Dedicated to becca, becca487, for the pretty cover above! Thank you <3
Chapter Forty-Five: "Take The Wheel."
MY SIBLINGS AND I all resembled our mother rather than our father. I don't know how but her genes were the strongest when it came down to who we all collectively looked like. Daniel got her nose. I got the shape of her eyes. Naomi got her mouth.
But on a level under physical traits, I was the one who acted the most like her yet, my attitude alone was a chip off hers. Just a chip.
"I didn't know we were playing a game of let's meet the family," Caleb whispered the night before despite urging me to meet his family hours beforehand.
"My dad wanted to meet you," I told him. "Why do you think I asked if you wanted to come here?"
"I thought you'd want a break from Los Angeles or something and you wanted me to come with."
"That too, but it was only a matter of time." I pointed out.
He was all for me meeting his aunt. In fact, I had met her first and she was a little fireball of a person. Tia or aunty is what I ended up calling her because I was raised to do so, was quick to accept me into her home, the loft Caleb and his brother had grown up in while they lived here.
Considering I loved meeting and connecting with people, meeting one of the most important people in Caleb's life was easy.
But meeting my family? I was convinced Caleb was going to sprint off into a run. I've been to a gym with Caleb. Cardio was most definitely not his favorite thing.
He tried shaking off his nerves, and I took his hand, squeezing slightly. It was kind of cute to see him so rattled. "But do you want me to meet them?"
I nodded, knowing that that chip of attitude I had gotten from my mom was something he was going to experience full force. "I do."
"Okay, then. Let's get straight to it."
It wasn't going well.
My mom was hardheaded. Extremely.
This was mentioned straight from the beginning when Caleb told me he wanted to meet my family that he and my mom weren't going to get along. My original thoughts were because of their clashing personalities.
I thought wrong.
My mom didn't like Caleb and I already had a feeling of why the second she looked at him.
Dad was better.
He and Caleb hit it off the second Caleb shook his hand. As my father was a bank investor, he also liked shouting at soccer games, sitting on the porch of the house and watching people or reading- he loved reading.
It only made sense that a reader like my father was going to like a writer like Caleb.
He asked him any and every question that had to do with his novels, with the business surrounding writing, leading to where he had gone for book tours, how he had started getting into screenwriting-
I was convinced my father liked my boyfriend way more than I did. Caleb wasn't meant to stay for dinner since he had an outing with his Tia later, but my dad would have made him stay for dinner and watch a soccer game with him.
Caleb seemed to like my dad just as much. Glancing over at my mom who retreated to the kitchen to answer a phone call, I sighed. She didn't say much, something that was unlike her and had given Caleb the cold shoulder most of the time besides giving him a polite hello.
Excusing Caleb and me as innocently as one possibly could in this household, I nodded over for him to follow me into the hallway.
"Little Octavia." He gushed, looking up at a picture of me and two of my cousins. Ten-year-old me was striking a pose in Nigerian wear and gele, a head tie wrapped around my hair.
I snorted. "Of course. I was such a diva."
"The print is sick," He commented on the design of the clothing. "They don't sell stuff like this at stores, no?"
"They have Nigerian stores that sell fabric like this or we know people back home who send it. My mom used to buy the fabric and make clothes out of it for me, Ni and Daniel to wear to church or parties when we were younger."
Caleb's eyes moved over to more pictures of my family with close friends and extended family. I almost scoffed at the memories that were rising with each picture. "I used to help her. We have a sewing machine in the basement. I would've stayed there forever as a kid just wanting to make clothes with her. There's a picture where we're all wearing the same..." My feet took me to the small family picture where we all posed in the exact same print.
"That's sick." Caleb grinned before laughing at my brother's face in the photo. "Why does Daniel look like that?"
"He was crying," I rolled my eyes, trying to remember a time where Daniel wasn't bawling between when he was born to when he was ten. "I don't know why. The little idiot cried a million times when we were kids. I think I stole his toy-I don't know I was like eight at the time."
Caleb's eyes flickered to another picture on the wall. Another family portrait-this time extended with a couple of additions of my family. His eyes flickered between my dad and the man on the other side of me and my cousins. "This was your uncle?"
