Chapter 13 Ofosua
CHAPTER 13 OFOSUA
ADINKRA SAYING: (Kuronti ne Akwamu) A symbol of democracy, sharing ideas, taking counsel.
HELEN ADDO: Who but your mother will give you the best advice?
I should have known my roommates and cousin would all be waiting up for me. There was no way on earth I could have a date without meddling. So, sure enough, when I walked inside the door at nine after taking a detour to Gray’s Papaya for a hot dog, I found Cora and Megan—and my mother—all on the couch… with wine. Kukua was on the floor, hugging what looked like my Van der Hilst pillow.
Cora glanced at her watch. “A bit early, aren’t you?”
I lifted a brow, but before I could answer her, Megan chimed in. “No, it’s better this way: tempt them to distraction, then make it clear you have other plans and leave them wanting more.”
And my mother was the closer. “No man wants to marry a woman who gives it up on the first date.”
It had already been a long enough night, so I kept my retorts minimal as I stepped out of my Prada platforms, simply pointing to them in order as I said, “He’s a Hotep, he’s toxic, and the patriarchy still has him in its clutches.” I lifted my brow at my cousin. “Is that my pillow?”
Kukua gave me a sheepish grin. “Sorry. It’s just so comfy.”
My mother and Megan asked in unison, “Hotep?”
I lifted my brow at Cora, and she winced before answering them. “Well, a Hotep is a Black man who is really Afrocentric and into his roots. I thought he’d be a great fit. And to be fair, I didn’t know he was a Hotep.”
I shook my head. “No. Don’t sugarcoat. You left out the really into his roots, but only in ancient Egypt and hasn’t actually done any of the legitimate research into his ‘roots.’ So he spouts off about how things are taking us away from ‘our culture’ when he has no clue.”
Another wince. “Well, I’m sure he’d be willing to learn,” she added hopefully.
I lifted a brow. “You also forgot about the conspiracy theories and underlying bigotry, misogyny, homophobia, and transphobia. How he was calling Black women queens one minute but was quick to say how we bleed men for their funds the next. And, oh, wait, then he was quick to say at least he knew I wouldn’t try to bleed him out because of my trust fund.”
My mother gasped. Megan started coughing around her sip of wine, and Cora flailed on the couch.
“He did not!” Kukua, bless her, had rolled over and was laughing into the pillow.
“Oh, but he did. And then asked me for a second date. Which I tried to say no to, but he asked me to Kukua’s gallery opening with you and Travis. Once I said I was already going, he said, ‘It’s a date,’ completely ignoring that I already told him we weren’t compatible. So now I’ll have to spend the entire opening trying to avoid him.”
All the while I was ranting, I didn’t realize the others had started laughing too. Especially my mother. Howling actually.
Mum recovered quickly. “And so, girls, who wants to help me get her a new date? Someone more suitable.”
“Mum.”
She ignored me. “Eh, what? You’re ready now. You just went out. Now we can take this seriously. Are we pretending that you don’t need a good man? What did Kukua say about it yesterday? You’re dusty and will atrophy. It’s been long enough. This boy wasn’t the one. I have several more we can set up.”
I knew where this was going. “You know what’s weird? Yofi’s been calling.”
“Why?”
“Dunno. Didn’t answer. I don’t really have anything to say to him.”
Kukua pursed her full lips as she scooped up her long auburn-and-blonde faux locs and secured them on top of her head. “Next time he calls, give me the phone.”
While my staunchest supporter, my cousin was known for having a distinct lack of chill. If you fucked with her people, she would have a lot to say about it. And your ears would ring for the next month. “No, it’s all right. I am not answering it.”
My mother watched me anxiously. “Well, maybe he has rethought everything.”
“Mum, even if he came back and said I was the love of his life, I would never, ever get back with him.”
She sighed as if she thought that was the wrong tactic. “Hm, you’re a hard woman, you know? Of course we don’t want him, but his family is influential. Your ‘no’ should come with some small, small honey. Don’t you want to be married?”
“I’m not hard, Mum. I have self-respect.” I sighed. “What’s left of it, anyway.”
“Eh, fine. Self-respect. But it’s not a dick in your bed, is it?”
Silence descended upon the room, and then Kukua fell over again, holding her sides as she howled in laughter. Megan and Cora were no better, giggling as they took swigs of wine.
“Mum, please stop saying things like that.”
“Okay, fine, fine. I found a dating app, okay? It’s for Africans seeking Africans. And you see, the qualifications are all here. It’s everything you’d want to know. Whether or not someone has been to university, and if they have a mustache, and even better, an advanced degree.”
I sighed. “You’re kidding me.”
“No, I’m not kidding, why would I kid? This is your future.” She pulled up her phone. “See, I think we should create your profile.”
I stared at her. “You can’t be serious.”
My friends, although I didn’t think I could call them that anymore if they were taking her side, crowded around her, staring at the app while they drank.
My mother talked to herself as she tapped away on the phone screen.
“Objective: Marriage and several children.”
Did she have to say “several”?
She continued on. “What’s your family like: Good Christian, professional home.”
