Chapter 4
four
let the church say amen.
Jabari.
“Mum!” I shout from my doorway. “Where’s my shirt?”
Saturday morning, and I’m already irritated. Not only did she wake me up at the arse-crack of dawn for Bible study, but apparently, church starts at 8 a.m., and we had to be there on time because my parents are part of the ministry.
Perfect.
“Your shirt is in the laundry room, Jabari. Please stop yelling.” Mum answers from somewhere in this massive house calmly.
I roll my eyes and go fetch it.
Unfortunately, I’m in a bad mood.
Last night, I barely slept because I kept feeling green eyes haunting me.
Fucking Frankie.
Her presence in my mind is becoming a nuisance. The way she looked me dead in the face and said she didn’t remember me? Nah. She had to be taking the piss, and I don’t care how smooth I tried to play it; she got to me.
And I hate that she did.
But I did notice something yesterday, the second the word—Jelly— leaves my mouth, she froze.
Not a dramatic, soap-opera freeze. Just… a hitch. A blink slower with shoulders tightening for half a second before she rearranges her whole face like nothing happened.
But I clocked it.
Oh, I definitely clocked it.
Because nobody reacts like that to a nickname they don’t remember. Especially from a man they don’t know.
That’s the thing about Frankie, though. She thinks she’s slick.
She thinks she can roll her eyes and cuss me out and carry on unbothered. But the body never lies, and hers gave up secrets.
And something petty in me, something eleven years old and still nursing bruises from the old neighbourhood, lights up at that.
She fucking remembers.
I know she does.
And suddenly, it’s not even about the nickname anymore. It’s about the way she tried to swallow it as if she didn’t mean to give me that kind of power but did anyway.
And I should let it go. I should.
But watching her flinch? Even that tiny bit?
Yeah.
I’m not letting this die anytime soon.
I get to the laundry room, see the shirt, and get pissed all over again. The unpressed collar lets me know someone’s been lazy.
“Mum!” I call down the hall.
She appears instantly, like she’s been waiting for the cue. “Yes, Jabari. How may I be of service to you now, your Royal Highness?”
Her sarcasm makes me cringe.
“You didn’t press the collar. It’s all crinkled. Look.” I hold up the shirt and show her.
“Well,” Dad appears in the hallway fully dressed. “You can always press it yourself.”
“Ha,” I scoff. “You’re funny.”
Mum draws my attention back to her. “Bari, there is no time to do that anymore. We’re late. I’m sorry, but we have to go now. Put your shirt on.”
“But Mu–” I start, but she doesn’t give me a chance to complain. And, of course, I have many more complaints to make.
“Now, Jabari. We will be waiting in the car,” she says with finality as her and Dad head downstairs while I stand there looking stupid.
Does no one respect me anymore?
I need my own place. And an assistant.
Mum pokes her head back, impatient. “Hurry, child. If I miss the greeting, there will be hell to pay.”
I hate people touching me.
I hate people in my personal space.
I hate faking smiles and greeting people who aren’t paying me.
And that’s all I’ve been doing for the last twenty minutes. Mum and Dad parade me around the church hall like a trophy, stopping everyone and forcing me to engage in niceties I do not consent to.
However, I don’t hate the attention.
“Sister Janet! Come and greet my son.”
My dad elbows me as I roll my eyes for the fifth time while Mum introduces me to another one of her friends.
When does Zaza get here?
I need someone to take the spotlight off me for a while so I can rest my grin and recharge my social battery.
“Wow! Strong man. And so tall,” Sister Janet greets. “Your mother does not stop bragging about you. And still her words don’t do your handsome face enough justice.”
“Ah!” Mum swats her arm playfully. “Take time. This is still my baby.”
And they both laugh while I wonder if the crucifix up front is high enough for me to jump off and kill myself.
“Where is Chinaza?” Sister Janet grins.
“Tuh, I’ve been wondering the same thing,” I mutter under my breath.
Elbow. I groan and side-eye my father, whose face is perfectly calm.
“Late, as usual,” my mother says through gritted teeth. “I don’t know what I will do with that child.”
Hm.
“Anyway, Sister Janet.” My mother’s forced smile almost mirrors my own. “I will see you when service starts.”
With a polite nod, the woman walks away, and Mum exhales.
“That child will stop at nothing to embarrass me,” she says.
Dad pats her shoulder. “Calm yourself, she’ll be here.”
Mum scoffs. “Yes, late. And drunk from last night.”