"Yeah," Despite the heavy feeling in my heart at the sight of his picture, my lips quirked up. "He was a good man." I stared at the picture a moment longer before peering at Caleb. "A really good guy. You know, he'd tell me what I should do besides acting."
"About that," Caleb looked at me inquisitively, crossing his arms. "What's going on there? Like why the sudden decision to do something more than acting?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "A couple of months ago, I was talking to Sydney when I told her about just wanting to do something more than acting. It was just a thought that I kept thinking about for a while. Just a second hand thought I'd like to explore. Something new. Do you get what I mean?"
"Yeah, I do."
"Don't get me wrong, I love acting," I assured. "It's exciting, it challenges me, but I know that I could do other things. I've always liked the idea of breaking boundaries and I want to do something like that outside of acting. Other actors do things besides acting too. They use their platform and such. I think I want to do something like that."
"Well," Caleb said tentatively. "You told me you wanted to be an entrepreneur if you weren't acting, no?"
I narrowed my eyes at him in awe. "How do you remember that, but you didn't remember if you packed socks?"
"Important details are the ones that matter usually." He smirked, leaving me amused. "But you said that yeah?"
"Yes. I told you that in Italy."
"I know you don't want to do anything involving singing, but what about fashion?" The corner of his lip quirked up in a half-smile. "Like, start your own fashion line. People would definitely buy clothes you'd create."
I opened my mouth to speak but he was on a roll here, getting excited. "Krystal. She does makeup. Ask her about the idea of starting your own line but I'm sure you already know people in the industry itself, like Angie and who she works with, and Royce does model and marketing-that counts for something plus you're you. You know like a million people and networking is your thing-"
"Caleb."
"Sorry, I'm just getting excited for you."
"I never even said I would do it."
"But you'd think about. You can't tell me you're not going to think about it."
"I always think about what you tell me no matter how weird it is," I informed, pulling him down the hallway and into the room I had shared with Naomi growing up. "But you usually have the best ideas."
"So, you'll think about it?"
"Definitely," I acknowledged. "I like the sound of it."
"Good," He nodded. "CEO Octavia is an image I'd like to see one day."
I played with my necklace on my neck as his eyes darted around the room, taking it all in. A small scoff came out of my mouth at his words that held so much faith and belief in me. He chuckled in response at my expression, reaching forward to squish my cheeks with one hand and I pushed his hands away with a groan.
Taking a seat at the chair of my old desk, my legs pushed against the floor to start spinning. "Which side do you think was mine?"
"I'm going to assume the side where the luggage is residing is not yours." Caleb drawled. "I would have known anyway."
"How?"
"The five pairs of hoop earrings on the nightstand were a dead giveaway. Naomi wouldn't be caught dead in those."
"That's true." I searched through a makeup bag I had left here on the table.
Caleb's eyes flickered around the room once again as I grabbed a lip gloss and started applying it to my lips. "Your mom seems to have it out for me."
"She means well." I quietly stated.
"Understandable. But, there's a reason there and it has nothing to do with me."
Sometimes he was way too keen for his own good.
Covering the lip gloss with the cap, I put it back in the makeup bag. "She's being cold because she doesn't think we're going to last. By that, it means she doesn't want to waste her time on you."
"What?" I turned in my chair to look up at the incredulous expression on my boyfriend's face as he stood in front of me. "Did she tell you that?"
I bit my lip. "She didn't but I know her, and I'm pretty sure that's what her mindset is about you at the moment."
"Why would she think that, though?"
I couldn't look him in the eye when he asked that question. I racked my brain trying to find a better way to word the reason in my head properly. "Um," Without thinking, I reached for his hand. The comfort of his rings left a cool feel on my palm and we both glanced down at our locked hands before looking back at each other. "She doesn't think we're going to last because she thinks you're not going to," I struggled to find the right word. "understand our culture well."
Caleb froze, eyebrows furrowing. "She doesn't like me because I'm not Nigerian?"
I kept quiet and he let go of my hand, running a hand through his hair in disbelief. "It's the 21st century and she doesn't want me with you because I'm not ancestrally from the same place as you? That's absolutely absurd."
"Caleb-"
"What was Keith?" He questioned with narrowed eyes.
I held in my breath for a moment. "Half Persian, half Ghanaian."
"He's not Nigerian." He pointed out.
