Chapter 19 Ofosua
CHAPTER 19 OFOSUA
ADINKRA SAYING: ( Akoma ) Patience, nurturing
HELEN ADDO: Love is patient, love is kind. No one is more patient than a mother trying to get her daughter married.
SAMUEL ADDO: Patience is letting your wife talk to her heart’s content. It will bring peace.
Cole was right. I did feel better after a shower. As it turned out, smelling like stale wine messed with your head.
Instead of thanking him, I blurted out, “Is this a date?”
Cole laughed. “You are really out of practice, aren’t you?”
“I guess a little. I’m sorry. I feel like I should know.”
“How about we say this is two friends headed out to do something fun, and we’ll see about it being a date later? Besides, I don’t think you’re exactly ready to date.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? “I am ready to date… sort of. Okay, maybe not really.”
“See? So, this is not a date. Come on. Are you ready to go? You look great, by the way.”
I glanced down. I’d worn an African-print skirt and a plain white T-shirt tied in a knot at the back, showing a hint of skin. “Am I dressed appropriately for wherever we’re going?”
He laughed. “Like I said, you look great, and you’ll be fine with that. Come on.”
He’d worn dark jeans and a casual button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, so it couldn’t be that fancy.
“Okay, let me grab a blazer or something first.”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s warm now, but it could be chilly later.”
“You’re really not telling me where we’re going?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“So, you grew up here?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yup, down the hall is the same room I grew up in. Humiliating, I know.”
He laughed. “Hardly, this is Charles Street, in the heart of Greenwich Village, with a view of the Hudson. You have views of the whole damn neighborhood. If I could stand my father at all, I’d still be in the same place I grew up in too.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Upper East Side. It was my grandfather’s place.” Not that surprising.
“I see. So where do you live now?”
He shrugged. “I’ve got a place in Tribeca. I love it. I get to feel like I’m my own person without all the bullshit.” Tribeca suited him. Trendy, hip, alive. He’d want to be in the heart of nightlife and restaurants.
“Yeah, that was kind of the plan I had for the whole, you know, run-off-and-get-married thing.”
He laughed. “Well, you can still have that plan without the marriage.”
I reached into the closet and pulled out a blazer. “Oh, that is the plan. Saving some money so I can be on my own.”
“I’m sure you could probably live somewhere on your own now .”
“I could, but you haven’t met my mother. There will be a lot of string-pulling to control me if I go anywhere near my trust fund. And I’d like to be financially independent before I pull that trigger.”
We made the escape without any of my roommates or, God forbid, my mother coming home and seeing Hot Cole.
We even made it down the hall and into the elevator without seeing anyone, not even any of our neighbors. As luck went, mine was looking up.
It was only after he opened the car door for me and slid in beside me that I saw the flyer and laughed. “You’re taking me to a Republic Day Festival?”
“Oh, damn it, I wanted to surprise you.”
“I am surprised.”
“It’s not lame, is it?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s perfect. I’m not going to the Ghana Association dinner tonight, so this way I can still celebrate.”
“There’s a Ghana Association in New York?”
“Oh yes. Complete with society boards and charity boards, and all those kinds of things that I don’t care about.”
“Well, okay, then. But do you like Republic Day celebrations?”
“What’s not to love? It’s not as big as Independence Day, but there is food, and dancing, and drinks. I do love it. Thank you. This was thoughtful of you.”
He grinned. “I know. So all you have to do is relax, kick back, have fun, and of course, tell me what the hell I’m eating. I was reading a review in the Times , and they said that you should literally go on an empty stomach. Matter of fact, they said don’t eat for two days beforehand because you will be stuffed. They have to roll you home.”
As I laughed, I said, “You know, that’s actually quite accurate. If I’d known where we were going, I wouldn’t have eaten breakfast.”
I was glad he’d used a car service. Something told me the struggle to find parking would have ruined the mood.
