Chapter 26 Surprise! #2
Long enough for it not to look suspicious. Short enough that it still feels suspicious.
The house is lit up more than usual. Curtains open. Cars lining the street.
Surprise party my arse.
Maybe Mum could’ve pulled it off if she didn’t invite Frankie. But unfortunately for her, we were in the middle of some much needed ‘boyfriend-girlfriend time’ when she called and I heard the whole thing.
On the bright side, Frankie and I agreed that tonight would be the night.
We tell them.
All of them.
No more sneaking. No more coded language. No more pretending we’re just “cool” with each other.
My phone lights up in the cupholder.
My Jelly-bean: hurry up before your mum starts another prayer circle.
I snort.
Me: give it 2 min.
My Jelly-bean: she already prayed twice.
I check the mirror. Adjust my jacket. Smooth down my hair. I’m not nervous. I don’t get nervous.
But this feels different.
I step out of the car and lock it, shoving my hands in my pockets to avoid the cold air as I walk up the path. I can already hear music bleeding through the door.
I take a breath and open the door.
“—AND ANOTHER THING—”
“SURPRISE!”
The shout hits me all at once. Confetti cannon, balloons. My dad clapping like he personally trained me. Aunties screaming my name. Someone blows a party horn directly in my ear.
I jerk back on instinct, then force a grin.
“Oh wow,” I deadpan. “Didn’t see this coming at all.”
Mum swats my arm. “Come inside!”
I step fully in and immediately start scanning the room for Jelly.
She’s standing near the drinks table with Za and her mum.
Our eyes meet.
There’s a private flicker there. We agreed to act normal until we were ready but I'm counting the seconds.
Mum pulls me into a tight hug before I can move.
“I am so proud of you,” she says into my shoulder.
“Thank you, Ma.”
Dad grips my hand. “You made them look small.”
“I always do.”
Now, it’s time for my performance. Hug aunties. Shake hands. Thank uncles. Nod at neighbours who suddenly remember I used to kick a ball against their fence.
All the while I’m hyperaware of where she is.
She’s laughing at something Za says. She looks relaxed, but I know her well enough now to see the tension in her shoulders.
Za.
My sister is the real hurdle. Once we talk to her, Frankie will relax again.
Eventually, I drift toward them like it’s accidental. Her mum excuses herself with a polite ‘congrats’ before escaping to the other side of the room. Not before she eyes me up and down.
I wonder if Frankie told her about us.
Za spots me first. “Oh, look who decided to show up.”
“Figured I’d spare a few minutes,” I reply.
Frankie doesn’t look at me right away. She sips her drink, then finally turns to face me. Even though we woke up in the same bed, and I saw her less than twenty minutes ago, it was like I haven’t seen her in years.
We hover for half a second too long.
“Frankie,” I greet awkwardly.
“Jabari,” she replies softly. “Congrats.”
“Thank you.”
I step forward and pull her into a half hug.
It’s supposed to be friendly.
It is not.
My hands settle at her waist out of habit. She stiffens slightly, then adjusts so it looks casual. Her cheek brushes my chest.
We don’t pull away immediately.
I lower my mouth close to her ear. “Ready to tell them?”
Her fingers tighten in the back of my shirt.
“Not yet,” she murmurs. “Finish making your rounds.”
I lean back slightly, searching her face.
“You sure?”
“Bari,” she warns quietly.
Alright.
I nod once.
“Cool,” I say out loud, stepping back like nothing happened.
Za looks between us, suspicious but not fully clocking it.
“You two are being weird,” she says.
“We’re always weird,” we reply together.
Mum appears beside us with a tray stacked with puff-puff and small plates of jollof. “Frankie, have you eaten? Don’t let him distract you from food.”
“I’ve eaten, Aunty,” Frankie says sweetly.
I try not to react to how natural she looks here. How she ignores the noise and the judgemental aunties and the chaos. How easy it would be to just reach for her hand and end this secrecy now, killing all hope for the women auctioning off their daughters’ hands in marriage.
But she asked me to wait. So I wait.
“Chinaza,” Mum greets.
Za straightens a little. “Mummy.”
“Did you eat anything?” Mum asks, eyes narrowing slightly as she studies her daughter.
“I’m good actually.”
Mum groans.“You’re being unreasonable.”
Za’s jaw tightens. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yes, but you look miserable for everyone to see. Fix your face. And your posture. Why are you—”
“Mrs. McKingsley,” Frankie cuts in gently, already stepping closer to Mum. “Why don’t I help you put these up?”
She takes the tray from her hands before Mum can protest, smiling in that calm, diplomatic way she uses when she’s managing a crisis. As she turns, she flicks her eyes at me.
Handle it.
Right.
