Chapter Eleven
Kwame
No Agenda
It’s been the most awkward afternoon of my life.
Despite not saying more than a few stilted words in greeting, Sin and I seemed to come to a mutual decision to pretend we’re total strangers.
For my part it was shock that kept me from asking what the hell she was doing there when I first saw her.
I glance at her as stealthily as I can manage, and the fact that she’s sitting there takes my breath away.
“Kwame, I don’t know if I told you that Arsinoé used to live in New York,” my hostess says, and I whip my head in her direction to see if she saw me staring at her daughter.
Her conspiratorial smile tells me she did.
“You mentioned that, yes.” I resist the urge to shift in my seat and put my fork down gently. I look at Mae and pretend to be confused. “Are you Arsinoé?”
“No, she is,” Mrs. Sackey points at Sin.
“Oh, sorry. Promise I won’t forget again.” I smile and look at Sin with feigned contemplation. “Let me see, you’re a journalist, just relocated from New York, and you have an almost fiancé?” I recite the list of facts her mother shared about her oldest daughter almost as soon as I got here.
Her eyes dart to my face and then away again. “We broke up,” Sin says quickly and then takes a big gulp of water.
“Stop saying that,” her mother snaps. “You’ll make it true.”
“Ma, it’s already true.” She speaks with the weariness of someone who’s tired of repeating themselves.
“For now. You were together a long time.”
“Too long,” she mutters.
Her mother casts her an irritated glance before she smiles at me again. “Kwame, you’re single, right? So is Mae.” She looks at her other daughter who has been preoccupied with her phone all evening.
“Ma,” Mae cries, finally looking up from her phone with horror in her eyes. “Ignore her,” she says to me, before she glares at her mother.
“Why should he ignore me?”
“I’m not interested,” Mae says. “No offense. You’re very, very handsome,” she says with a bright smile. “And how do you even know he’s single, Ma?”
“Well?” Mrs. Sackey turns her head to me. “Are you?”
“Is this a swap meet or Sunday dinner?” Sin snaps.
“It’s complicated.”
I take some satisfaction from the way Sin’s mouth puckers like she sucked a lemon.
But it doesn’t last long. She’s the complication and this unexpected connection makes it even more so.
Her mother introduced me as Kwame Dixon, and I didn’t correct her because it was my mother’s maiden name and the legal name on all the documents related to the house.
Also, I avoided telling people who my father was if I didn’t have to.
“Why are you not married? You’re almost forty, right?” Her mother’s beseeching tone would be funny if she wasn’t so serious.
I finish chewing my last bite of chicken and try to think of an answer that’s honest without saying too much. “It hasn’t been a priority. My career has been my focus the last twenty years.”
“Those careers aren’t going to love you when life is hard, oh!” She wags a finger at her daughter.
“My friends will, and my siblings will do that,” Sin says with a straight face.
Her mother claps her hands together like she’s trapping a mosquito. “They are all going to be married with families and won’t have time to spend going out or whatever it is you do with your time.”
“They aren’t all married,” Sin says. “In fact, all of the siblings are single.”
“They’re young. They have time.” Her eyes convey a silent “unlike you.” “Your best friend has two children already.”
“You had Adonis when you were forty,” Sin says.
“And look at how I’m paying for it now,” she shoots back.
“Thanks,” her brother frowns.
“I’ve decided to have a baby.” Her sister’s announcement is like someone pressing mute on the conversations in the room. They all stop instantly, and all eyes go to Mae.
I feel like I should leave but the tension in the room is so heavy that I feel riveted in place.
“What do you mean?” Their mother breaks the silence.
“I mean, I’m ready to be a mother.”
“How? You don’t even have a boyfriend,” their mother snaps.
“Mom, come on,” Sin interjects.
“Come on what?” She swivels her head to look at her daughter. “How can she have a baby without a man?”
“I am going to do it by myself.”
“God forbid.” Their mother slaps the table and shoots to her feet and grabs her husband’s shoulder. “George, why are you not saying anything?”
He looks like he’s been caught in a sniper’s cross hairs. “Because… there is nothing to say. What can we say?”