The streets teemed around us, and we enjoyed a companionable silence in the car. Next to me on the seat, his hand was mere inches from mine. And all I could think about was what if he wrapped it around mine like he’d done the other night, would I pull my hand free?
The more time I spent with Cole, the more I looked forward to spending time with him. Because somehow, in working so closely with him, I’d grown to like the person that he was. And then somewhere along the way it had become more than that. The way he’d held me on that roof, the way he’d comforted me, I couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken care of me like that, taken care of my feelings. He made it a point to make sure I was okay.
But then there was that little problem of how he’d completely forgotten me. It was years ago, and I should let it go, but I just couldn’t forget that feeling. The way my stomach had dropped. The embarrassment I felt.
You could just ask him about it.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear his answer.
“You’re quiet. Are you not up to this?”
I smiled at him. “No, I am. And this is actually perfect. I get to enjoy all the parts of home and my culture without actually having to deal with my mother, so it’s a bonus really.”
He laughed. “Your mom can’t be that bad.”
“You have no idea.”
Once we arrived at the Republic Day festival out in Queens, Cole had gotten so pumped up that he looked like a kid on Christmas Day. He was smiling harder than I was. Oh, my smile was pretty big too. I couldn’t help it.
Ghanaians from all over New York and New England gathered in one place, loving life. There was music, and food, and screaming children. Cole took my hand then. Easily, as if we’d been holding hands forever.
As we walked into the crowd, I introduced him to bofrot, which he’d never had. But the moment he took a bite, he moaned. It was basically an air-filled fried pastry, but he likened it to an orgasm in edible form.
I scoffed. “I mean, it’s good, but I’m sure there’s something much better.”
“There’s something better than this?”
I laughed. “Yes.”
“What’s your favorite, then?”
“Plantain. Always plantain. It doesn’t matter how you make it. Baked, fried, however. That’s how I want it.”
“Let’s find you a stand, then.”
When we found the kelewele stand, my stomach grumbled.
Cole bought me a bunch wrapped in newspaper, and I ate merrily. “This is so good.”
As we shared it, our fingers were becoming sticky from the sweetness and the oil. All around us, there was hiplife music and kids doing traditional dances. Cole stopped me. “Can you do that?”
I explained they were doing an adowa, which is a dance by the Akans, one of the tribes in Ghana. But then I found my people, the Ga-Adangmes, doing a kpatsa dance on the other side. “Over there, those are my people.”
He laughed. “Can you do any of those?”
“Yeah, I mean a little.”
He took my hand. Many bystanders had started joining in the dances, trying to do them. Mostly obroni, because of course, the white folks couldn’t help themselves the first time they heard real deep bass.
But even as Cole tugged my hand and joined in the dance and I watched him wind his waist and try and find the rhythm and get into it, I laughed. Real, genuine laughter that felt so good it seeped into my bones.
He was so carefree. He didn’t seem to give a shit if I was laughing with him or at him. He was having fun. And I realized that was what I had always both admired and hated about him. He could make anything sound fun and inviting, and I wanted to be like that. I wished I could be. There was a part of me that longed to be like that. And he came by it so easily, while it was a source of contention for me.
At one point he looked over and grabbed me by the waist and twirled me around. “Having fun?”
I nodded with a laugh. “Yeah, thank you for this. It was exactly what I needed.”
And by the way he was looking at me as we danced, our hips moving in time with the music together, his body pressed against mine, leaning in with his muscles and his scent, I wanted him to kiss me.
I wanted to ignore every single rule I had told myself I needed and be lost in the moment with him, lost in his kiss. I knew he would taste sweet like bofrot and kelewele, and that’s how I would taste to him too. I wanted to matter to him as someone more than a friend.
He was looking at me like he might kiss me. Like if we stayed together like this any longer, it would happen. That fear was strong. Strong enough to back me up. So I planted my hands on his shoulders and stepped back, still dancing, but the spell was broken.
