Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
NAJI
M y fingers danced anxiously at my sides, tapping against my thighs in erratic bursts. I hated that I was ticcing that much… hated that he thought of seeing them still had that kind of power over me.
The knock on the hotel room door was light but firm.
Chiamaka opened it with wide eyes and a half-packed suitcase behind her. The hotel room was in disarray—clothes, shoes, hair products, and snacks spread across the beds as if a hurricane of preparation had blown through.
“Naji?” she blinked. “We were just packing. Check-out is in an hour. We didn’t know if?—”
“I know.” I stepped inside, cutting her off gently but firmly. “T-that’s why I came.”
My voice attempted to maintain a steady calmness, yet my body didn’t get the memo.
My fingers curled tightly into fists, only to relax and open again in a restless rhythm, a physical manifestation of my mounting tension.
Meanwhile, my nose scrunched up repeatedly, as if reacting to an invisible sour smell.
Chiamaka’s parents— our parents—stood from the hotel couch as I entered. I didn’t look at them long.
“I’m not here for conversation,” I stated clearly, my eyes fixed on the wall behind them. “So don’t expect any s-sit-down or catch-up. I’m still not ready for that. But…”
My throat made a small clicking sound—one of the newer tics I hated. Then:
“Baptize a blender! Wait—No, I’m fine. I’m fine!”
I straightened my posture, lifted my chin, and turned to face them fully.
“I don’t want y’all out on the street either,” I finished. “My h-husband and I are extending your stay here… until further notice.”
Their eyes widened.
“And Nana Li’s house in Mississippi—the one I grew up in—it’s getting renovated. You two can live there when it’s done.”
My father blinked, stunned, and my mom’s lips parted in surprise.
“We… Naji… that’s…” he started.
“Thank you,” my mom expressed softly.
My father nodded. “Truly.”
Before anything else could be said, Chiamaka jumped in, eyes darting between us.
“Wait—what about me?”
I let a tiny smirk pull at my lips. “Grab your things. You’re coming with me.”
“Are you serious?!” she gasped.
“Yes… if they will allow it,” I said, glancing toward our parents.
They exchanged a long, weighted look—one filled with unspoken history and overdue truths. Then, to my surprise, my mom stepped forward.
“We do allow it,” she granted, placing her hand gently on Chiamaka’s shoulder. “She’s eighteen now… and we know she’ll be in good hands with you.”
My mom paused, eyes flickering between the two of us.
“We were wrong… selfishly wrong, to keep you two apart. We let pride… and fear… decide what love should look like, and it cost you both.”
A pressure began to build in my throat, tightening like a vice, while the familiar tics stirred restlessly in my chest, desperate to escape. I could feel the sensation swelling within me, yet I managed to keep them at bay for the moment.
My father cleared his throat and nodded, stepping beside her.
“I haven’t always been the man you needed me to be, but I see you now, Naji, and I see the strength in both of you. Take care of each other.”
There was something in their voices—regret, humility, maybe even pride—that hit me harder than expected.
I didn’t say anything; I just gave a slight nod—one of silent appreciation. I still wasn’t ready for hugs or apologies drenched in nostalgia. But that was the first time they spoke to me like I was whole, and it meant more than I had the words to admit.
The shriek Chiamaka let out could’ve shattered glass. She spun in a full circle before launching into overdrive—shoving things into her suitcase, stuffing her bonnet into a side pocket, trying to zip it with one foot while throwing on lip gloss.
As she scrambled, I risked another glance at our parents.
Their expressions shifted completely; there was no anger or pettiness, just quiet acceptance and perhaps a hint of guilt.
As I struggled with my tics—my hand tapping against my thigh and my eyes blinking uncontrollably—they didn’t rush to correct me or show frustration. Instead, they simply watched, offering me compassion and understanding in that moment.
"Okay! I’m ready!" Chiamaka announced, grabbing her suitcase with both hands like it weighed nothing.
She turned, gave our parents quick hugs, and said her goodbyes with a bright smile before heading out the door, grinning like her whole life was finally about to begin—because it was .
“I’ll be in touch,” I said.
That was all I could offer them at the time.
As we walked out of the hotel lobby, the energy shifted. A few heads turned, then came the murmurs. Before I could blink, people were stopping us—phones out, voices raised, asking for autographs or selfies. I signed as many as I could, smiling politely while keeping my tics in check.
Chiamaka stood off to the side like a proud little sister, beaming.
