Chapter 18 Ofosua
CHAPTER 18 OFOSUA
ADINKRA SAYING: (Akokonan) Mercy, nurturing.
HELEN ADDO: Waje m?r he’. Harden yourself. Life can be hard. You’re an Addo. Nobody brings you to your knees.
In the office, with the twinkling lights of the Manhattan skyline watching, Cole had insisted I eat, so we’d finished the Chinese takeout on the floor of my office. There had also been copious amounts of wine. Thanks to BevMo. I’d even brought a bottle home so I could keep the pity party up.
I also owed him a thank-you for putting me in a car.
He had been surprisingly sweet. Even when I’d eaten more than half the Chinese, drunk most of the wine, and spent the rest of the night cursing people out, he’d let me.
Rest of the night? You were home by nine.
I couldn’t even wallow and drink properly.
“Hey, honey, what is going on?” Cora stepped out and eyed me as I entered the apartment and flopped onto the couch.
Oh, nothing… just my life imploding. “I got a wedding invitation. And there was wine.”
Right then, Megan came strutting in. “Did you tell her?”
Cora gave her a sharp shake of the head.
I grinned sloppily at my best friends and pulled my wine from my bag. If I was going to be hit with bad news, I didn’t want my buzz to wear off. Luckily for me, it was a twist-off cap.
Cole had said if I wanted to get blitz drunk, I shouldn’t do it on the good stuff.
“Tell me what? Forget it. I want to lie here and be shitty, and feel shitty, and insult people shittily.” I lifted my head. “But you know who I can’t even be shitty about? Fucking Hot Cole. Nope, not the white boy.” I lowered my voice and then whispered loudly, “I had a sex dream about him. And guess what, dream Cole knows how to fuck dirty. And he’s very good with his mouth. It’s not fair. He’s so… ugh.”
Megan’s brows lifted into her hairline. Then she turned to Cora. “The fuck?”
“I don’t know. Something about a wedding and a sex dream about Hot Cole.”
I sat up. “Cora, you need to pay better attention. My ex-husband sent me a wedding invitation.”
I started to stand as I waved my bottle of wine around like a crazy person. “First, he cheats on me at our wedding. And then nine months later, I get an invitation. Looks like he wanted to be married after all, just not to me .” I took a swig of wine. “And worse, he sent me my wedding invitation. The one I picked out and designed myself.”
Both of them winced.
I pointed to myself. “I’m awesome. I’m amazing. I’m accomplished. I’m educated. Funny. Witty.” Okay, I might have sprayed a little spittle on that last one.
Both of them looked strangled. As if they wanted to stop me from speaking. But I was not going to be deterred. I had things to say. Things I’d been holding in. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had sex?”
Megan stumbled forward, trying to stop me, but I waved her off. “No! We are not going to shut me up, because I’m going to talk about it. It’s been nine months. You know, Yofi used to say that he was tired all the time, but I guess he was tired from fucking other people,” I whisper-shouted.
Megan’s gaze darted toward the kitchen.
I was too busy with my tirade to even pay attention to what she was looking at. “Yeah, that’s him. A cheater. And I’m the idiot who fell for it. Who gets married at twenty-five? Me. Because I was being a good Ghanaian girl to make up for disappointing my parents by not going to grad school. How dare he cheat on me then tell me he’s marrying her?” Then suddenly it dawned on me. “What if he’s not even marrying that chick? Maybe this is a different chick?”
Both of them continued to stare. “Why are you both looking that way? You look weird. Why are you making weird faces?”
Cora stepped forward. “Honey, I need you to put that bottle down because you have—”
I hugged the bottle to my chest. “No, this bottle is my friend.”
And then that voice dropped like an anvil.
“Ofosua Addo. What in the world?”
My head whipped around to find a good-looking man in my kitchen. Six feet tall, dark brown eyes, and a set of lashes prettier than mine. He looked horrified. Excellent. That was the way he should look when looking at me. My mother stood by his side, hands on her hips. “I have brought you a guest and is this how you talk?”
