Chapter VII
VII
He came to pick her up at five p.m., exactly as he had promised. He had never made her wait for him.
“You look…I mean…damn.”
“Thank you.” She’d put a cream cardigan over her mustard sundress. It was Harmattan, so the air was very dry and slightly chilly. He spotted her mother coming out onto the front step, and he quickly bowed his head.
“Good evening, ma,” he called to her.
“Good evening, Kalu. What time will you bring her back home?” Mo chose not to say the thing that was on the tip of her tongue: her mother rarely knew where she was, what she was doing or who she was with.
The question was a performance of a type of motherhood Bunmi had never really practised, but Mo was in too good a mood to care.
“No later than ten p.m., ma.”
“Okay. Be sure to be back by ten. Sharp.”
“Yes, ma.” He bowed again, which was overkill but she could tell her mother was soaking it up. Then he jogged over to the passenger’s side and opened the car door for her before she had a chance to touch it. She hoped her mother was taking it in, the way a man treated you when he really loved you.
On the way to Golden Boy’s house, she fiddled with the radio, searching for a good song.
“Are you nervous?” he asked her, placing a hand lightly on her thigh.
“A little.”
“Don’t be. She’ll love you. How could she not?”
“Mmm.”
“Damn, you smell glorious.”
“Focus on the driving, GB.”
“Right. Right.”
The enormous white house was lit up in the night. He took her to what he referred to as the blue room—a mid-sized living room with a Victorian aesthetic and a blue-and-cream colour scheme. She had never been to this room before, had only ever been to his floor.
“Will you wait here? I’ll go get Mum. Do you want anything to drink?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Great. I’ll be right back.”
Ten minutes went by, time she spent looking at the paintings in the room. She didn’t know a lot about art, but she could appreciate what was before her—they were vibrant and distinctive. No wonder Kalu was an artist; how could he be anything else in this environment?
Someone cleared their throat and she spun around. A woman was standing at the door of the room. Mo curtsied before she remembered that Igbo people didn’t curtsy. She took a step forward and then stopped. “Good evening, ma,” she said.
Mrs. Kenosi was a regal woman. It was clear where her son had gotten his looks.
She was tall and looked as though she was bathed in sunlight—her skin tone betrayed a touch of European ancestry.
The outfit she wore was loose-fitting but did little to disguise her curvy figure.
She had gorgeous curly hair that was pulled into a tight French braid.
Yet as soft as her physical appearance was, her pale eyes were hard, quickly running over Monife from head to toe.
Her lips were pressed together and her chin was raised.
“And you are?”
“Monife, ma.”
“Monife what? You don’t have a last name?”
“Falodun, ma. Monife Falodun.”
“Yoruba?”
“Yes, ma.”
“From which state?”
“Osun state, ma.”
Mrs. Kenosi tutted.
“Which one of the girls are you here to see?”
Monife wondered where her boyfriend was. She was feeling entirely exposed, suspecting the older woman was about to devour her, spitting out only bones.
“I’m…umm…none.” She wasn’t a stutterer and she was rarely intimidated by anyone, but she struggled to gather herself in this woman’s presence. “I’m here with Gold…Kalu.”
“Who is Goldkalu?”
“No. I meant Kalu. Just…Kalu.”
Her answer seemed to irritate Mrs. Kenosi. Her gorgeously drawn eyebrows knitted together and she curled her lips. Mo wasn’t sure she had ever come across someone who could look so beautiful and so unkind. Where the hell was Golden Boy?
“Do your parents know you visit the homes of young men?”
Monife had no idea how to answer the question. Nor did she particularly want to, but this woman would become her mother-in-law, and so she had to play nice.
“I don’t make a practice of it, ma.”
Golden Boy made his appearance then, and she was able to let go of the breath she was holding. He blinked, surprised to see his mother there. For a moment, nobody spoke, and then: “I thought you were in the garden, Mum. I was looking for you.”
“Who is this?”
Mrs. Kenosi’s tone could not have been colder if she were referring to a cockroach that had snuck into their immaculate home. Golden Boy chewed his lips. For a moment, Mo feared that he would disown her.
“Her name is Monife, Mum. She is my girlfriend.”
Mrs. Kenosi sucked in her breath through her teeth, but Monife was elated. She wasn’t wrong. Golden Boy would never let her down.
“Is this the reason you haven’t been shadowing your father?”
“I will learn the work, Mum.”
“Where will you find the time, if you are out chasing random girls?”
“Random?” Mo heard herself speak, but above her words were the words of her boyfriend.
“She is not random, Mum. I love her.”
Mrs. Kenosi laughed. “You people are children. What do you know about love?” And then she turned to Monife. “Learn to respect yourself. I don’t want to see you here again.” With that, she disappeared through the automatic doors, which swung open and closed behind her.
Monife’s entire body was trembling. She felt Golden Boy’s light touch on her arm.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think she would be so—”
“It’s not your fault,” she said, her voice hard. “Don’t worry.”
“No. I’m really sorry, Mo. She shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. It’s probably the shock. I’ve never brought a girl home before.”
She let out a breath. She felt hot, her cheeks, her ears, the back of her neck.
She didn’t think she had ever been so embarrassed in her life.
He planted a kiss on her forehead. They would be okay, and not even the Wicked Witch of the West could get in the way of their happiness.
Mrs. Kenosi would simply have to get used to Mo’s presence in her son’s life.
“Should we get out of here?” he offered.
“Yes. Yes please.”