“Am I missing something?” I ask.
Both my parents exchange looks, then smile.
“No, all is well.” Mum caresses my cheek. “Find a seat. We have to sit up front as part of the ministry, but we won’t be too far. Come to me if you need anything.”
“I’m not six.” I frown.
She smiles at me but I can see the nostalgia in her eyes. “I know.”
With that, she and my dad join hands and march to their seats up front while I sink into a chair way in the back, creating as much distance as possible.
When church starts, I wish I remembered to bring headphones. The singing, chanting, and noise make my head hurt. I’m seconds away from sneaking out and waiting in the car when I’m called upon.
“I hear that Jabari McKingsley has joined us today. Jabari? Are you here?”
My arm jerks when I roll my eyes, and I think my father has successfully Pavlovian-conditioned me. Nevertheless, I stand, shoving my hands in my pockets.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m here.”
The pastor smiles warmly and gestures for me to come closer.
My God. What is it with this lot?
I groan quietly and make my way to the pulpit.
As I walk past my parents, they beam with so much pride that I decide to suck up my annoyance for the few minutes I’ll be on display and try to appear content for their sake.
Besides, my appearance is probably the best thing to happen to this church since Christ. And I’m sure the thought of me will keep the women in here on bent knees, praying for the lord to deliver them from impure thoughts. Or at least for some dry panties.
The pastor greets me with a firm handshake.
“Wow. You really swelled up! So many muscles, but I bet I can take you.” He jokes, and the congregation laughs.
I smile along and internally cringe as he continues.
“My, my. When your parents said you would be coming back to us, the entire church prayed for your safe return. Your mother even fasted for five days.”
I look at my mum in confusion, and she just meets my gaze with a loving expression.
“Your family loves you very much. Even your sister has asked that I keep your name in prayer. When I see a family as loving as yours, I want nothing more than for them to thrive and continue to love one another. It makes us all happy to see you all reconnected. So, on behalf of us here, I would like to welcome you back home. Do well in your career and continue to make your family proud.”
Wow.
Zaza asked them to pray for me, and Mum fasted.
A knot was forming in my stomach.
When I left the UK all those years ago, I was furious with my parents for sending me away. So furious, I went two whole years without talking to them. They only got updates about my life through the family they sent me to live with.
I continued with football training over there, and I got recognized by teams, so I wasn’t interested in being around them anymore. With time, I grew to understand why they did it. I wasn’t the easiest child to deal with, and they definitely struggled with me.
Still, in that moment, all I felt was hurt and shame.
But on my eighteenth birthday, when I was old enough to move out without their permission and sign on with the team in Gombe, my parents came to visit me.
I barely remember the conversation; it felt like it was decades ago.
All I remember is their offer for me to return to Croydon, and my decision to turn it down in order to pursue football further.
They respected it, surprisingly. Or maybe not so surprisingly, considering I was now the team’s problem instead of theirs.
I like to hope they were pleased with me finding purpose in my life, but I guess we’ll never know.
After that, they visited more. And soon Zaza joined them. Reuniting with her, however, was something I did remember. She had grown so much in my absence.
She took up dancing.
She wants to join Broadway.
She has goals.
When I left, she couldn’t even take the bus to school by herself. And now, she was an adult—an adult who asks the pastor to pray over her stubborn brother.
Fucking hell.
I nod at the pastor and give a tight smile. “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” he nods towards the pews. I turn and make a beeline through the rows and avoid my parents’ gaze as I have more than enough guilt to marinate in at the moment.
Little did I know, I had a surprise waiting for me back in my seat.
“Won’t He do it?” Zaza asks.
“Yes, he will.” Frankie’s voice is sound in response, following a yawn.
The two of them are leaning back in my row, looking like they just snuck in. Which, in all fairness, they probably did.
“Why are y’all in my spot?” I whisper-yell.
“Your spot?” Zaza responds in the same tone. “We always sit in the back. Right, Frankie?”
Another yawn from sleeping beauty, but that was it.
“What’s wrong with her?” I ask as I slip in between them taking great care to focus on the woman who kept me up all night.
“Go easy on us. We woke up thirty minutes ago,” Zaza whispers as she adjusts her sunglasses.
That is when I notice their outfits. Plain and ordinary. Nothing like the crazy shit they had on yesterday. The only weird thing that stands out is the oversized shades both of them are wearing.
“Christ.”
“I know.”
“At least you still had time to do your makeup.”
“Did it on the bus over here.”