“Mum, I hardly think—”
One flick of her gaze at me over her phone and I shut up. She was going to do what she wanted. At least the girls would correct her if she went too wild.
My mother continued to mumble to herself: “Profession and Education: Graduate school for finance. Senior editor at a major publishing house.”
I stared at her. “Now we’re just lying?” I reached for the phone. “Give me that.”
Megan had already proven to be of no help. “Leave her be. I promise you, these men will embellish. They’ll tell you they’re six feet and they turn up missing five inches. This sounds great. At the very least, it will get you out of the house more.”
I glowered at my roommate. “What do you mean, get me out of the house? I leave the house plenty. You know, for work and things. Hell, I just had a date.”
They all laughed. It was Megan who said, “No, not for work functions. We’re talking for pussy functions. And obviously this date didn’t count.”
My mother stared at them. “Heh, you girls are naughty.” She turned to me. “But they’re right.”
“Mum, you can’t really expect me to create a profile and to date some of the people on this thing.”
“Eh, look, I’m saying, you don’t have to marry anybody. You have to start trying small, small.”
“I did try small, small . Even Kukua can testify to that.”
“Cuz, please, you know I love you, but one date is not trying.”
I gasped. The betrayal.
My mother kept typing. “Heh, your father better watch out. There weren’t dating apps for my age. But now, now the world could be my oyster.”
“Mum, you’re going to make me throw up in my mouth,” I muttered.
“Auntie, there are so many options now. You could find the exact kind of relationship you want. You could even get someone who’s a sugar daddy. Someone who wants you to be a dominatrix.”
“Heh, a domina-what?!” my mother shouted.
I laughed. “Kukua…”
“I’m saying if financial stability is your main criteria, there are lots of transactional relationships.”
My mum stared at her. “You’re suggesting my daughter become a prostitute?!”
She laughed. “No, Auntie. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that there are different kinds of relationships, all depending on exactly what Ofos is looking for.”
I waved a hand. “It would be great if you guys were, you know, talking about me like I was here , present, asking me what I wanted, if I even wanted to do a dating app.”
They ignored me as they enumerated the benefits of a dating app.
Cora leaned over. “Honey, it’s time. Omar was a dud. Travis has other friends. Black love can still happen.”
Megan sat back. “Or maybe you’re batting for the wrong team. I think double-dipping is excellent. It gives me that connectedness I sometimes look for, plus, you know, dick.”
I coughed with a quick glance to my mother. She had no idea Megan was bisexual. It was one of those things in Ghana that people tried to pretend wasn’t real or that “happened” to other, “non-Christian people.” I never understood how she could live with her dichotomy of thought. On the one hand, she believed in equality, and everyone being treated with respect. She would and had put her safety and job on the line before to defend queer patients and their right to quality care when she was at the hospital.
On the other hand, she believed being queer was something God didn’t want. It was baffling bullshit.
“I don’t think I’m ready for anyone. And I really am not in the mood for it. Big things could be happening at work, and I want to focus on me.”
Cora sat back and took a long sip. “That’s some shit women say when their pussies are dried up.”
I sighed. “Oh my God, you guys, what happened to feminism? Finding ourselves. Falling in love with ourselves .”
All four of them, including my mother, looked up at me and said, “Bullshit.”
And before the end of that night, I had a dating app profile on AfricaMatch.com.
COLE
After my run-in with Ofosua and her date, I headed to Wessex House to meet a friend.
As I left Cubana, I told myself I was not searching the restaurant for Ofosua. Not that she’d be happy to see me again.
Maybe because you interrupted her date.
I’d just gone over to her table to say hi. We were friends now, weren’t we? And that guy was a tool. He’d tried to out squeeze me on our handshake when I’d genuinely been saying hello.
Liar.
Who was that guy? Clearly, once her engagement ring vanished about eight months ago, it hadn’t shown up again. And given her body language, I was sure that it was a first date.
Like you’re going to get the balls to ask her out?
The working-together thing was tricky, but it wasn’t against the rules. But while I had certainly felt a vibe between us at happy hour, she still wasn’t my biggest fan.
Or maybe that vibe was one-way?
No. I hadn’t imagined that. We’d almost kissed. That hadn’t been one-sided. But whatever attraction was there, she didn’t want to acknowledge.
Patience.
I tried to drag myself out of my reverie as I approached Wessex House. I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn’t sense the shift in the Force.
“Cole?”
The sharp tone, the slight derision, had my head snapping up. I knew that voice.
“Dad?”
Sure enough, there was my father, stumbling out of Wessex House, drunk with some bimbo that looked about eighteen. A bimbo that was not my stepmother.
My father had a type, though. Young, plastic, blonde. When I was a kid, I thought all the mom replacements were because he missed her, that he couldn’t bear to have anyone who didn’t look like her.
But no. My father was as susceptible to bullshit as the rest of us. He thought the young blonde ones conveyed to the world that he was still young or, at the very least, powerful. He was neither. He was your garden-variety middle-aged dickhead.
