Chapter Forty
There are five pieces of clothes in the onceempty suitcase. By the end of today, there’ll be more. I plan to leave a lot of clothes behind. After all, I don’t need knitted sweaters and winter coats in Nigeria. It’s only December 8, but in a few weeks, shortly after Christmas, we’ll be on a plane back. Esosa still has not made peace with this. And she’s still not talking to me. Instead, she communicates with long hisses and intense eyeballing. I hope things between us return to normal once we’re in Nigeria.
Normal.It seems like such a strange word, because the meaning keeps changing. For so long, normal was Nigeria. The routine of my everyday life was practically embedded in my DNA, coded in me. Then that normal was disrupted. And a continent away, I had to adjust to a new normal. Now I’ll have to adapt again. What will it be like to return—to reclaim Nigeria, Benin City, as home again? The old routine no longer exists, not without my father. I’ll have to create another one—map out a new normal.
I’m my yellow sundress into the suitcase when the doorbell rings. I pause and listen for any movement that indicates someone is going to answer it. My mom is in her room, talking to her sister in Nigeria and finalizing the details of our move. She likely didn’t hear the bell. Esosa likely didn’t hear it either, since she prefers tuning the world out with headphones these days. I sigh and toss the dress on the bed.
I don’t think about who could be at the door. Our visitors are typically Uncle Davis, Auntie Sara, and Adrian. However, when I pull the door open, I’m shocked to see Ara.
Ara. Of all people.
“Hey,” she says.
“Um… hi.”
It’s quiet, and I wait for her to explain what she’s doing at my house, but she doesn’t say a word. Instead, she tugs the hem of the knee-length ankara dress she’s wearing. It’s the opening outfit for the musical. Cassandra, the main character, enters center stage with a suitcase and looks at her surroundings with awe. “Wow,” she says. “Finally. I’m here. New York City.”
It’s been weeks since I quit, but I still remember every detail of the musical, including the fact that tonight is opening night. Now I’m even more confused why Ara is at my doorstep.
“Um… could we talk?” Her voice is unusually calm, and so is her demeanor.
“Why?” My eyes shift over her dress again. “Shouldn’t you be at school… at the musical?”
“Yeah.” She flicks the flare of her dress and laughs awkwardly. “I definitely should be.” Slowly, her awkward chuckle stops. Her eyebrows pinch together. “But I don’t want to do it.”
“You don’t want to do what?”
“The musical. I don’t want to do it. I honestly would rather jump off a cliff.”
“That’s extreme.”
“Well, it’s the truth.” She wraps her arms around herself and shivers. “It’s freezing out here. Think we could take this inside? Please?”
After considering her for a moment, I step aside, and she steps in.
“Is there someplace we could talk?”
“Yeah.” I turn around and walk to my room. She follows behind me.
I shut the door once we’re inside, and Ara looks around. Her eyes settle on the open suitcase on my bed.
“I heard you’re going back to Nigeria,” she says, turning to me.
“Yeah.”
“Cool… um… I mean, not cool. Depending on your stance on the subject.”
I watch her as my confusion grows. “Ara, it’s an hour until showtime. You shouldn’t be here. In fact, why are you even here?”
“I’m not cut out for musical theater,” she blurts. “I hate it, actually. I hate it so freakin’ much. I did it for years, but I can’t anymore. I seriously can’t.” She hunches over, her hands on her knees, and hyperventilates.
“Here,” I say, leading her to the bed. “Sit. Take it easy.”
Slowly, her breathing returns to normal.
“Do you want some water?”
“No. I… I’m okay.”
Clearly, she isn’t. I forget we aren’t friends and sit beside her. My hand rests on hers, and she doesn’t pull away.
“What’s going on, Ara?”
After a long pause, she sighs. “You know my mom’s, like, this Broadway star, right?”
“Yeah.”
When Sybil mentioned it a few weeks ago, I did some research, and star is truly the right word. Ara’s mom, Caroline Forbes, is a Tony-winning actress who has appeared in fifteen Broadway productions.
“Well, ever since I was a kid, she’s wanted me to follow in her footsteps. I’m talking dance classes, singing classes, and acting classes since I was six. If it was up to her, I would have gone to some performing arts school in the city. But my grandma…” Ara smiles faintly. “She knew musical theater wasn’t my thing and stopped my mom from sending me to performing arts school. I stuck with the annual high school musical just as a compromise—to get my mom off my back. And for a long time, that was enough. But earlier this year…” She blinks fast, pushing back tears. “My grandma died.”
I go from touching Ara’s hand lightly to holding it.