"No," I agreed quietly. "He was raised in both cultures, but he was west African. Sure, there are huge differences between Ghanaians and Nigerians but we're of a similar race-"
The look on Caleb's face made me shut up at the bird I had killed with the stone in my hand. "So, it's because I'm not black."
I didn't try to hide it from him. "Yes."
God, that was the first look I saw in my mom's eyes when she saw Caleb. I could mentally hear her say in complete irritation, 'Na where you carry dis oyibo from?'
Caleb's eyes went down. He moved back, walking over to my bed and taking a seat. He sighed loudly, leaning back so his head thumped against the mattress and covered his eyes with his forearm. I sat next to him, pulling his forearm. "Look at me."
He sighed, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. "Is it too much that I wanted your family to like me?"
"My dad does. Hell, if my dad wanted to go out with you, I'm sure he'd take the chance," My joke didn't do much seeing as Caleb frowned even further.
"I've only been in two serious relationships before you," I told him. "Both of the men were black. I'm not going to hide that. And yeah, it would be easier for them to assimilate into my ancestral culture based on their skin color. Is it going to be easier for me too? Caleb, I can't even speak Spanish and that is one of the biggest ties to your culture."
"That doesn't matter," He grunted. "Tia loves you. My grandmother will love you too when you meet her."
I bit back a smile at his words, pulling him up so we were face to face. "If you come to Nigeria with me, you'll look like an outsider. If I come to El Salvador with you or even Scotland, I'll look like an outsider. But it doesn't matter. I'm not with you solely because of what you look like – although, it is a bonus I landed myself a fine man like you."
Caleb shook his head in amusement, and I intertwined both of his hands with my own. "And yeah, it'll be hard sometimes but we're going to have to deal with not everyone being happy we're together."
"Sucks for them," His fingers traced along the back of my hand.
"Just because we aren't visually of the same place doesn't mean I don't like you any less. I want to get to know more about you and where you grew up and your families. Besides, if my mom doesn't like you then so what? You're dating me, not my family. You kiss me, not my family. You have sex with me, not-"
"I get it," He pulled at my hands with a laugh, making me sit closer to him. "I get it,"
"She'll warm up to you hopefully," My finger traced along with the shell of his ear and he leaned into my touch. "Anything can go with my mom, but who knows?"
"Time will tell, huh?" I made a sound of agreement, my hand touching the side of his face to cup his jaw. He shifted, his breathing a little more noticeable and my other hand settled on the side of his neck. My thumb grazed along his warm skin and he watched intensely.
"Like that?" I teased, pulling my hands off him quickly before he could do anything.
"Fuck off." We shared a laugh and I rose my legs on the bed to settle closer to him.
"I shouldn't have been surprised, though," I confessed. "She used to do this all the time with the girls my brother brought home,"
"What do you mean?"
"Daniel never really dated someone that looked like us before and my mom's mentality about it was 'it's just a phase. They aren't going to last'. Like you, she didn't pay them any attention. Daniel may have ended up with a black girl by the end of it but honestly none of us care what race a person is when we're dating, and she doesn't get that."
"Interesting." He mumbled.
"She just thinks that being with a black person would be easier for us. And I get it to a point, but you don't really choose who you fall for."
Caleb hummed in accord and I pressed a kiss to his cheek to which he immediately recoiled. I started wiping the residue off his face when he scrunched up his expression, "You got lip gloss on my face."
"I don't care." I leaned forward, annoyingly kissing him loud on the cheek again.
"Tavi," He whined as I wiped it off again with my thumb. He reached to me, curling his hand around my throat and his fingers drumming against my skin. With a sly wink, he grinned. "Like that?"
"You're definitely not getting frisky with me in this house," I muttered and he laughed, taking his hand off me when his phone buzzed in his pocket. "My Tia should really just get me a beeper if she wants me with her. Do they still make those?"
"I don't know but I'm sure you'll find one." I snorted at his ridiculous question and a wide grin was on his face as he kissed me lightly. "Tell her I say hi, I'll see you later tonight."
When Caleb left, saying a quick goodbye to my parents, my name was shouted. I followed the voice to the kitchen only to find a displeased look settled on my mother's face.
Jesus, take the wheel.
"So," I clapped my hands. "Caleb."
