I looked down at the text messages from Iman for me to answer his call. But answering his call could mean that he's there and I know he's with him and—
He called again.
"Hey, what's up?" I said into the phone as calmly as I could while I laid back down on pillows.
"Damn, what's a guy gotta do to get his friend to answer a phone call? Do I need to let you win in archery?"
"I can beat you in pool," I mumbled.
"You didn't beat me last time. Or the last three times."
"Shut up."
"Or at mini-golf. Or tanks," He continued. "Come to think of it, you really suck at all of these games."
"You're a terrible friend."
"Says the one who didn't answer my phone call even though you were definitely next to your phone." He retorted.
"You know why I'm hesitant."
The noise around him quieted when a door shut on his side. "Um, so is the whole family there? Even Uncle Henry?"
Oh, we're diverting the topic at hand. "You don't want to talk about it?"
"It's not that I don't," He admitted with a sigh. "I didn't know how to bring it up. Or if you really wanted to speak about it. I wasn't sure if you really thought you could talk to me about it because you know even when you're acting crazy, or tweakin' you can talk to me--"
"Iman, I didn't think I couldn't talk to you."
"Really?"
"Really," I confessed. "What happened with Aven and me isn't going to change our friendship, okay?"
"Okay." He paused. "You're not expecting me to try to convince you to talk to him?"
"There's nothing to say." I quipped.
"And nothing I say is going to change that? Right? Nothing."
He was right but still, I caved.
"What would you say?"
There was a pause. "I would say that I get where you're coming from, with Malcolm and all of that and with Aven—well, I saw the two of you interact before either of you knew what the hell you were going to do with each other. I saw how deep it probably went especially over reading week. And I could you tell everything there is about Aven--the Aven that I know and grew up with. Of how I put him on a high standard. Of how he's one of my best friends. He's my brother."
Maybe that itself is why it hadn't come up because he could say all of that and I didn't need to hear any of it. "I know."
"I could say all of that, but it wouldn't change a thing about how you're perceiving things. On what you've seen. On what you know," Iman said. "Because you will never change your mind on your relationship with him unless proven otherwise, am I correct?"
On how I perceived things. The way he said it bothered me but I pushed it away. There was no other way to see things. It was all crystal clear. But the question that he asked? "Correct," I mumbled, hearing shifting on the other side once again.
"Okay," He repeated. "Now, besides all of that, I hope you're doing fine."
"I am," I admitted. "I'm with my family. Trust me, I'm doing fine."
But my statement wasn't given a response. Iman was no longer paying attention judging by the incoherent murmur of conversation happening on his side of the line. Suddenly, the sounds on the other side were cut off by silence. Heavy silence.
Iman put me on mute. Meaning that he didn't want me to hear who he was speaking to.
I took a deep breath.
"He's there with you right now, isn't he?" I asked.
Fifteen seconds, give or take passed before I heard Iman's voice again. And each second I was questioning why the hell I was still on the line. "He is but he's not going to say anything. He said you didn't want him to talk to him so he's going to talk through me."
Seriously? "Are you kid--"
"He wanted me to tell you that he meant what he said on the hill. That he was going to fix this. Fix the two of you."
"And I want you to tell him this: that that is not going to happen because there's no way he can," I brushed under my eyes checking for moisture but there was none. It was then I noticed my sister's presence in the doorway. Fighting the urge to turn around and hide, I pushed past the lump in my throat, "Bye, Iman, I'll talk to you later."
Abisola didn't ask any questions as I approached her. She eyed me cautiously as a million thoughts raced through my mind at something Iman had said but once I heard the happy noise come from downstairs, the thoughts reduced.
"Jaime?" My sister asked.
The thoughts faded until I focused on what the break was meant to be focused on while I had it. "Is Dad trying to get everyone to sing together again?"
"And my dad is trying to stop it and grandma wants everyone to listen to the sermon," She cracked a smile, "Michael is in the corner talking to my brothers and the dogs are in my room."
"So, like when all of us are together, it's a typical Christmas," I said, looking up at her.
"It's a typical Christmas." She linked her arm with my own. "You ready?"
I nodded. "I'm ready."