Chapter Eight
On Sunday morning, I stand in front of thechurch congregation, the rest of the choir behind me. My hand shakes against the microphone, but I exhale and steady my grip.
Breathe in, breathe out. You can do this.
The band starts, and Ms. Silva gives me a thumbs-up. I turn back to the congregation, glance at my family, who take up the whole fourth pew, then spot Davi at the very back. He wasn’t there a moment ago. I’m so startled by his appearance, I miss my cue. The band repeats the intro. This time, I pay attention—breathe in deeply and close my eyes before singing the first note. I don’t open them until the song ends, and then my stare shifts to the back. Davi isn’t there anymore. I scan the applauding crowd but don’t see him.
The moment the service ends, I send him a text.
ME:Hey. You were at church. And then you weren’t. Where’d you go?
A minute later, my phone buzzes.
DAVI:Couldn’t stay long. There’s somewhere I had to be.
ME:Is everything okay?
DAVI:Yeah.
DAVI:But now isn’t really a good time to talk.
DAVI:I’ll text later.
There’s no way to measure later. It could be minutes or hours. Because I don’t know when he’ll text again, I cling to my phone for the rest of the day—while having lunch with my family, while letting Esosa practice new makeup techniques on me, and while talking to relatives in Nigeria. Sunday is the designated day for calling people back home. Usually, Esosa and I huddle around Mom’s phone as she calls her brother and then her sister. We exchange pleasantries with our auntie and uncle, agree to behave and focus on our studies, then let Mom take over. The whole thing usually takes an hour, especially when Esosa and I talk to our cousins. Timothy, my nine-year-old cousin, believes living in America puts me in proximity to celebrities. Our conversations usually start with “Did you see Will Smith today?” and end with “Tell Cardi B I said hi.”
After the call with my family, Uncle Davis takes me, Esosa, and Adrian to get frozen yogurt. Sweet Frost is a store decorated in pastels. It’s bright and whimsical and always seems to have a crowd. We occupy a table that a family of four vacated, and Adrian immediately starts to devour his extra-large cup of cookie dough swirl. I eat my very berry frozen yogurt at a slower pace, breaking apart the chunks of red velvet cake on top as I think about my dad. Occasionally, he would take Esosa and me to Cold Stone Creamery. Mom, not a fan of sweets, always stayed home. So it was just the three of us. We would sit at a table, talking, laughing, enjoying our first, then second order of ice cream. I miss those days.
“How is it?” Uncle Davis asks me. “Your frozen yogurt.”
I smile while licking my spoon. “It’s very good.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Adrian, without my permission, digs his spoon into my cup and scoops a sizeable portion of my yogurt into his mouth. “Mmmm,” he says. “You’re right. That is good.”
If this was any other day but Sunday, when I’m in a less forgiving mood, I would retaliate by flinging his cup of cookie dough swirl on the floor. It would be an extreme reaction, but nonetheless satisfying.
“Okay.” Adrian smacks his lips. “Whose am I sampling next?” He looks at his dad’s plain vanilla, then at Esosa’s dark chocolate raspberry.
“If you even try it, I promise you’ll lose a finger.” Esosa holds out her spoon like it’s a weapon, and Adrian yields with his hands up.
“Okay. Okay. Relax. I get it.”
Uncle Davis watches the scene with a smirk, like he’s deriving some sort of entertainment from Adrian’s attempt at theft and Esosa’s threat of assault. “You guys are hilarious,” he says, chuckling. He looks around the table at each of us, and then slowly, his lips fall to a tight-lipped smile. He glances between me and Esosa, and his bright eyes grow dim and sad.
I know immediately, without him expressing it, that he misses my dad. He never imagined it would only be me, my sister, and my mom in America. He imagined his brother as well, perhaps sitting around this lavender-colored table, enjoying frozen yogurt.
After a beat, Uncle Davis blinks sharply and is back to himself. “So,” he says. “You guys have been in the States for a while now. Is there anything new you’d like to try—anywhere you’d like to go? We could plan something when I have some time off work.”
“I want to go to a concert,” Esosa says. “A Megan Thee Stallion concert.”
“Who’s Megan Thee Stallion?” Uncle Davis asks.
“One of the greatest rappers of our time. You must have heard some of her songs—‘Savage,’ ‘Sweetest Pie,’ ‘Body.’ She’s amazing.”
The information Esosa offers doesn’t clear up Uncle’s confusion. He frowns while eating his low-calorie frozen yogurt.
“Looks like my ride is here,” Adrian says after glancing at his phone. He drops his spoon into his empty cup and stands. “Jake’s outside,” he tells his dad.
“Okay. Well, don’t stay out late. You have school tomorrow.”
Adrian nods, then looks at me. “Wanna come?”
“Come where?” I ask.
“A bunch of us are going to Jake’s. It’s gonna be fun. You should come—meet some of my friends, hang out.”
“Um…” I shake my head. “No thanks.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“How about you?” Adrian asks Esosa. “You in?”
“I would, but I have homework to finish. Sorry.”
“Right.” He sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Guess I’ll see you guys later.”
When he walks out of the shop, Esosa turns to Uncle Davis and starts listing all the places in America she wants to visit. Disneyland makes the cut.
Later, while I’m in bed, about to sleep, my phonebuzzes. I sit upright and reach for it on the bedside table. There are two text messages from Davi. I didn’t think I’d hear from him today, especially since it’s already past ten. It’s a relief seeing his name on my phone and even more of a relief reading his messages.
DAVI:You sounded beautiful today.
DAVI:Sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk. Long day.
ME:Are you okay?
DAVI:Yeah.
Even though there’s no way to confirm it, I’m certain he isn’t telling the truth.
DAVI:Are you ready for your audition tomorrow?
ME:Lol. You have to let that go. It’s not happening.
DAVI:Why not?
ME:Because…
DAVI:Can I call you?
I didn’t expect that, but I’m definitely not opposed to it.
ME:Ok.
The phone rings immediately.
“Hi,” I whisper, so no one in my house hears me.
“Hey. How’s it going?” Davi’s voice seems different. There’s an absent quality—the lightheartedness in his tone that’s warm and contagious. I’m tempted to ask if he’s okay again, but don’t want to come off annoying. “So,” he goes on, “about the audition.”
“Yeah. About that. Why does it matter to you so much?”
“I think you have an incredible voice, but…” He blows out a breath. “It isn’t just about that. When I heard you sing the other day and then today, I felt something.”
“Felt something? What?”
“Many things. Everything.” He chuckles lightly. “I don’t know. But that’s rare. A lot of great singers can’t make people feel something. You can. That’s special, Enore.”
For a few moments, the phone line is quiet. I’m not sure what to say, so I hold my breath and wait for him to speak.
“Would you just sleep on it?” he asks. “Maybe you’ll feel different tomorrow.”
I’m certain I won’t, but keep that to myself and say, “Maybe.”