A sound came from her mouth and her pidgin English that she hid when Caleb had been here coming out full force. But only ever did her pidgin English come out when she was irritated with a family member- like me and our various phone calls or when she was around Nigerian people. "Your friend get wound for in face."
No matter what person one of her kids brought home, my mom would never refer to them as boyfriend or girlfriend. I racked my brain to see the fading bruise on Caleb's face that had been addressed any time today. No. Fuck.
"Yeah. He got in a little altercation." In response, I heard her mumble something about the news. The one time my mother pays attention to the media.
I close my eyes for a moment as she questioned whether it was from the fight between him and Keith is where it came from. I took a step back for precaution. There was a good relationship established with my mother but that didn't stop her from trying to discipline me no matter how old I was.
"Keith hit Caleb first," I explained. "He picks fights because he's a bitter man who needs to have his pride uplifted. Caleb's not like that."
"If you say he is not responsible," She started, referring to Caleb. "Then why did he fight?"
"He wasn't at fault. He had to defend himself and at the same time, he was defending me. He was only doing the right thing."
She said. "I am just looking out for you."
"He's not temporary, mom." When I said that, she glanced at me because I was serious. "Even if we weren't together, I know he would still be in my life. You don't have to accept that but if you did that would make it a lot easier."
She sighed, shaking her head. "You know how people are." I did know how people could be. I know the looks Caleb and I would get at a gathering of people that looked like either of us. I didn't care.
"Because he doesn't have an ounce of African in him?"
Her silence confirmed it and I nodded to myself. "If there's an issue or anything in the future regarding where he comes from and where I come from then we'll deal with it. But that's our problem-no one else's."
I wasn't going to budge about this topic. My mind was settled on how I felt about Caleb from the second I had acknowledged them, and they only grew stronger. By my words, by my stance in front of her, she must've noticed because she asked. "Which country where he come from?"
An eyebrow raised; my partial attitude came out. "You couldn't ask him that question when he was here?"
She gave me the eyes that were asking 'who do you think you are questioning' and I backed up quickly as she reached for the flipflop she was wearing, now holding it in her hand. She gave me a stern look, a smile playing on her lips as I burst out laughing. "Mom!"
A sound came out of her mouth and I chuckled as she put the flipflop back on. "He grew up partially in Scotland then El Salvador before he moved here. He's honestly a huge goofball and can be so annoying but is honestly charming and smart and questions the strangest things but he's..."
I shook my head as I ranted, glancing up at her. Her eyes were narrowed in thought and I cleared my throat to stop myself from rambling. "What I mean to say is that I mean it. I'm serious about him."
She was quiet for a moment. "I know you are."
"And he got to know dad a bit. He really wanted to get to know you if you'd give him the chance."
"I did not say I was not going to." And to end that point of our discussion, she gestured over to the sink.
Good God.
But I was relieved at our discussion. As I started washing the plates, grabbing gloves because there was no way in hell I was going to ruin my nails, she sat down at the small dining table. I mumbled along to the Nigerian gospel music that she was playing from her phone somehow blending with my father's yelling from the living room, probably about some soccer game going on. His constant cursing made me laugh under my breath and a sense of home flooded through me, leaving me content.
When I was finished, my mom was using her index finger to scroll through Whatsapp. The action itself made me bite back a cackle as I took the gloves off. It was at that point I had recalled what I'd been meaning to tell her.
There was never a reason to tell her something serious over the phone. It had to be face to face.
"I saw Eric McCantie a couple of weeks ago."
The name itself had her forget her focus on her phone, her eyes darting up to my face quickly. "What? Did he-"
"No, no, he didn't try anything. I just felt uncomfortable but also mad," I admitted with a shrug. "That he was just walking around like nothing happened."
A curse sounded under her breath and like many times before she grabbed my hand. Not her stability but for mine.
"I haven't told you that I want to do something about it. One of Caleb's friends told me that I could do something about it. Especially due to where I am now with my career. And he's right. Naomi and I haven't figured out the details yet but we're going to talk more about it when she comes to LA for thanksgiving. You guys are still going to Nigeria, yeah?"
"Yes." I had bought them plane tickets to go for a month in a few days. With the loud Nigerian gospel music playing in the background along with my dad's yelling at the TV, they were definitely missing it. "Continue."