I knew my roommates had been telling me to shut the fuck up and say nothing. Meanwhile, I was gearing up for the fight of my lifetime as I took an unsteady step toward my mum. “Another one?”
My mother opened her mouth and then closed it, studying me closely. “What is wrong with you? This is not how I raised you.”
“ Me? After this afternoon, when you surprised me with a strange man at lunch without my permission, you think it was a good idea to bring another one? Are you delusional?”
Oh, shit. You have really screwed the pooch this time.
Somewhere in Ghana, my ancestors were rolling around in graves and calling the spirits to torment me.
You did not call your parents crazy if you were Ghanaian. Ever.
Anything to imply mental illness or that they were fools were the quickest ways to meet God.
My mother’s mouth hung open. Next to her, the man’s mouth hung open too as he blinked.
My roommates, ever unhelpful, stared at me like I had lost my mind. And then I realized I had spilled my cheap bottle of wine all over our cream-colored rug.
Fuck. “Mum, I told you this afternoon, I don’t need your help dating. Whatever the heck your name is, I’m sure you are very nice. Let me guess, a doctor, a lawyer, or in finance?”
He nodded. “Well, actually, I’m a medical researcher, and I—”
I put up my hand. “I don’t care,” I slurred. “See, I know me talking to you indicated that maybe I give a shit, but I don’t. I’m sure whatever you are, you are extremely accomplished. I. Don’t. Care. Because right now, my world is falling apart. I am not interested. Except to have sex dreams about an obroni boy. Clearly, I’m fucked in the head. You don’t want me.”
His jaw dropped. Then he looked at my mother, nodded, and walked out my front door.
“Eh, what is wrong with you? Why can’t you be meek, small ?”
I stared at my mother. I knew that to her, my being meek and being quiet and accepting the status quo would fix so many things. But she wasn’t like that. She wasn’t meek. She didn’t accept things. So why did she think I should?
Well, maybe she thinks that’s all you deserve.
I tucked away those feelings because I could not afford to be in any more pain today.
“I’m trying to help you, Ofosua. You may think this is all nonsense, but family and community mean something in our culture. They aren’t just words you toss around. I’m trying to help you secure your future.”
I shook my head. “Mum, no. I know you’re not used to hearing that word from me, but you’re about to start hearing it a lot more. No. I don’t care what you say to Daddy. I don’t care what you tell your friends. I’m not doing this. I got an invitation to Yofi’s wedding.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Yes, we got ours two days ago.”
What the fuck? “So instead of telling me that this was happening, you let me find out on my own and turned up with men for me?”
“Well, you need a date for the wedding. You can’t go by yourself. So I was hoping you’d like one of them.”
“Instead of talking to me, instead of communicating, this is what you did?”
“I know what’s best for you. And what’s best for you is not showing up at that wedding by yourself. Why can’t you see I want you taken care of? Is that so wrong?”
I stared at her and then turned my face to my roommates. “You know what, I’m going to bed. Well, first I’m going to clean up that wine, then I’m going to bed. Mum, I love you, but I can’t talk to you for a bit. When I can talk to you, I’ll call you.”
I staggered to my room with dignity… if you call “dignity” bumping into the wall, then the hall table, spilling even more wine, and tripping on the runner.
Yep. Super classy.
By the time Sunday rolled around, I was still reeling.
My mother hadn’t broken down and come over.
Under normal circumstances, I’d be ecstatic. Dancing in the aisle even. But the guilt was eating away at me. Guilt was a useless emotion, and worse, I knew that she was going to use that guilt to her advantage. It didn’t stop me from feeling it, though.
I was blessedly, blissfully alone when one of the doormen buzzed me from downstairs about what I thought was a food delivery. But when I checked our security screen, I realized it wasn’t a delivery guy, but none other than Cole Drake in the flesh.
I opened the door but didn’t let him in. I tugged my ancient DVF tan cardigan tighter around me. The color did nothing for me, and I probably looked like death. “How do you even know where I live?”
“You gave me your address on Friday when I ordered the car service. And maybe I verified in employee records,” he added sheepishly. He glanced past me and whistled at my view. “You can see all of downtown from here.”