“My grandma was my best friend. I was beyond devastated when she died, and my mom could hardly get out of bed. I just wanted to make her happy. That’s why I wanted the lead spot in the musical so bad. That’s why I was so upset when you got it instead. That’s why I’ve been such a bitch to you.” She lowers her gaze and blows out a breath. “I’m really sorry about that, Enore.”
“Oh. Okay. Yeah. Thanks.” I’m stunned. I never expected an apology from Ara or an explanation for her behavior. It feels good to have both.
“Vying for the lead every year hasn’t done me any good,” she continues. “Because my mom made me apply to Juilliard and Carnegie Mellon, and it’s like I’m back exactly where I started—following footsteps I don’t want to follow, and… and…”
“And you can’t do it anymore.”
She shakes her head. “I was backstage—dressed and in full makeup, and it just didn’t feel right. I mean, it never has. But every year when I got the lead, I just pulled through. This year is different. I peeked between the curtains and looked at the gathering audience, and it became so clear.”
“What did?”
“My life—my future—how miserable it will be. Say, hypothetically, I get into Juilliard. And somehow make it and become a Broadway success. Then what? I spend my life trying to pull through every performance, suppressing everything I want just to make my mom happy? Yeah. I can’t do that.” She squints, and her eyes wander around the room. “You know what’s crazy? I don’t even know what I really want to do with my life. I don’t know what I’m passionate about.”
There was a time when I was just as clueless. I’m not anymore, but it doesn’t matter—not when there’s a suitcase I need to fill, not when I don’t know how to dispel obligation and guilt. Ara has somehow done it.
“My mom is a doctor,” I say. “She wants me to be one too.”
“A doctor?” Ara scowls. “Has she seen you perform? You belong on a stage, Enore. I’ve watched you during rehearsals. You’re…” She thinks, then smiles. “Spectacular.”
I know rule number eight instructs me to be suspicious when a mean girl is suddenly nice to me. I had my guard up when Ara gave me a compliment in the theater, but this time is different. Ara and I are having a real conversation for the first time since we’ve known each other. There’s no tension or animosity. She’s being vulnerable, and I’m realizing how much we have in common.
“It feels right,” I tell her. “When I’m onstage, performing, it feels right.”
“Then it’s what you’re meant to do.”
“I’m going back to Nigeria soon.
“Well, you have tonight.” She gestures to the dress she’s wearing. “This role was made for you. Mr. Roland literally crafted it for you. He’s likely freaking out right now, seeing that I’m MIA. But trust me, he would rather have you on that stage than me.”
“My mom. I can’t…”
“Aren’t you tired too?” Ara asks. “Of trying to follow someone’s footsteps?”
Actually, I am exhausted. Lately, when I think about my future, there’s no excitement or hope. Instead, I feel powerless, like a puppet, like there are strings tethered to my arms and legs, propelling me to act in accordance to someone’s will. I imagine what my life would look like if the strings aren’t cut. After university, I would get into medical school. I would become a surgeon. I would spend the rest of my life struggling in my career while suppressing my passion and happiness until it’s totally snuffed out. I see it clearly—my life, my future, how miserable it will be if I do what’s expected of me.
“Here.” Ara turns her back to me. “Help me take this off.”
I pull the zipper down, and the dress loosens against her body.
“Think you could lend me something to wear?”
“Um… yeah.” I go to my closet and grab a set of blue sweats from the hanger, part of the clothes I planned on leaving in America. “Here.”
“Thanks.” She changes quickly, then extends the dress to me. “Go on. Put it on. Showtime is in less than an hour.”
The dress dangles between us. Ara waits for me to take it, while I try to convince myself not to. I could ask her to leave, act like our conversation never happened, and go back to packing. I could do exactly what’s expected of me. But then the image of that miserable future comes to my head, and I grab the dress quickly. When it’s on, Ara pulls the zipper up, and we walk out of the room. Midway down the hallway, I pause, and Ara turns to look at me.
“Come on. We have to go.”
“Not yet,” I say. “Not without telling my mom first.” Over the past few months, I’ve lied and hid who I am from her. I won’t do that anymore. “Would you mind waiting in the living room for a minute?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
When Ara is out of sight, I knock on my mom’s bedroom door and wait.
“Yes? Come in.”
I turn the knob and step inside. She’s looking through her closet, likely doing what I was minutes ago. When she turns to me, she frowns.
“What are you wearing and where are you going?”
I suppose this is my moment of truth.
“Enore?”
