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✯Chapter Seven✯
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THE AMBER EYES OF FAITH
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CALIFORNIA, AMERICA
I lay on my bed, pondering, wishing, about certain things, with a nagging feeling about the school I'm about to attend.
"Lin," my mom, Mia, called. "Come downstairs immediately."
I sluggishly got up and made my way downstairs.
"Yes, mom," I responded.
"What's wrong with you?" My mom asked, concerned by the expression on her only child's face. "Are you feeling unwell?" She inquired.
"No, mom," I replied, feeling my energy being drained by her concern.
"Alright then," my mom concluded suspiciously. "I just wanted to check if you're prepared for school," she said with a smile.
"No," I blurted out. Silly me. "I mean, yes. I am. I'm just exhausted from packing and shopping," I lied effortlessly. God, please forgive me.
"Okay. I'm sorry, sweetie," my mom sympathized.
"It's fine, mom," I waved it off.
I wondered where my dad was. I had seen him in the morning, and since then, I hadn't come downstairs because I'm an introvert.
"What's on your mind, sweetie?" My mom asked.
"Where's dad?" I wondered.
"He went to the church meeting for tomorrow," my mom said with pride.
"Okay," I inwardly sighed. I don't know why. Maybe because I enjoy the fact that he's out of the house.
"Alright," my mom repeated awkwardly. She can be quite awkward.
After realizing there was nothing to talk about downstairs, I left. It's better to sulk in my room than to stay in the living room feeling so bored.
Since my family and I came to America, specifically California, I haven't had any peace.
The only thing that brings me joy is knowing I live in the same state as Arizona, but it still bothers me why I can't find peace.
Why?
Sadly, I have no idea why. America isn't actually my dream country. Dubai is, and my parents know it. They have enough money to go there. I almost thought it was because of the church, but no. My dad has branches of his church there because he is a General Overseer, but the dad I have said this, "Arizona can't continue having everything. She is growing; she has to behave like a teen, not an infant." What he said actually made my heart ache.
It's as if he hasn't given me any attention or something special since my twin sister died. His favorite girl. I love Charlie too, but it's as if I am Jacob, and she is Esau, if you know what I mean. I don't think I am in any way, cause she receives all the attention, even from my real mom. Anyways, it's because she's more attentive to Christianity, more fragile, more lovely, more obedient; she just has all the features I can never have because of the love they gave her and did not give me.
I took out my new phone, the Samsung Galaxy Fold 5. The phone my mother, the woman who treats me like an angel for no reason, bought for me as a gift. We weren't even celebrating anything.
"Aww, Chukwuma. Chuks, my guy," I greeted, even though he can't hear or see me. He is one of my friends from junior secondary school.
I just saw one of his videos on Instagram. He was dancing with the popular TikTok dancer, Purple Speedy.
I love her with all my heart. I like her, but I love hip-hop more than Afrobeat. But as I said, I still love her and adore her.
Even though I'm the daughter of one of the most anointed pastors in the world, you can't say I'm following in his footsteps.
"Celine," now that's my dad, Rev. Dr. Daniel Okeke. "Come downstairs now!" he ordered.
I swiftly came downstairs, checking my attire before stepping out of my room: baggy trousers, a thick hoodie, and palm slippers. My outfit is on point before my dad starts his fuss.
"Yes, sir," I answered more attentively this time because he's my father—not just my father, but a strict and annoying one.
"Your mother is in the kitchen, and what are you doing in that room of yours?" he inquired.
"I was packing for school tomorrow," I lied once more. Why am I lying these days? To my parents, to be precise.
"Now I'm telling you to go to the kitchen," he exclaimed. Annoying dad.
I strolled to the kitchen, seeing my mom.
"Hey, mom," I said, putting on a frown.
"Oh, hi, darling," she smiled brightly, as if she had no problems.
"Why do you always smile like that?" I asked, curious.
"Well, God just makes me happy even in times of sorrow. You might see me happy, but it doesn't mean I am," she stated. I'm sorry to say this, but... I don't believe her.
"Honey," my dad called.
"Yes, darling," the only person sadder than me about my sister's death is my father. Isn't that so weird?
"Have you seen my paperwork book?" That's how he's been since Charlie died. He's been so scattered with everything.
"Mba," she answered in our local language, Igbo, meaning 'No.' I wouldn't be surprised if she's the one who hid it so he would be frustrated... then he'd take his frustration out on me.
"Celine!!" Yep, that's my name.
"Yes, sir!" I answered, quite tired of being blamed for every single thing.
"Where is it?" he asked.
"She didn't take it, you know," my mom defended me. I didn't need it anyway because she's the one who caused it.
"Okay, so who took it?" he asked, already in the mood to reprimand me. Oh no.
"I didn't take it," I defended.
"Oh. You didn't? So who did, Celine? Who did?" he asked, and I stared at him blankly. "Who did?!" he yelled.
"It wasn't me," I weakly replied. I looked at the woman who fell silent. She was just facing her cooking.
"If you don't find it, you aren't going to eat dinner," he concluded and walked away. Then I felt a hand touch my shoulders. I flinched and turned, only to see my mom sympathizing with me. I don't need her stupid sympathy.
I gently and wearily removed her hand from my shoulders and sat in the empty chair close to the large window of our large house.
I looked like an abandoned child the way I sat.
Maybe I am.
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Hope y'all like it.
God bless you for reading
Love 💖
~giftedFortune