Chapter 21
KENYA CAME around the corner from the therapy room with her usual energy on Monday, but Solomon could see that something was bothering her.
She’d been hesitant, almost scared, when he invited her to read with him last Saturday, but those feelings shouldn’t have lasted this long.
Then he remembered the date. Yeah, she probably had good reason to feel nervous.
“So . . .” He patted the seat next to him.
“So . . .” She set down her tote bag and pulled out a couple packs of fruit snacks. She handed one to him before sitting down and ripping hers open.
“So . . .” He drummed a light beat on his lap. “Beautiful day today, isn’t it?”
Kenya sighed. “These are comments that you say at the beginning of the day when you are talking to someone new or when you don’t want to talk at all.”
She popped the fruit-shaped bite into her mouth, chewed for a few seconds, and swallowed. “Either you seem to have forgotten that we’ve been doing this for a couple weeks, or there is something awkward that you do or don’t want to say,” she added.
He bit back a grin and popped a piece into his mouth.
Kenya crossed her arms. “To save us both embarrassment or just time wasted, why don’t you go ahead and say what it is that you need to say. Because you can obviously see that I am about to lose it over here.”
He chuckled. The whiny tone of her voice made her particularly endearing. He loved the way she could vacillate between emotions and tones and expressions, her eyes wide and searching, laced with innocence.
Unlike anyone he’d ever known, Kenya could turn any moment or conversation into a vivid experience of laughter, thought-provoking opinions, and pure delight.
He could learn a lot from her. Over the years he’d grown accustomed to bracing himself, determining outcomes by trying to control every variable. As if that would actually give him more capacity to do what he wanted to do instead of what was expected of him. Like moving to New York.
He swallowed and removed another piece from the wrapper. “Are you perhaps referring to the meeting at the café you have with a certain older Nigerian woman?”
“You are a piece of work.”
“It takes one to know one.”
She sat still for a moment, chewing her treat slowly, amusement lighting her features.
He didn’t know what part of those words caused that look, but he prayed that he could say the right combination again to get the same expression in the future. She looked pleased and flattered. More than just on the surface, her whole being radiated with joy.
Man, I love her.
The thought stopped his breath, and apparently his ability to chew, as a piece of the fruit snack got lodged in his trachea.
“Solomon!”
Before he could think of anything else, her small hands were against his back, thumping him with considerable strength. His coughs were so loud, the receptionist, Jermaine, and two patients in the waiting room ran over.
“Do you need help, Solomon?” Jermaine asked.
How embarrassing.
“Just”—cough—“give”—hack—“me”—wheeze—“a moment.”
Jermaine ignored him and pulled him to his feet.
But thankfully, instead of gripping his abdomen from behind, he took over for Kenya and whacked him across the back.
Those experienced hands that had set broken bones in the military before turning to therapy were enough to dislodge the remnants of his snack from his throat.
“Whew!” Solomon took the paper cup of water the receptionist offered. After drinking it down, he crumpled the cup and looked with chagrin at the small crowd around him.
“Thank you.” He waved off the concern, then covered his mouth as a few more coughs racked his chest. He cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Carry on.”
“Good to hear.” Jermaine hit him one more time on the back for good measure. “Watch yourself.” He looked pointedly, and it was then Solomon realized someone hadn’t left his side. Someone hadn’t let go of his arm.
Kenya looked up at him, her initial trepidation most likely over that afternoon’s meeting with his mother replaced by concern for him.
“Are you okay, Solomon?” She led him back to his chair. Helped him sit down, when he was the one who should be helping her.
He pressed a fist to his mouth. Cleared his throat again. “I should be asking you. Are you nervous about meeting my mother?”
“Kind of, but I’m looking forward to it.” She bit her lip. “Any tips?”
He shook his head, throat still raw. “Just be yourself.”
She sighed. “That’s what I was afraid you would say.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Before he could respond again, her phone alarm went off. “Time to go.” Her words were low but determined.
He helped her gather her tote bag.
But her question was more accurate than she knew. His thoughts had surprised him and literally choked the life out of him.
He loved her? How could he even consider that, just weeks after they reconnected? But surely that’s why he’d said her name that day to his parents.
Calling her his girlfriend.