My nails dig into my sweaty palm. I’m terrified, but words somehow find their way out. “Daddy loved it when I sang. He was proud whenever I did. He pushed me to sing. I think it’s because he knew it’s what I’m meant to do.”
Those first sentences take a lot out of me. I pause and catch my breath.
“In the past few months, I haven’t been myself. I’ve lied to you. And I’m so sorry, Mommy.” Tears fill my eyes, and I blink until they all fall and my vision clears. “I think I was just trying to find myself, find my purpose. And I had to do that without you. I had to separate myself from your expectations, so I could see things clearly. Still, Daddy wouldn’t be proud of me for lying. But I think… I know he would be proud of me for finally seeing what he saw in me.”
She folds her arms, tilts her head, and watches me without a word.
“Mommy, I don’t want to be a doctor or even a lawyer or an engineer. I am positive any of those careers will make me miserable.” I look at my dress. “I worked very hard to be in this musical—rehearsed every day. And I loved every minute.
“When I’m on that stage, it feels right. It makes me happy. So I’m going to go now—to perform. We’re leaving for Nigeria soon, and I wish we weren’t. But since we are, I have to do this. Because I don’t know if I’ll ever get a chance to again.”
I wait for her to say something. She says nothing. Her arms stay crossed over her chest, and her narrowed eyes remain fixed on me.
“I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you, Mom. I’m so sorry.”
I turn to leave, but before I walk out of the room, Esosa rushes in.
“I’m going with Enore.” She pants through a wide grin. “I know you said I couldn’t, but makeup is my passion and…” She looks at me and shakes her head. “Sorry. It’s not about me. The point is, I’m going because I signed up to do the makeup, and it’s likely everyone looks a mess without me. So… see you later.”
We walk out of Mom’s room without being stopped.
“You ready?” Ara asks. “Our ride is waiting.”
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
It’s freezing outside, and none of us are dressed appropriately, especially me. Ara runs ahead, while Esosa and I follow behind her.
“I can’t believe you did that,” my sister says. “It was legendary.”
“So, you’re talking to me again?”
“Well, you left me high and dry, not even backing me up about staying. But you’ve made up for it.”
I throw an arm around my sister’s shoulders and pull her close. “Well, I’ve missed you.”
“Makes sense. I’m a highly miss-able person.”
I can’t help but laugh. When we reach a silver Toyota, I turn to Ara. “That’s our ride?”
She shrugs. “He insisted.”
I look through the window at Davi’s face, and my heart skips several beats.
“They insisted too.”
Bethany and Sybil are in the backseat, waving at me.
I’ve been avoiding all of them for weeks, but they’re here, conducting some sort of rescue mission. It completely warms my heart.
“Come on,” Ara says. “We gotta go.” She opens the passenger door and urges me to get in.
When I settle into the seat, I glance at Davi. “Hi.”
He smiles. “Hey.”
Esosa and Ara settle into the back, sharing the small space with Bethany and Sybil.
“I can’t believe you guys came.”
“We were plan B,” Sybil says. “If Ara couldn’t convince you, we were gonna drag you out of that house.”
As we laugh, Davi pulls out of the driveway. He speeds and cuts the ten-minute drive in half. When he stops the car in front of the school, everyone in the back rushes out, but I stay inside.
“Come on,” Ara says. “Move it.”
“Can you give me a minute?” I ask.
“Um… yeah. Sure. But make it fast.” She backs away and enters the building.
When it’s just me and Davi, a fluttering sensation starts in my chest. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For coming to get me.”
He nods, his hands still on the steering wheel. “Yeah. It was nothing. I’m just glad you decided to come.”
“Yeah.”
It’s awkward between us. There’s no denying that. But I’m trying to push through the awkwardness so we can be us again. Especially now, as I’m about to get onstage, I just want us to be us—the Davi and Enore sitting on the bleachers exchanging food, the Davi and Enore running through New York City without a care. But it seems impossible to break through the haze of tension. Disappointed, I push the door open. But just as I’m about to step out, he holds my hand.
“You’re going to be amazing, Enore.”
His words cut through the tension, and I don’t think. I just lean forward and kiss him. It might as well be our first kiss, the way our lips move cautiously before rushing to match our eagerness. His tongue slips into my mouth, and I grip his hair. I’m breathless but refuse to come up for air because I’ve missed this so much. I’ve missed him.
We only pull apart when Ara shouts my name.
“You should probably go,” Davi says, laughing. “Or she’ll come down here.”
“Yeah.” I step out of the car, then look at him. “I love you too, by the way.”
Even though there’s no future for us. Even though we’ll likely never see each other after I leave.
I love him.