Mrs. Sackey looks back at her daughter. “She’s our child.”
“No, I’m an adult,” her sister says.
“This is your fault.” The older woman rounds on Sin, hand extended and pointing in accusation.
Sin’s eyes widen. “How is this my fault?”
“It’s not her fault, Mama. It’s nobody’s fault,” Salomé pushes back.
Mrs. Sackey points a finger between the sisters. “She has set an example and now you’re following.”
“I’m not following anything.”
“Ma, Mae is a grown-up.” Sin and her sister speak at the same time.
My head moves back and forth between them like I’m watching a tennis match. “So your sister has shown you how to keep secrets, eh Salomé ? Sin, do you see what happens when you behave the way you do? I’ve told you.”
Sin drops her head into her hands during her mother’s tirade and I suspect she’s laughing.
“I wasn’t keeping it a secret. I just hadn’t told you yet because it’s early. But I want a baby, and I’ve found a sperm donor already.”
Sin coughs and sprays the table with a mist of water she’d been sipping. We all turn to look at her. She holds up a hand and croaks. “Something went down the wrong way.” Her mother reaches over absently and pats her daughter’s back with a tenderness that is contrary to her anger a minute ago.
I realize I’ve been holding my breath waiting for the fight to go from an argument to explosive.
But…no one’s saying terrible things to each other. They haven’t asked me to leave while they discuss this in private.
I understand now why she’s so effortlessly expressive and direct.
The clatter of cutlery hitting the table draws my attention back to the fracas building on the other end of the table.
“You can forget that nonsense. I will find you a nice man.”
Mae is on her feet now, and her sister is standing beside her, arms still around her shoulder.
“You are not in charge of my life anymore,” Mae says to her mother.
She turns to her husband her eyes blazing. “I told you we should have sent them to boarding school in Ghana.” Her mother speaks in Twi.
“As if girls who go to boarding school in Ghana don’t get pregnant before they get married,” her father responds.
“You aren’t helping, George.”
“Neither are you. And we have a guest.”
“Ma, Daddy, speak English,” Sin snaps.
Her mother looks at me. “Why? I’m in my own house. And I don’t want the landlord to hear how shameful my wayward daughters are. He won’t want to marry Mae if he thinks she’s a harlot.”
I burst into laughter and all eyes swivel in my direction. “Actually, I do understand,” I say.
Mrs. Sackey's mouth gapes like a fish before she presses her lips together.
“Ha!” Sin shouts and then covers her mouth to stifle her victory yell when her mother glares at her.
“I didn’t realize. I hope you’re not a gossip.”
“My mother is dead, and I wouldn’t tell my father if I met Jesus himself much less whatever I hear at your dining table.”
“So do you not socialize with any Ghanaians? At all?”
I register the disapproval in her question but let it roll off my back.
“No. Somehow, I’ve got friends from all over. Just none from Ghana.”
“Why is that?”
“Maybe because it’s exhausting having to answer questions like this,” Sin interjects and for a moment, we share a smile.
“It’s okay, Sin.”
Her mother’s head whips in her direction. “Is that what you told him to call you?”
I realize my blunder.
“Yes.”
“Why?
“Because that’s what I like to be called,” Sin pushes back.
“God, how is this my portion?” Her mother lifts her eyes heavenward, her palms pressed together. I bite my cheek to stifle my laugh at her dramatics.
“You want us to live your way more than you want us to be happy,” Mae says with tears in her eyes.
“Of course I don’t. I just know what’s best for you.”
I feel like I’m watching a replay of a conversation with my father and my gut tightens in anticipation of the insults and raised voices that always follow.
Mae shakes her head. “You think you do. But I’m an adult. I know what I want.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” It’s her father who asks the question, but in my head, I hear my father’s voice speaking the words and I want to tell Mae it’s a trap and that she shouldn’t answer.
“Yes. I don’t want to be alone. I want a family.” Salomé’s honest, clear-eyed response makes my heart kick in my chest.
Sin sighs. “You have a family and you’re not alone, Mae.”
“You were gone for a long time, Sin.”
“I know. I wish you’d left, too.”