"Okay but, um, we're just talking to some people. Trying to find the best way to come across this and..."
I swallowed the lump in my throat, struggling to find the right way to communicate this out loud. She noticed, squeezing my hand and watching me warily as she waited.
A deep inhale and exhale later, I cleared my throat. "I don't like that we lost the case years ago." A pitiful laugh fell from my lips and my mother's face was filled with sorrow as she allowed me to rant as I used to do years before.
"We knew it wasn't right and that something was up. It wasn't right to me that he didn't face any consequences. I don't like that he's potentially out there, harassing people who are trying to make a name for themselves or anyone in general. I don't-I don't know if he's still doing it but it's stupid that he didn't face anything for when he was. It didn't just happen to me..."
It didn't just happen to me.
"I think we might have to go public somehow. Naomi mentioned it once before she left."
My mom stood, gesturing for me to follow her. Dad was standing now in the middle of the living room, eyes stuck on the TV so he barely noticed us pass through. When we reached my parents' room, I sat on the bed as she went through the closet, probably sorting out her clothing for tomorrow.
She poked her head out of the closet. "He was doing similar acts," She barely got that word out, revolt covering her expression. "To other women on set, yes?"
"It was obvious."
She sat next to me on the bed, folding her pants. "An incident like this happened at your father's workplace a few months ago. Almost the same thing-multiple women were involved."
That's so fucked, I wanted to say out loud but to not get yelled at, an exhale left my mouth, my head in my hands at one of the many examples people had to go through at work, on set, anywhere really.
"If you get more voices, and we know there are more voices, the better chance you have."
Ideas were immediately rolling through my mind when she suddenly said, "It's not going to be easy."
Nothing ever really was.
"I know that."
She set her clothes down on the bed. "Keep me updated. And if you need me and your father, let us know. No one messes with my children," The last part she said with certainty that had tears blurring my vision for a second. "No one."
I sniffed as she got up, continuing to sort through her clothes. Her movements were stiff, her face in deep concentration. Her physical being practically let know that she was going to talk to my dad thoroughly about it and that it was bothering her.
With my legs crossed on her bed, I watched her think. remembering how I would sit here when I was a kid, watch her get ready for the next day, tell me about the latest gossip of her workplace.
I loved my mom more than anything. Sure, some of her thoughts heavily contrasted my own but I usually could speak to her about most things easily. No matter how traditional her values were and mine wasn't. We clashed a lot as I grew up as a teenager, but I knew she understood me at the same time. She always had, not just mine, but my siblings' best interests at heart.
At 25, we didn't see each other as often as I had lived in this house years ago, but I was still able to tell her things without fear. Without the possible disappointment. That changed when I left. But as stated, I was 25 and I was very different from the same girl that flew to Los Angeles to be in her first movie.
When she came back, laying a shirt next to her pants when I decided to say something, I should've told her when I had found out.
"I can't have kids."
There's a type of relief that goes through you when something you've been holding back for a while, for a suffocating amount of time, finally comes out. That was it.
While I exhaled in solace, my mother froze in response. At that, my heart started pounding in my chest. Beating so loud and so fast I almost thought I was going to faint. She twisted her head to look at me, the expression on her face was filled with shock. "Heh?"
"I can't have kids," I repeated. I had to repeat it and my stomach twisted itself into knots I rarely experienced.
She blinked at the sudden drop of news, regaining her posture. "How long have you known?"
"A while now," I swallowed. "Over a year or so."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"I didn't know I could," I confessed.
"You can tell me anything, Octavia-"
I immediately shook my head and the scoff that came out of my laugh wasn't anything remotely relating to humor. "No, no, I can't. I've never been able to talk to you about some things without feeling like I'm doing something wrong."
A hand went to her head as she looked at me in bewilderment. "Why?"
"Because of me starting out years ago. And how much you didn't want me to do it. How many times you kept saying no, no, no-"
"You are in a risky business," Each word she said was articulated by her accent, making sure that she was the one leading the conversation. "That's why I wanted you to go to school-college, university."
I instantly rolled my eyes, not caring about the consequences of my actions. She was the main reason as to why I almost didn't move when I was younger. I had given my friends excuses at the time, saying I didn't want to my first movie was because of other people and other unfathomable excuses when it was this. The idea that chasing a dream was too unrealistic.
