Chapter Thirty-Four
Sin
Secret Lovers
I didn't realize I was nervous about seeing Kwame until I pulled up at my parents’ house and saw that rickety old bike sitting in their driveway. I pull down the mirror in my car visor and frown at how much make-up I'm wearing. This man has me dressing up for Sunday lunch.
“Wow, look at you,” my father remarks as soon as I walk through the front door and all eyes turn to me. My brother and sister-in-law turn away from the football game with polite smiles of benign agreement and distracted hellos.
“Hi, Daddy,” I kiss him on the cheek and sit next to him before I finally let myself look at Kwame.
He's dressed the way he always is on Sundays.
Gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt and a pair of white socks on his shoeless feet.
He's sitting where he always does, on the floor with his back against the couch.
Legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, a bowl of Doritos and a huge bottle of water on either side of his thighs.
While everyone else turns their attention back to the main event, his eyes stay on me.
I woke up to find him gone this morning and was annoyed he hadn’t said goodbye.
Until I found a bag of my favorite coffee beans, a bag of bagels, and a big tub of cream cheese from the bakery at the corner sitting on my counter with a note that simply said, “Eat this.”
After living with a man who had a comment about everything I put in my mouth, I was tickled that Kwame is so intent on feeding me.
It’s also nice that even though he’s a gym devotee he’s not waking me up to go with him.
I stick to the rivers and lakes I’m used to with Pilates and twenty thousand steps a day.
“Hey Sin,” he drawls, a smile spreading slowly across his face as he watches me watch him. He's got a twinkle in his eye and is wearing the grin of a boy who's got a secret that he wants to tell the whole world.
I shake my head at him and give him a quirked eyebrow that says, “Really?”
He stops smiling and cock his head to the side.
I roll my eyes and walk into the kitchen and he follows me. “I can't say hi to you?”
“Of course you can. Just not like that. And not in front of my family.”
“Are they not supposed to know about us? “
The cluelessness of his question is alarming.
“Of course not. You know how they are. If they get a whiff of something between us, my mother will start talking about knockings, traditional engagements, and dowries. There's no such thing as casual dating in this house. Stephen is the only man I’ve ever brought home and it took me a year to do that.”
He grits his teeth. I can't tell what irritates him, whether it's my mention of Stephen or that I'm telling him no.
“My answer won't change because you don't like it. You know that about me. I know my family and I don't want any confusion or issues because we blurred lines. We're having sex. We're friends. Those two things are mutually exclusive.”
“How?”
“Because, even though we may always be friends, one day we’ll stop having sex.”
“Why would we do that?” He wrinkles his brow.
I can’t tell if he’s being facetious or not. But it feels important to reiterate the situation.
“Listen, if you think that is going to be a problem—”
“It’s not. I’m playing. You think I want to give your parents the wrong impression and then have them mad at me when we move on to other people? I’m trying to keep my invite to Sundays, ‘cause this is the best meal I eat all week.”
My relief is dulled by a strange pang of sadness that I dismiss. I smile up at him. “I knew you were using us for food.”
“I’m earning my keep. Your mom had me outside frying fish a few minutes ago.”
“You’re officially a member of the family then.”
He grins. “Come on, bestie. Someone dropped off an order of fresh Ga kenkey and fried croaker.”
“Anyway, come and help me pour this pepper into bowls.”
“Of course.”
A text from Leon pops up. I’ve been waiting to hear from him. I messaged to ask where Violet was days ago. His reply is brief. “Don’t know. She’s gone.”
Perplexed by his curt reply, I scroll to see if I still have her number. I do, but when I call there’s a message that says her number is no longer in service.
“Arsinoé, why are you still standing there?”
I jump and put my phone into my back pocket. I’m being silly. The woman probably uses burner phones given her proclivity for living on the wrong side of the law.
So why can’t I shake the feeling that something isn’t right?