She had never been far from his thoughts, even when he hadn’t had the guts to pick up the phone to call her back.
Because he’d known even then that Kenya Stewart had the ability to change his life completely.
She had the potential to disrupt plans and hearts.
And although all those things scared him, he desperately didn’t want his mother to scare her off.
KENYA KNEW who Solomon’s mother was as soon as she stepped into Plantain and Pies. The venue was quiet this time of the day, operating as more of a coffee shop in the afternoons before the fullness of set lists and their more robust dinner menu in the evenings.
“Hi, I am Kenya. You must be Mrs. Anruchi.”
The woman sat with her back ramrod straight. “Yes, I am. Favour Anruchi.” Kenya noticed nails manicured to perfection as Favour laid down a menu next to a tan clutch and reached out to shake Kenya’s hand.
“Is that a YSL?!”
Favour drew back her hand at Kenya’s exclamation.
Siri, set an alarm for a future face-palm. When would she learn to be patient and rein in her words? Of course it was a Saint Laurent purse. The logo was right there.
Kenya sat down and stuck out her hand. “Sorry about that. How are you?”
Mrs. Anruchi shook her hand hesitantly and then placed both of hers back on the table.
“You like this brand. Do you have any pieces yourself?”
Kenya flexed her hands. “I do like it, but it is more than my budget can afford.”
After placing an order for coffee for herself and tea for his mother, Kenya offered an inviting smile. She had to shake off the awkward and get this conversation going. And try not to squirm under Favour’s penetrating gaze.
“So, Solomon tells me that you guys are in the clothing business.”
His mother looked at her in surprise. “He told you all that, did he?”
“Yes, is that okay? I mean he hasn’t gone into details, but it sounded like one of those Etsy shops I see with all those custom-made outfits for weddings and special occasions.”
His mother narrowed her eyes, not suspiciously but as if she was choosing her words carefully. “Yes, we do work on clothing for very special occasions.” Her smile was tight.
Kenya leaned forward, her hands flailing. “But I would love to hear more about how things are going, and maybe there are some ideas that I can give that could be helpful.”
“Oh, I’m sure you could.” Her smile was polite, though it didn’t seem like she agreed. “No need to talk about me or what we do. I came here to meet with you, dear Kenya. I hear that you are skilled in business and marketing yourself?”
“Yesss, I think so. I work on events of all kinds.”
“‘Work on’—what does that mean?”
Kenya felt like she was under a microscope, but she willed her sweat to soak back into her body and not through her shirt.
“I help plan and coordinate events according to the specifications of the client. And a lot of times we get to help build and implement something from the ground up.” Oh, Lord, let every professional and smarty-pants word she knew come.
“Our agency has an amazing portfolio of well-known clients with large events and also smaller ones. I have been able to take the lead on several local ones that have had great impact. I don’t know if you knew this, but my cousin is married to an actor, and I’ve been able to help coordinate some of the things that they have put together. ”
If she thought Favour would be impressed, she was wrong.
Mrs. Anruchi just clapped her hands together and nodded as if Kenya had put together a child’s birthday party versus something for a well-known figure.
In fact, her demeanor gave off the tone that she was well accustomed to associating with people of high influence and stature.
Maybe it was the Nigerian part. Solomon also seemed to carry himself in that way, except he definitely smiled more, a lot more.
Kenya was relieved when their drinks came. The waiter also set down a bowl of puff-puff, rounded balls of fried dough that looked like doughnuts but denser.
She picked one up.
“Lord Jesus, we thank you.”
Kenya paused mid-bite as Favour continued praying.
“We thank you for this time together. For your merciful grace and favor. For your mercies that are new every morning.”
She paused, and Kenya inched the pastry closer to her mouth.
“I pray that you would bless this food.”
Kenya lowered the puff-puff.
“Bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies. We thank you for the hands that prepared it and that as we eat and drink, no evil will befall us. I pray that you would cause us to continue to flourish in your name, and no weapon formed against us will prosper, in Jesus’ name.”
Kenya slid open one eye. It looked like the plane was landing.
“Amen.” Favour looked up.
“Amen,” Kenya quickly added and took a bite.
Favour lifted her tea like a queen and set it back down carefully. She clasped her hands together. “So, what intentions do you have with my son?”