I had to watch myself, because if I wasn’t careful, I was going to fall for him. Hard. And at some point soon, we would be adversaries again. Or worse, I was going to care about him for real. And I was going to be brokenhearted when he eventually chose someone else. Like Yofi did.
Because guys like Cole Drake didn’t go out with girls like me. He’d already proven that once.
COLE
I’d almost kissed her… again.
The sweet ache of desire coursed through me, and I tamped it down. It had seemed like she wanted me to. But given the way she’d backed up from me, she knew I’d almost kissed her and was giving me back off signals, so I was going to respect those.
Something was happening here, and I was patient. I had nothing but time. After all, she’d almost married some dude.
You are so into her.
There was really no point denying it. I had never intended on saying anything today. Today she’d been truly happy.
We’d opted for the subway home. Traffic would have been gnarly coming back, and we needed some sleep.
After being crammed in the subway car for twenty minutes, we exited the station. I was walking close enough to her to take her hand. And more than once, our fingers brushed and all I wanted to do was slip her hand into mine and hold on to it. She was chatting animatedly about travel and her favorite places. Talking about how nothing felt quite the same as Accra or New York, which I imagined to be true because those were both home for her.
Her enthusiasm alone made me want to go to all these places. Not just go, but go with her. We had been to some of the same places and the same cities. Mostly, I’d kept it to Europe, Australia, and Japan. She’d gone to all the other places. You name it, chances were she’d been or wanted to go or was curious about it.
“Cole, is that you?”
I froze. For a moment I was unwilling to believe I recognized the voice calling me. “Shit.”
Ofosua glanced up at me, a smile still playing on her lips. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Um, I just want to apologize in advance for anything she might say.”
She glanced around. “Who?”
“My mom. That’s her.”
Ofosua’s eyes went wide. “Oh, I should just—I can just walk home from here.”
I glowered down at her. “I picked you up, and I’ll take you home. That’s how this works.”
She opened her mouth and then closed it. And I could see her fighting a smile.
“Like I said, if she says something stupid, that’s on her.” Except is it?
“Cole, she’s your mother. How bad can it be?”
I lifted my brows. My mother liked to pretend she was liberal and believed in all the good things she should. But she wore her biases on her sleeve. And Ofos shouldn’t have to be exposed.
And what if you’d kissed her like you wanted to? What if it became something? Would you avoid your mother?
That was a question I didn’t want to brood over just yet. I waved to my mom and placed my hand on Ofosua’s lower back. When we jogged across the street, my mother’s gaze was mostly on me but flickered occasionally to Ofosua.
“Cole, sweetheart, what are you doing here? I thought you only left Tribeca to come home.”
I rolled my eyes. “If I want to see you, I do have to leave Tribeca. But other neighborhoods are good too. Glad to see you’re testing out other parts of Manhattan.”
She laughed. “Are you kidding? Tower Grand is the latest fusion spot. The chef has three Michelin stars. It’s impossible to get in, but of course I was able to get a table. And who is this?”
The way she said it lacked her usual bite, so I was hopeful. “This is Ofosua Addo. She’s a friend of mine. She works at Drake with me.”
That was the safest way to introduce her, right? We were friends.
Ofosua stepped forward. “Mrs. Drake, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh, lovely to meet you too. You work at Drake, you say? As what?”
“I’m an editor.”
“Not just an editor. She’s being modest. She has her own imprint.”
My mother’s brows lifted. “Good for you, dear. My brother-in-law is well-known for giving opportunities to, you know, all his employees.” She dipped her chin as if they were in on a delicious little secret.
Ofosua’s smile faltered the tiniest bit. I wondered if my mother caught that. “Well, Mr. Drake has been great, and I love the company.”
My mother chuckled and whispered conspiratorially, “You know, dear, I voted for Obama. His energy was truly inspiring to me.”
Ofosua’s brows lifted. “Uhm, that’s great to know.”
“And naturally we were very happy to support his campaign.”
I groaned. “Mom, is there a specific reason you’re bringing up President Obama?”