“Yes, I know. What are you doing here?”
“You going to invite me in?”
“No. When you show up unannounced, you don’t get to come in.”
He lifted a brow. I knew that look. He would stay right there until I let him in. “Fine.” I stepped aside. “Come in. Now what do you want?”
Marching past me, he started to explore my apartment. “Kitchen? I’ll put this in the fridge. You can eat it later.”
I pointed him in the right direction, and he made himself at home. “I appreciate the gesture, but it’s not necessary. I have a mother, and I find her irritating. I don’t need another.”
“You need something. Something happened on Friday. Anxiety, a panic attack. I don’t know. You shut down.”
Oh, so that was the thing he wanted to talk about. I swallowed hard. “I’m fine.”
He coughed a laugh. “Fine? Are you kidding me right now?”
“No, I am not, in fact, kidding you. I am fine. I feel great.”
He laughed. “Bullshit. You have so much tension you vibrate with it. And never once have I seen you in beige. Or so tired. You had a rough blow, and I want to help. I think you need to get out of here for a bit.”
“I’m sorry, Friday was shitty and I’m wallowing, okay? I don’t mean to be short or snappy, or anything.”
He watched me warily. “You have every right to wallow. Panic attacks are no joke. And clearly, you had one. I’m worried about you. If you won’t talk to me, you need to talk to someone .”
I rolled my eyes. “Listen, therapy is some white people shit. I don’t need to talk to anyone.”
He shook his head in exasperation. “Since when is therapy for white people?”
I laughed. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’d like to know.”
I stared him down. “Black people don’t have the luxury of whining about their problems, especially not Black women. If we don’t fix them, we won’t survive. And let’s be clear on how difficult it can be to find someone culturally sensitive, who gets it, isn’t racist, and won’t dismiss how you feel.”
I had tried therapy. In the weeks following the wedding. I’d needed something to help me get out of bed every day. She’d told me my family was toxic and I should go no contact. She’d also been trying to dig out a reason from me as to how I could be responsible for what Yofi had done.
It was a disaster.
He stood silent for a moment. “I honestly have no idea what to even say to that. I’m sure there is some truth in that idea somewhere, but it wouldn’t hurt to talk to someone.”
“Yes, it would. If I show a moment of weakness, I will lose everything. I have to hold myself together. I don’t get to take a break from my life while I process it. And it never stops. There’s always something new. My mother lost her mind when I told her I was done with her nonstop attempts to control and manipulate me. She stormed out. I mean after she brought me another date, of course. Then she stormed out.”
His brows lifted. “What do you mean, another date?”
“My parents evidently got their wedding invitation before me. She’s been frantically trying to find me a date ever since, and when I tell you that frantic and my mother are a dangerous combination, I’m not exaggerating.”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s bullshit. I already told you I’ll be your date.”
He didn’t get it. “And I already told you that won’t work out.”
“Why, because I’m white?” he asked with a lifted brow.
I laughed. “Well, yes. I’ll already be under scrutiny because Yofi is my ex, and I don’t need an extra level.”
“Is it the dancing? I promise you I can clap on the one and the four,” he said with an expression so serious I almost believed him.
Despite myself, a chuckle escaped. How did he do that? I definitely did not want to laugh.
“I get why you don’t want to take me. I really do get it. But you need a date, and wouldn’t I be better than some strange guy you don’t know at all?”
“ Do I know you at all, Cole?”
He nodded. “You do. Right now, I think you even know more about me than my mother does.”
“You’re not close?”
He shrugged. “We don’t have anything in common. Nothing to talk about. You and I are at least talking about some real shit. Shit that matters to you and to me now. Now that I’m seeing things, I can’t unsee them. That’s real.”
And right in that moment, I knew I was in trouble. I could take his sexiness, and his outrageousness, and that pretty smile of his. But this, him really seeing me… I could fall for him. Even though I knew better.
I was capable of falling head over heels with this guy, and that was far too dangerous.
“Now, go and shower,” he said. “We’re going out.”