The blonde eyed me up and down and gave me an appraising smile. I slid my eyes away and ignored her. What was he doing here? I’d had his membership revoked when they’d had to rush him to the hospital eight months ago after he’d cut himself smashing a glass table and then punching the bartender for refusing to serve him after that.
“Candy, this is my son, Cole.”
She grinned. “Wow, Cole. You two don’t look like you’re related.”
And that was because I looked like my mother.
“Dad, what are you doing here?”
“Well, as it turned out, Candy knows someone who knows someone and got us in.”
I sighed and made a mental note to send the owner a box of cigars for any trouble Dad might have caused.
“What’s up, Dad?”
“I hoped we’d run into you, actually. I thought we could have dinner or something.” He licked his lips nervously. “Cole, we need to talk about what happened that night in the hospital. I didn’t mean it…”
As if we could pretend that needing eight stiches in his hand was nothing. As if we could pretend he hadn’t screamed vitriol at me when I’d arrived. We lived in that land of pretend most of the time.
Dinner usually meant he wanted a favor. And that favor usually involved getting my aunt and uncle to release his trust allowance early. “Been busy with work, Dad.”
He rolled his eyes. “Cole. Who talks about work on a beautiful night in front of a beautiful girl?”
I shoved my hands in my pockets and rolled back on my heels. “You sure dislike the word, Dad.”
He laughed. “My son thinks he’s clever. No one actually likes work, Cole. And you don’t have to work.”
That wouldn’t be the case for him much longer. If he kept burning through his money, soon he’d have nothing. But you couldn’t tell my father that because he was still operating on the idea that he was Miles Drake and nothing could touch him. Most especially not reality.
“Listen, the reason I wanted to see you was that matter we discussed last time.”
Here we go.
“I’m sorry, but I already told you I can’t help you. You know that.”
I tried to move aside, but he stopped me. “Cole, I’m your father. Do you know how many times I bailed you out?”
And that was true. He’d bailed me out a lot in my teenage years when I had pulled some idiotic prank or nearly gotten myself expelled. When I’d run my mouth and gotten my ass kicked by some Russian oligarch’s kid. The pattern was always the same.
I’d been a dick when I was a kid. I was told that everything was open and available for me. And I had acted like it. Until I’d gone to college and done a volunteer trip.
Yes, it was cliché. Yes, I’d gone in like the great white hope, but hopefully I’d done some good, though I knew enough now to know that was doubtful. Truthfully, I should simply hope I’d done no harm. My perspective on my place in the world was forever changed, and I’d come home a little different. At least less of a prick… maybe. And he had never had to bail me out since.
Thinking about that kid I’d been was enough to give me a cold shiver down my back.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I can’t help you in that way.”
Now his face turned ugly.
“What? You think that your fucking uncle and aunt are going to somehow magically see you as some kind of do-gooder work-hard type and reward you? They won’t. You’re not good enough. Do you still think you’re going to earn the old man’s crown? I was his fucking son, and he cut me off.”
People were starting to stare, and I shifted on my feet. “Dad, we’ll talk another time. Not like this.”
Candy shifted on her feet before trying to pull him away.
“Let me go. This is none of your business,” he slurred at her.
Her face pinched in disgust before she dropped his arm abruptly. I gave her an apologetic look.
“Dad, I have to go.”
“I’m not done talking to you, Cole.” Dad grabbed my arm.
I jerked my arm away. “Sober up, and we can have a conversation. Maybe I can talk to Aunt Ruby for you about a place.”
He scowled at me. “What? So I can come and work for her buffoon of a husband who’s not even a Drake? Fuck you.”
Then he tore away from me and stormed off with Candy tottering on her heels after him. My stomach churned. He was the ghost of my Christmas future. I had always known if I didn’t keep my shit together, I’d end up like him.
Because of how bad news traveled fast, I called my aunt immediately. The night was unusually warm for spring, and people milled about on the streets, taking full advantage of the warmer spring weather.
I leaned against a stone pillar of a clothing boutique as the phone rang. When she finally answered on the third ring, I expelled a breath of relief.
“Cole, my darling boy, tell me something amazing.”
Just hearing her voice was enough to bring my anxiety down several notches. “Sorry, Aunt Ruby. I’m fresh out of amazing, But I’ll raise you one asshole,” I muttered under my breath.
“Damn it. Your dad? How bad?”
“I’m not sure. I ran into him with some woman outside of Wessex House. He’s toasted and on his way to belligerent.”
“I swear my brother lives to disappoint. How are you doing? You okay? I know how hurtful he can be when he’s sober, let alone…”
My aunt was the only one who’d really paid attention to how my father treated me. The things he said, the way he could withhold love. She made certain I’d always had someone to talk to growing up. “I’m good. I’m just worried he’ll end up in the hospital again.”
“You should never have had to deal with that on your own. I put a little fail-safe into place after the last incident. I’m tracking his phone and will have my people pick him up so he can dry out.”
“What would I do without you?”
“You’ll never have to find out. No, go and do what young people do. I’ve got this. Do your aunt a favor and go meet up with friends or perhaps a girlfriend?” she asked hopefully.
“No girlfriend.”
But why on earth was Ofosua Addo the first person I thought of?