Chapter 27 Miz
27
MIZ
I always thought that the day Kal and I finally managed to fly to Ethiopia together would be a happy one, but I haven’t been able to pop this bubble of unease that has been growing inside me ever since I clocked his wedding ring and he dropped the word wife last night. Talk about a double damn. I could barely get any food down after he said that. My mind was spinning, frantically shuffling through my memory for missed warning signs of Kal’s change in behaviour.
It wasn’t until we got that email about a new notification from immigration that I realized I’d missed two huge red flags from when we were choosing a username and password for our joint Gmail account. Kal had wanted to use the endearment hodiyeee as our username. Never understood what was so endearing about calling someone my stomach , so I hadn’t thought much about it. And the password he wanted was husband the government wouldn’t be inspecting our passwords or usernames.
Aimé, having also seen the ring and knowing I was quietly freaking out, split early, taking her second helpings to go so that Kal and I could talk.
“How’d he take it?” she asks me on the phone after Kal has gone to bed. I’m still up, doing the obligatory straightening of my hair before the flight so I will get off the plane looking semi-presentable after thirteen hours in the air.
“I literally said, ‘I don’t like it.’?”
“Ouch. And?”
“He heard something completely different.” As dreamers do. “How much more obvious could I have been?” I shrug. “I really don’t want to have to sit Kal down and spell out my terms and conditions,” I moan softly, narrowly avoiding singeing my ear. “He’s supposed to know me. The whole reason we did this signing is because it’s me —I’m not trying to be anybody’s W .”
“Okay, you know you’re not really married to Kal,” Aimé reassures me, not realizing how she is repeating verbatim what I told myself in the mirror the morning of September 30th. “You just have to gently ease him back into that reality.”
The question is when . We toss ideas back and forth. Tonight? No way. He is already conked out. Plus, the interview notification seemed to be enough of a downer for one night. Maybe during our flight? God, no. Not something to broach when we are going to be sealed in with each other and a bunch of other strangers for fourteen hours. But after our flight, we will go our separate ways, and I’ll have space to organize my thoughts and collect myself. So Aimé and I agree, it will have to be sometime while we are in Addis. But before his parents’ party. That way, he will have something to look forward to if he takes it badly. By the time we fly back, he’ll have got over it.
Plan formed, I feel much better. Just a little misunderstanding that will get cleared up in a few days’ time. As I sneak into bed, I say a little prayer that, in the meantime, there won’t be any more of Kal using the word wife in a sentence around me.
He starts up again at the crack of dawn.
“My wife and I are going back home together for the first time,” Kal says to the Uber driver. Goddammit. We haven’t even finished buckling in. And why must Kal look so happy on top of that? And why must it make me happy to see him so happy?
Sticking to my resolution to save the talk for Addis, I put my game face on for the rest of the morning as Kal drops our newlywed status every chance he gets—at check-in, security, even Starbucks. On the plus side, we get lots of special treatment. We get to jump the line and check in at the first-class counter. And though we don’t get upgraded to first class because it’s two days before Gena and the whole flight is full, we do get a pass to the Plaza Premium Lounge. From that, it is a hard comedown to economy seats, but Kal’s brimming excitement almost makes up for it.
“You sure you’ve been on a plane before?” I ask him, slipping an eye mask on my forehead after the first meal service.
He arranges the green airline blanket evenly over me. “Everything is different with you. Everything is brand new.”
My heart melts a little, but I deflect. “You’re telling me! Look at all this swag,” I say, going through the first-class amenity kits a flight attendant brought us after Kal looped her in on our relationship status. By now, I am basically numb to the madness, not to mention a total ho for all the blessings and abundance that flow our way, on the down-low, for the rest of the flight: extra desserts, extra blankets, the whole entire can of whatever we feel like drinking, extra everything.
Our sunrise approach and landing into Addis Ababa bathes the landscape below in a romantic sepia glow. At first, it is a patchwork quilt of dark and light greens, with bursts of light where the tin roofs of the small towns surrounding the capital reflect the sun’s rays. Slowly, that gives way to thicker and thicker stretches of medium- and high-rises and warehouses separated by major roadways, the low-lying mountains all around. Then as we touch ground, it all disappears, leaving just the blue-gold sky, the dark and, far off, the low ring of mountains, the sight of which always makes me teary.
“I’m fine. Happens every time,” I tell Kal, dabbing my eyes and sniffling. “The mountains.”
He nods and puts his arm around me. We stay like that even after the seat belt sign has been turned on, the tinny Ethio jazz has resumed over the speakers, and everyone has sprung up as if there aren’t still hours of ordeals to get through. Like the chaotic lineup at passport control, another part of these journeys that I used to dread as much as the interminable flight. But today, it is sweetened by Kal acting as my personal support pole. Talk about someone having your back. Kal is all smiles as I lean heavily on him while talking on the phone with Dad, nudging my carry-on with my Crocs every time the queue moves.
“He’s working late, so Abera’s getting me,” I tell Kal after hanging up. Just as well. Last thing I need is Kal blabbing about me being his wife in front of my dad too. Dad has always liked Kal—it’s hard to keep any secret in that compound, so he’d found out about my new friend soon enough that first summer—and since my first trip, he’s kind of entrusted Kal with my care in the city, like a bodyguard. But Dad might feel different if he were to learn of more recent developments. Different how, I’m not in the mood to find out.
“I’ll miss you,” Kal says, wrapping me in his arms.
I reflexively lean in and rest my cheek on his shoulder. “Me too.” I inhale deeply, taking in that stale, spice-and-detergent-inflected aroma of the arrivals terminal. Once we are on the other side, it will be goodbye until his parents’ party. And as much as I am looking forward to being away from “my wife” this and “my beloved” that, I will miss him.