Her sister’s eyes fill with tears. “And I wish you could accept that this life is what I want.”
Sin looks pained and closes her eyes briefly before she answers her sister.
“I love you and want you to be happy.” She takes a deep breath and stands abruptly.
“Okay, enough. We’re not going to resolve this tonight.
” She points to her parents. “You two, 60 Minutes is about to start.” She swivels to face her sister.
“Mae, put the pies in the oven to heat up. We’re out of ice cream. I’m going to the store for more.”
Her younger brother, Adonis, pulls his headphones down to ring his neck. “What about me?” he asks.
“You can clear the table and help Mae with the dishes until I get back.”
“Sorry I asked,” he mutters and puts his music back on.
Sin laughs. “I keep telling you not to ask questions unless you’re sure you want an answer.”
“Whatever,” he grumbles but gets up and starts piling plates.
Just like that, the argument that had been brewing, the bombs that had been dropped had all been dealt with for now, and the family was moving on for the evening. I’m not holding my breath, poised for something calamitous to happen next.
I didn’t know conflict resolution could be sexy until just now. I just watched a master at work. I didn’t expect it from the woman who ran out on me rather than tell me she’d changed her mind.
In the weeks since our encounter I’ve fantasized about seeing her again, but I was content to live with the fantasy.
I know how hard it is to draw me out, last thing I need is a woman who can’t speak her mind.
In the last month, I’ve been navigating this unexpected diversion in my life and career and it feels like walking down a dark road to an unknown destination.
My mother’s letter is a gun at my back.
The last thing I needed was a woman like Sin.
Chaotic.
Impulsive
Unreliable.
Every time I thought of her, I reassured myself that I dodged a bullet when she ran out on me.
And yet, even when I thought she was still in New York, I haven’t gone a day in DC without looking for her in every public space I enter.
In the span of an afternoon, my mother’s letter has gone from gun at my back to a trail of breadcrumbs.
Maybe she knew me better than I thought.
My vision blurs, and I blink and tears spill from my eyes. What the hell? I don’t cry.
I touch my face and then stare in amazement at my damp fingers. What the fuck is happening?
“Where’s the bathroom?” I ask no one in particular as I head for the hallway before I know where to go.
Her mother calls after me. “Turn left. It’s the only door on the right.”
I step into the floral wallpapered bathroom, start to unzip my pants then stop to lock the door.
They seem like the kind of people who don’t knock first and the thought makes me grin. This is the kind of family I always wish I had but thought I never would.
They’re so easy and authentic. For the first time in a long time, I’m grateful to my father for the distance he put between me and the rest of the West African community in DC.
They have no agenda other than to welcome their landlord’s son.
My guard came down without me realizing it.
They treat me like they’ve known me for my whole life when, in fact, they don’t know me at all.
I pull out my mother’s letter and read it again.
I’d been apprehensive when she extended the invitation for me to join them.
As I wash my hands, I’m glad I came and glad I accepted her invitation to come back.
I step out of the bathroom and find Sin sitting at the foot of the stairs tying her laces. That feeling of being glad swells. When our eyes meet, I smile.
Hers narrow and hold mine with an assessing, stony glare.
I’m not sure why the woman who did a sexual eat and run is pissed at me. I smile at her. She scowls and looks down at her watch. “The store closes early on Sunday. Let’s go.”
Before I can replay, she shouts, “Kwame and I are headed out. Anyone want something?”
“Get me some gum. Orbitz sweet mint, please,” her sister says as she walks into the kitchen.
“Text me that. Anything else?” Sin calls out to the room.
“No. Drive safe. Love you.” Her mother waves at us and sits down next to her husband and puts her mouth next to his ear to whisper something that makes him grin and wag a finger at her.
“Ready?” She smiles this time, but her eyes are hard and direct.
It’s not a question. She doesn’t wait for me to reply before she walks out the front door.
“Sure.”
At this point in my life, the only person who can tell me what to do is my dad, and even then, only when he has leverage. But I follow Sin out like the general commanded me himself.
“Your family is great,” I say when we’re outside.
She stops and turns around to face me. “Okay, cut the shit. What the hell are you doing here?”