Frankie guides Mum toward the kitchen, chatting about the decorations, about whether the cake should come out now or later. Mum relaxes almost instantly under her tone.
And suddenly it’s just me and Za.
She crosses her arms.
“What?” I ask.
“Don’t,” she says.
“Don’t what?”
She looks past me toward the kitchen where Frankie disappeared. “Act like you care about why I’m in a mood.”
“Woah, Zee. I can’t read your mind, so just talk to me.”
She lets out a short laugh that isn’t amused. “You really don’t see it?”
“See what?”
She gestures vaguely toward the kitchen, toward the noise of Mum fussing over decorations and calling my name every five seconds. “This. All of this.”
I blink. “You’re mad that Mum threw me a party?”
“I’m mad that Mum only ever celebrates you,” she snaps.
That catches me off guard. “That’s not true.”
“It is,” she says immediately. “You know what she said to me this morning?”
I stay quiet.
“She said I should be more like you. That maybe if I put half as much energy into something ‘useful,’ people would celebrate me too.” Her voice cracks slightly at the end, and she hates that it does. I can see it in the way she tightens her jaw.
“She didn’t mean it like that,” I say, even though I know Mum has a way of saying things exactly like that.
“That’s the problem,” Za replies. “She always means it.”
There’s noise from the living room. Someone calls my name again.
Za lowers her voice. “It’s always Bari this, Bari that. Bari scored. Bari signed. Bari’s being watched by scouts. Bari this, Bari that.”
I shift my weight. “I didn’t ask for that.”
“I know you didn’t,” she says quickly. “I’m not blaming you for being good at what you do. I’m blaming her for acting like what I do doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” I say. “Your theatre stuff matters.”
She rolls her eyes. “My theatre stuff.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t,” she says, then she looks at me again, and this time there’s no anger, just tired frustration. “Do you know how exhausting it is to always feel second?”
“That’s not how it is,” I say, but it sounds weak even to me.
“It is,” she insists. “And the worst part is, I feel guilty for even saying it because you’re my brother and I love you. But sometimes I just want her to look at me the way she looks at you.”
I step closer. “Zee.”
She shakes her head. “No, let me finish. Tonight is supposed to be about you. I know that. But it feels like I’m a non-factor.”
I rub a hand over my face. “You’re not.”
“Then why does it always feel like I’m clapping for you while no one claps for me?”
“I clap for you,” I say quietly.
She looks up at that.
“I always clap for you,” I remind her. “I sat through that three-hour experimental thing where you screamed in German.”
She huffs despite being mad. “It was Brecht.”
“It was bloody loud,” I reply. “And I was there.”
Her expression softens slightly.
“And when you do that off-Broadway part,” I continue, “I’m flying out. I don’t care where I am. I’ll be there.”
Za searches my face, trying to decide if I’m just saying what she wants to hear.
“You mean that?”
“Yeah.”
She studies me for another second, then nods once.
“Just… don’t let her turn us into competition,” I said quietly. “I don’t want you to resent me for something that isn’t our fault.”
“I won’t,” she sighs.
I pat her on the back. “And if she ever says something like that again, I’ll handle it.”
Za’s brows lift. “You? Handle Mum?”
“I can try.”
That earns the smallest real smile of the night from her. From the kitchen, Mum calls my name again, louder this time.
Za rolls her eyes. “See?”
I groan. “Alright, alright.”
She steps forward and pulls me into a quick hug before I can react.
“Just don’t forget I exist,” she mutters into my shoulder.
“Never,” I reply. Za narrows her eyes at me.
“By the way. How did you know about my off-Broadway part?”
My brain stalls for half a second.
“Ahhh,” I say, scratching the back of my neck. “Frankie told me. During one of our meetings.”
Za frowns. “But you just got back.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Think Jabari.
“Zoom, Zaza,” I reply quickly. “We do virtual check-ins sometimes.”
She studies my face like she’s looking for cracks.
“Right,” she says slowly.
I hold her gaze just long enough to make it look normal.
She tilts her head. “How’s it going with you two? With the game and everything.”
“It’s going good,” I say. “She’s a pain to work with and the hours are pretty demanding, but… it’s cool.”
She keeps watching me.
“What’s going on with you two?” she asks.
“Nothing.”
The word comes out too quick.
Za’s eyes widen. “Oh my days.”
I look away.
“Tell me you don’t have feelings for her.”
Silence. Not yet Za.
Za’s mouth drops open. “Jabari, I swear—”
“Chinaza!” comes from the kitchen before she can finish.
Za closes her eyes briefly to collect her thoughts before we both head to the kitchen as I avoid her attempts to spark up that discussion again. I gotta wait til Frankie’s ready.
I glance across the room and catch Frankie’s eyes.