“You’re still coming on Saturday, right?” he murmurs into my hair.
“Duh, of course.” I pull back and smile as he puffs up happily. I look around at the masses of Canadians who funnelled through Toronto for the only nonstop flight to Addis Ababa from Canada, on the Eve of Ethiopian Christmas no less. “I can’t believe Mom just passed through here. After all these years, all my nagging her to return, I never thought we’d arrive separately. Instead, here I am, with you.”
“And how am I doing so far?”
I burrow deeper into him, wanting to kiss him, but too self-conscious for PDA here. “You’re good. Could use more padding. But I’m going to sleep on you like a baby on the flight back. Everybody will be feeding the prodigal son. You’ll be nice and plump for me.”
One of the airport staff unexpectedly opens up another lane, causing our line to speed forward. “Nooo,” I whine. “I’m not ready to part yet!”
“Why don’t you come over for a little bit?” Kal says.
“Hah, there’s no such thing as ‘a little bit’ with you Legesses. I’ll be there until morning. Besides, I’m way too stale, unlike you. Who you trying to impress?” I say. I’d never known a person to spend so much time freshening up in the bathroom before landing. But it shows. Kal looks his usual polished self, cologne and everything.
He suddenly looks serious. “By the way, Abay knows.”
“Knows what.”
“The same thing Eske knows.”
“That we’re—what?! How?” I pull away to look at him. When he explains, I can’t say I’m too surprised. “But he doesn’t know that we’re…”
“What?”
“You know, seeing each other…naked?” I feel my face heat, even though what I’ve said is accurate.
Kal gives me a funny look and shakes his head. “No, of course not. Only that you signed for me.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding slowly. “I mean, it’s not like anyone acts like they do the humpty-hump around here anyway,” I say, trying to put myself at ease. “Thanks for the heads-up.” Best case scenario, the info hasn’t spread past his sister and father. Most likely scenario, however…Ah, I don’t want to think about it.
At arrivals, there’s a crowd waiting for Kal’s homecoming, as if he is a political exile, or long-lost family member or, come to think of it, a newlywed. Their balloons and flowers are impossible to miss even in the pandemonium that is the arrivals hall at this peak travel time. “Holy!” I say, shuffling back. “Did you know they would all turn up?”
“Not at all,” he says, grinning from ear to ear, his eyes watering. His dad is there, of course, and Eske, plus his three brothers and their spouses. A bunch of aunts, uncles and cousins. Even Bini, his next-door neighbour best friend since childhood, who’s never let me forget I ate a burger and fries that was meant for him a hundred years ago.
I’m thankful that I am enough of a familiar face that my presence isn’t that unusual. But as we wade through the hugs, kisses, waterworks and photo moments, I’m on alert for signs that I am being welcomed differently. You know, like…Kal’s wife. But there are no flowers specifically for me or random showers of blessings and applause. Just regular old hugs and cheek kisses.
We herd ourselves outside the terminal, into the mercifully crisp early morning air with just that hint of woodsmoke, and make our way down the winding ramp to the parking lot where private cars, taxis and airport shuttles jostle for space right along with arriving and awaiting passengers, a snarl of all trying to leave at once. I try to sneak off to find Abera. But Eske intercepts me. “Mizu? Where you’re going?” she calls out, her overloaded key chain chiming as she waves it at me. As usual, she’s impeccably dressed in slacks, heels and a silky blouse with a tie neck in a dramatic, colourful bow.
I continue shuffling away as if I haven’t just been found out. “To find Abera. He’s parked—”
“The driver?!” she screeches, as if I’m about to go by horse and buggy. “Nobody is here for you?!” She stands with a hand on her hip, the other cupping her cheek in dismay.
“Abera is,” I repeat firmly, annoyance tensing my words. I know that, to a family like theirs, my situation must seem like borderline emotional abandonment. But Abera has been with my dad for so long. Eske knows that and knows him. I cringe at how many nights the poor man slept in the car waiting for us on many a night when we were selfish club-hopping teenagers.
“What is this fuss? You are family now,” Eske says, cutting through my resolution. “A feast is waiting. Let’s go.”
Helpless, I look at Kal, who just nods emphatically, backing her up. Of course he would.
“No, no, I can’t,” I say. “My dad is waiting for me…” I lie weakly. But the idea of a full Legesse meal courtesy of Zebiba is too enticing. “Okay, let me just find Abera and give him my luggage.”
Finding Abera in the gridlocked parking lot is nearly impossible, even with Kal and especially with my suitcase along for the ride. When we finally spot him, it’s a true reunion, even between Abera and Kal, who haven’t seen each other in years.
“Do you mind just taking these to the apartment?” I ask Abera. “I’m sorry. If I had known I was going to Kal’s house, I would have told my dad not to send you.”
“No problem at all!” Abera says, with a giant smile. “Why be alone if you don’t have to?”
I stare at Abera, my mouth falling slightly open with the unexpectedly astonishing realization that he’s absolutely right. Why be alone? What am I trying so hard to prove, or prevent? I loosen my grip on the handle of my suitcase. I look at Kal, smiling as if he’s read my mind, and I can’t help but smile back. He wiggles his eyebrows. I feel Abera pulling my suitcase away.
“Give it here.”
We bid Abera goodbye and begin walking back to the group, when a car horn blares right next to me. “Ah!” I yelp. “What’s your problem?” I snap in the general vicinity of the noise. I sidle up to Kal. “You better get me out of here before I hurt somebody.”
Baggage-free, Kal and I trot happily through the path that he parts for us through the melee, my heart stirring with almost as much anticipation as my stomach.