Chapter Thirty-Eight
It’s a Saturday afternoon, and I’m sprawled onmy bed, looking at the open suitcase on the floor. There’s nothing inside it, but there will be once I decide what to take and what to leave behind. In a couple of weeks, I’ll be on a plane back to Nigeria. The Broadway program I stuck to the mirror on my dresser won’t be coming with me. Neither will the Hamilton DVD Davi bought me. If I could somehow leave behind memories, I would do that too. I would forget Sybil, Bethany, Blake, Zane, and Davi. I would forget my audition, my first date, and New York City. It would be easier that way—a lot less painful.
My friends in Nigeria were shocked to learn I’d be returning. But Osas and Abby’s shock turned to joy when they realized they’d see me again. Tolu’s shock, however, stayed intact. She came up with an escape plan that was elaborate and ridiculous. I had to tell her I would not fake my death. At the thought of that absurd conversation, I shake my head.
When my phone buzzes, I roll on my bed and grab it from the nightstand. I’m surprised to see Davi’s name on the screen. It’s December 1. I haven’t spoken to him—in person, over the phone, or via text—in almost three weeks. I no longer go to the cafeteria during lunch, and I avoid making eye contact with him in class or in the hallway. Sybil and Bethany tried to mend things between us, in their own way.
“What the hell is going on?” Bethany said when they cornered me in the bathroom two days after the breakup. “Why did you end things with Davi? He’s miserable.”
“And apparently, you are too,” Sybil added. “No offense, but you look truly miserable.”
“And while we’re at it, why are you avoiding us? I mean, I thought we were friends. Like, one minute, we’re hanging out, and the next, you’re MIA? Can’t even return a text?”
“Yeah,” Sybil said. “And while we’re at it, the musical. Like, why?”
I looked between them, uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure if they were conducting an ambush or an intervention, but the sound of the school bell saved me from being subjected to the confrontation any further. When I ran out of the restroom with a rushed “Have to get to class,” I’m sure it was the final act to end our friendship. More bridges burned. Two less goodbyes to say.
The phone buzzes in my hand. Another incoming text from Davi. Why is he reaching out to me? After the way we left things, I didn’t expect it. But maybe he’s finally processed what happened, gathered his thoughts, and is texting to give me a piece of his mind. That possibility is terrifying. But ultimately, my curiosity outweighs my fear, and I slide my thumb on the screen.
The message opens.
DAVI:Hey. Can I take you somewhere? Just give me one hour. I’m outside your place.
“What the hell?” I mutter to myself. I’m on edge, biting my nails as my heart thumps. He shouldn’t be outside my house, proposing an outing. We broke up. We aren’t supposed to see each other anymore. Well, I’m not supposed to see him.
I look at my phone when it buzzes again.
DAVI:Please Enore.
I stare at his text. I imagine him saying my name the way he always did—soft, as if it’s breakable, as if tenderness is an essential part of the pronunciation. Slowly, whatever resolve I wanted to exercise disappears.
ME:On my way.
I send the message without thinking things through. When it comes to Davi, there’s an act-and-damn-the-consequences pattern I thought I had broken, but here history goes repeating itself. I grab a coat from the closet, put on sneakers, and walk out of my room.
My mom isn’t home. She’s having a spa day at the insistence of Auntie Sara. Esosa is in her room, her new favorite place. I consider tiptoeing out of the house, but it wouldn’t make a difference. She doesn’t really care what I do these days. With things as they are, no one will know I left the house and with Davi, of all people.
The brisk cold hits me the moment I step outside. December in Bellwood is no joke. I shove my hands deep into my pockets and run to Davi’s car, which is parked in front of the main house. Once I’m inside, I wrestle with the wind to shut the door. It closes with a loud thud, and I exhale as the heat from the ventilation warms my face.
“Hi,” Davi says, smiling or trying to maintain some sad semblance of a smile.
“Hi.”
Our first words to each other in what seems like months. I’ve missed him. But that’s really an understatement. I’ve thought of him constantly and cried when the heartbreak seemed unbearable.
In the last few weeks, I’ve had to deal with so much—the reality of moving back to Nigeria, giving up my dreams, and no longer having Davi in my life. I wonder how much more loss I can take, how many more goodbyes I can say, before finally losing my mind.
“Thanks for coming,” he says, his voice small. “I know you probably didn’t want to.”
“Um… don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”
Things are awkward. It was never like this between us, even when we were strangers.
“So…” I pull the seat belt over my chest. “Where are we going?”
“Um…” He clears his throat and grips the steering wheel. “To see my mom.”
His response is so unexpected, I gasp. I have questions, but hold off on asking.
He drives for twenty minutes without saying a word. The music on the radio fills the silence until the car slows down in front of a white three-story building. He pulls into a parking spot and turns off the engine.
“Where are we?” I follow his gaze to a gold plank fixed on the building. There are four words engraved in it. WELLYBEE’S MENTAL HEALTH CENTER. I turn to Davi, confused. “I thought we were going to see your mom.”
“Yeah.” After a long pause, he looks at me. “She’s in there—has been since September.”
I hold my breath while waiting for further explanation. After another long pause, it comes.