She shook her head. “Well, I simply thought your friend would be interested to know that about our family.”
I shook my head.
“Wait, sweetheart, something brilliant just occurred to me. As you know, I sit on the board for Women Empowering Women. Wonderful organization. But we’ve had a ghastly time of recruiting minority members. I wonder if I could pick your friend’s brain to help me try and figure out why that might be. We could have lunch someplace marvelous. My treat, of course. I know how those assistant salaries can be.” My mother smiled delightedly as she looked at Ofosua, sure of her reply.
Ofosua’s brow furrowed. “I, ah, I d-d-don’t…,” she stammered.
“Mom. Why don’t we get back to you. It’s a busy time right now at Drake. And Ofosua’s not an assistant.”
Ofosua touched my arm. “It’s okay, Cole. I’ll be happy to have a conversation. I don’t really know anything about charity boards, though.”
“But you know your people. We would so love to help the underprivileged. But every time we try and approach organizations, it never quite comes together in the end. Can you imagine how frustrating that is for us?”
Ofosua stiffened. “Um, ma’am—”
I stepped between them, hoping my body provided some cover. “Mom, enough. I’m going to get Ofosua home. And then, if she wants, I’ll put you two in touch.”
She frowned and then immediately brightened, because nothing could ever truly be wrong in my mother’s world. “Thank you, Cole. It would certainly be a coup to have someone like Ofosua advising us, because we’ve been struggling for a while. Carolyn Melter will lose her mind when she finds out I actually have someone who can give us real direction as to what Black women need from groups like ours.”
I shook my head. There weren’t enough apologies. “Goodbye, Mom.”
Ofosua gave her a small nod. “Goodbye, Mrs. Drake.”
My mother beamed. “Since we’re going to be such close friends, please call me Rebecca. I would love to mentor a young woman such as yourself on the finer parts of society, really build you up a network.”
Fucking hell. “Enough, Mom. Ofos doesn’t need your network. She has her own. She also doesn’t need you to save her. She’s not a project to be taken on to assuage your guilt for the shitty things you just said. And before you start, you know full well they were shitty. I suggest you look up the Doctors Addo. I’ll send you a couple of articles. We’re leaving.”
I turned Ofos back toward her building and tugged her along. “Fuck, I’m so sorry for that.”
She released a long sigh. “You’re not the one who needs to apologize.”
“Every time I introduce you to anyone, I just get more and more embarrassed.”
“Like I said before, you are trying to be different. You checked her. That’s a start. Most people would pretend that I was overreacting. Don’t worry about your mom.”
She was letting me off easy, and I understood why. It cut the awkwardness. And holy hell, having to fight a constant barrage of that daily, I could imagine sometimes she just wanted to crawl in on herself and take a break from people.
“Yeah, whether you blame me for her or not, I blame her for her. So I’m going to apologize anyway.”
She took my hand and squeezed it, and a shiver went up my arm. “I already said don’t worry about it. I know she wants help on her charity thing or whatever, and I can give you some pointers to give to her. Or point her toward all the society things that my mom is a part of with plenty of minority members.”
“Or she can Google.”
Ofosua shrugged. “True. But she won’t. She’s a product of her privilege. She hasn’t seen anything else. I mean, it’s a chain. Look, she’s got that casual bias thing going where she votes for all the ‘right’ people and all the right policies, but she still harbors all these ideas that her skin and her money make her better than other people. That’s all she’s known. Sometimes people who mean well are almost the worst. I can’t hold you responsible for her. That’s not fair. But you can help educate her.”
“So I will be her Google?”
“You are very cute for a search engine. Not like that Bing I’ve heard millennials moan about.”
I stared down at her again, and for the second time today, I was desperate to kiss her. Instead, I behaved myself and squeezed her hand. “What do you say we get you home?”
She gave me a bright smile. And while I appreciated the effort, I could tell it was forced. I’d wanted to give her a perfect day, but somehow that day already had some tarnish on it.