“I can’t believe I have a celebrity as a sister!” she gushed.
“ Born-again celebrity,” I teased.
“Still the same in my book.”
I just shook my head with a quiet chuckle.
Then her eyes landed on the curb. She gasped so loud it made a passerby jump.
“Oh my God! Is that your car?!”
I smirked. “No. It’s my husband’s. But technically… mine too.”
Parked like it owned the whole block sat a matte graphite Rolls-Royce Cullinan Black Badge. The rear doors opened backward—dramatic as hell—and the inside glowed faintly like a sky full of stars.
Chiamaka's jaw dropped in awe, and she pressed her hand against her chest as if she had just encountered a glimpse of paradise wrapped in luxurious leather seats. She ran up to it like we were on a red carpet. I followed behind casually.
“I feel like I need to change my outfit just to sit in it,” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Watching her reaction brought a chuckle to my lips, but it also stirred something thoughtful within me.
Yeah… it might be time to ask Imanio for one of my own. Something girly… loud but soft… pink maybe… or that icy lavender shade that screams, she got money and manners, but she’ll still run over your ego if needed.
Chiamaka's gaze flitted to the world outside the sleek, tinted windows, her head swiveling to take in the sprawling city streets.
“Am I really going to stay with you? Like... for real?” she asked, hope and disbelief mixed in her voice.
“Yes, Amaka. For real,” I replied, chuckling as I adjusted my sunglasses, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face.
Her face broke into a wide grin. “This car smells expensive. You got money-money.”
I laughed lightly. “Correction—my husband is the one with the money. But again, w-what’s mine is his and what’s his is definitely mine,” I added with a cheeky wink.
“You’ll have your own room, your own private space in our home.
But j-j-just to make it clear—no boys coming over, at least for now. Understood?”
“Loud and clear,” she answered quickly, her eyes still filled with wonder.
“Y-you won’t have to stress about finding a job. I’m not going to let you go without anything you need, but you will enroll in college,” I emphasized, hoping to instill the importance of education in her.
Chiamaka straightened up in her seat, her excitement bubbling over. “I absolutely want to! I already have my career in mind.”
“Oh really? And what might that be?” I inquired, genuinely curious.
“An interior designer,” she declared confidently, enthusiasm radiating from her. “I love making spaces beautiful. I dream of designing stunning homes, elegant offices, and maybe even staging events.”
I nodded slowly, a proud little smile creeping across my face.
“Okay then. I can see it n-now—Interior Designer Amaka,” I encouraged her, envisioning her future success.
Before Chiamaka could respond, I pointed toward the floor with a teasing glint in my eye.
“Go ahead and pick up that bag,” I instructed.
Chiamaka bent down eagerly and lifted the pristine white shopping bag, her curiosity visible.
Inside, she found the latest model of an iPhone, still nestled in the box, accompanied by a set of stylish accessories and a glittery phone case that I had picked out for her, knowing it would perfectly reflect her lively personality.
She covered her mouth. “Nooooo, Naji! You didn’t have to!”
“I did,” I quipped with a small smile. “L-look at it as your chance to start completely over. And one last thing—we gotta get you some new clothes. Not trying to erase your heritage—technically, it’s mine too—but s-sis, this is the U.S.
You don’t want folks looking at you like you royalty and trying to rob you.
Bling-bling, gone-gone, who took the crown? !”
Chiamaka chuckled, then sheepishly looked down at her clothes.
“Yeah… I was thinking about that.”
“No worries. I g-got you. And I already know the perfect person to go shopping with us.”
Her eyes widened. “Who?”
“Her name is Dessign… literally. She’s my sister-in-law. You’ll love her,” I grinned.
“You’re gonna make me cry. I have the best sister ever!”
Chiamaka leaned across the seat and wrapped me in a tight hug as tears slid down her cheeks.
My throat closed up, and my fingers fluttered—one of my tics slipping through as I blinked hard.
“Don’t make me cry, damn it!” I muttered. “Blurry roads and big feelings don’t mix.”
We both laughed through the tears.
As we pulled up to the grand estate, Chiamaka's eyes widened in disbelief, and her jaw dropped.
"Oh my God!" she exclaimed, flinging open the car door the moment we came to a stop. She darted out onto the expansive circular driveway, spinning joyfully like a child on Christmas morning.
"This is your house? This isn’t just a house; it’s a luxurious hotel!"
“Well... y-you’re our first official guest. So consider it your private five-star suite.” I chuckled. “Come on."