“She has bipolar disorder,” he says. “For years, she managed it with the right meds. But early this year, she went off her meds with no one knowing. And things got a bit out of hand at home. She had episodes. They scared Natalie.” He presses his hand to his forehead and huffs. “Grams and Dad thought they could handle it—get her back on her meds. But for months, things just kept getting worse. Home didn’t feel safe anymore.” He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “That’s around the time I started dating Ara. She was going through some things too. Her grandma, who was basically her best friend, died. So yeah… I guess we were just hurting and built this codependent relationship that was really kind of toxic.” He stares into the distance, his eyes glazed with tears. “She was an amazing mom before everything. Natalie adored her. She loved performing arts and had this children’s studio in town. Little Big Star.”
I remember the studio beside the dry cleaners, the one I’ve stood outside countless times. “She owns that place?”
“Yeah. But her partner has been running things since she’s been here. After things got out of hand at home, Dad persuaded her to check herself into the center. It wasn’t easy, but she agreed. Dad used my college money to set her up here. That’s why we’re selling the summerhouse.”
“Oh.” I nod. “Is this where you come every Sunday? Right after I sing in the choir?”
“Yeah. That’s when me, Dad, and Natalie usually visit her.”
All the pieces of the puzzle fall into place.
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”
He shrugs. “I wanted to. Trust me, I did. You kept bringing her up, and I felt so bad for blowing you off, but I had just met you. I liked you a lot. We started dating. I guess I didn’t want you judging me or anything.”
“I would never.” I touch his hand gently. “Never,” I say sternly, and hope he believes me. “I wish you trusted me enough to tell me earlier.”
“Yeah. So do I.” He holds my hand, and his tight grip shakes. “Um… I would like to introduce you to her. If you don’t mind. She’s much better now. Doctors said she’ll be home for Christmas. Natalie is counting down the days.” He searches my eyes. “So? Would you like to meet her?”
“Will she be okay having me here? Visiting her?”
“Yeah. She’s not ashamed of people knowing about her disorder. She was once. She tried so hard to hide it because she was ashamed. She isn’t anymore. And I think it’s helped her.”
“Okay, then.” I smile. “I would love to meet her.”
Davi has his mother’s eyes. It’s their best feature, captivating and expressive. She lights up when she sees him, drops the book she’s reading, and stands from a rocking chair.
“Hey, you.” She holds him in a tight hug. “This is a surprise. I was expecting you tomorrow.”
“Thought I would shake things up a little.” Davi pulls away from her, strokes her long dark hair, and kisses her forehead.
Watching the sweet gestures doubles my feelings for him.
He really is incredible. I think I could love him. I think I do love him. I want to slap the thought out of my head, because loving Davi is a terrible idea. I can’t love him when there isn’t a future for us.
“Enore.” His mother stretches a hand to me. “Davi has told me so much about you.”
“Really?” I say while shaking her hand. “He has?”
“Of course, every chance he gets.”
Davi doesn’t deny it.
“I’ve been dying to meet you and to hear that voice of yours. He showed me a video, but I’m sure it doesn’t compare to an in-person performance. So? What do you say?”
“Wait. What?” I chuckle awkwardly. “You want me to sing?”
“Well, you have an audience who would appreciate some entertainment.” She gestures around the massive recreation room, where patients are occupied with different activities. “I’ll play, and you’ll sing.” She marches to the piano in the center of the room, sits on the bench, and waves me over.
“Um…” I look at Davi, hoping he’ll save me from performing, but he places his hands on my shoulders and nudges me toward the piano.
“Come on,” he says. “Give them a little show. Be generous with your gift.”
I freeze at his words that sound familiar. Be generous with your gift. I’ve heard them before, though phrased differently. “Don’t be stingy with your gift,” my father always said to me. And I swear those words mean to me what “with great power comes great responsibility” means to Peter Parker. Don’t be stingy with your gift. I thought I’d only hear that phrase in my memories, when I revisit moments with my father. But here Davi is, almost reciting it. I think it’s now, in this very moment, despite being certain there’s no future for us, that I fall for Davi.
“What do you want to sing?” his mother asks.
“Um… I really don’t know.”
“Well, music is therapeutic—healing. Especially in a place like this. So why don’t you sing something that has always had a calming effect on you? Does anything come to mind?”
It doesn’t take me long to decide.
“Do you know ‘With Love’ by Christina Grimmie?”
She shakes her head. “But it’s fine. You sing, and I’ll follow along.”
After inhaling and expelling a deep breath, I sing the first notes. The keys on the piano accompany my voice. The bustle in the room quiets.
I’ve always sung this song with my father in mind. This time, however, I sing and think of Davi. I forget where we are and about the people around us, including his mother. I only focus on him.
Davi shook up my world. He was tough when he needed to be, honest even when I didn’t want to hear it, and tender when I needed it most. When we were getting to know each other, he asked me something: “What are you into? What’s your passion?”
He was the first person to ask me that. And even though I didn’t have the answer back at the time absolutely clueless about myself—he guided me to the answer. He saw something in me and didn’t stop drawing my attention to it until I saw it too. I don’t know if he loves me, but everything he’s done, every action since the day we met, has been with love.