"But neither of those are paths I wanted or ever want to take," I told her. "I just want you to understand that. That acting is something I love, and you made it seem like it was the wrong choice for me for years. Sometimes you make me feel like I'm only disappointing you and that's why I didn't tell you. Because I hate the idea of disappointing you and dad."
"You're not."
"That's what it feels like," I ran a hand over my face, standing now. "I want to tell you things about work and you'll shut me down because you think the entire thing-something I've been doing for years-isn't worth it or won't work out."
"If we have never shown an interest it's just..." She trailed off. "Your uncle was the one who knew so much about this, we never had to ask."
"Then ask me questions," I almost pleaded. "All I ever wanted was to know if you cared. But you have me thinking, for years, that you don't. That what I was doing wasn't the right thing. That you didn't want to be involved in it whatsoever even when I brought it up. You've probably never even heard of a single movie I've-"
"No," My mom snapped, making me flinch at the uncalled tone in her voice. "We watch everything you are in. Everything. Since you were small. And every award show you are at and your speeches when you win-your father invites all family nearby to watch you with us at the store. You always thank us and your uncle. Always."
My emotions calmed down, my tongue digging into the side of my cheek as I looked down at the ground. "Every single award show." I agreed.
"I remember watching you win that award at that film festival about a year or so ago. And in your speech, you said one thing, not in English. 'Uncle, imela na iheoma nile ina emerem'.
Uncle, thank for everything you have done for me.
My mom's pronunciation in Igbo language was spot on despite growing up in a different land in Nigeria than my father. But my dad and my uncle had always spoken to each other in Igbo and as kids, my siblings and I picked up on a few phrases. Saying it in Igbo, in the native tongue of your family, always felt deeper. Especially since I had wanted to say that to him for a very long time at a high point of my success.
My voice was quiet, "You watched that."
"Of course," She harshly whispered. "You are our daughter. Even when we may not seem to agree with your career, it is your career. You're happy with it and that's what matters. I was just worried when you were younger. But what mother wouldn't be?"
I sat back down. "I didn't know that."
"We may not be as involved as you think we are, but we do not know how to come across it. You've always been so independent. It's different with you compared to Naomi and Daniel. You're less practical out of the three of you. You didn't disappoint me. Just worried. And this news you've told me won't disappoint me either. Why would you think that?
"I don't know," I heaved a sigh. "I just, we have such big families and you're always asking about kids if any of us call. I just didn't want to highly disappoint you further than I thought I kept doing-"
She grabbed my hand, sitting down. "It does not matter. Whether you can't have children, whether you can't, even if you do not want children. You should not have assumed."
"You're right." I sighed, feeling intense hypocrisy at an argument that could have been avoided, at a parent figure who could have been by my side through it all. There was nothing I could do now but communicating about it to her, gave me a sense of ease, comfort and reassurance.
I settled with the truth once again.
"I can't have kids." This was repeated for the last time. Because saying it in front of her, in front of my mom, made the reality all the more real.
A sudden wave of emotions washed over me, making me sniff. Yanking my hand slightly, she gave me a familiar firm look. One I imagined multiple times before that told me to be strong just as she had been her entire life. "It is okay."
I brushed a tear forming at the corner of my eye. "Sometimes it doesn't feel like it is. It didn't before. Not long after I found out, I sought out help."
"What did you do?"
"I went to therapy for that and Uncle's death when I was grieving."
Keeping my eyes on my mother, I was wary. Therapy was an unknown word in our home. It was a 'western' thing. Never familiar where my parents came from. But understanding shone in her eyes, surprising me.
Then she repeated, "It is okay," in the same tone as before. This time with a small reassuring smile on her face. That's what I needed because I believed her. I believed that I wanted kids, there were many options and that if I didn't want kids that would be fine. That if I wanted to stay an actress than that's what mattered because it made me happy. And that if I wanted to put my all into making people like Eric McCantie know that their negative actions have consequences, I would do so.
I believed her.
Suddenly, my mother kneeled at the foot of the bed and gestured for me to kneel beside her. I did so and watched her close her eyes as she did a common thing most Nigerian mothers do.
She prayed.