8|ℐᏉᎯℕ

   RISE AND SHINE. The morning rays filter into my white room, as the curtains automatically slide open, inviting the morning sun. My eyes flicker, my brain reminds me of the encounter with Tosin earlier.

   I fling open my gold coloured duvet when I hear Mother's voice in the hallway. She's scolding Sua for not preparing dinner for me last night. Tosin must have snitched.

   The fool.

   I get up and walk into my closet, scowling helplessly at no one in particular. Switching on the ceiling lights, I glance through my row of robes and select the navy blue fleece robe. I wrap the straps around my waist and step out.

   "Ivan?" Her rose perfume walks into the room before she does. 

   "Good morning, Mother." She's wearing one of those linen night gowns that look like white curtains or ghosts. 

   "Morning, darling," she hugs me.

   "Did you sleep well?" I ask because I've always asked.

   "As needed my boy," she smiles. "You went to bed quite late yesterday, must have had a long tour. Did Mrs. Ogunlede show you pictures of her daughter, Modupe?"

   I recall the images of the petite dark skinned girl with big dark brown eyes and small brown lips.

   "Yes, she did." 

   "A sight to behold isn't she?"

   "Quite the sight," I reply 

   "And did you know she's already studying to become a medical doctor?"

   "Mother, where are you going with this?"

   "Don't mind me, I just love when girls come as the full package, " she says.

   "Full package?" I repeat,

   She laughs. "That aside, I'm so sorry dinner wasn't prepared for you, these stupid staff–"

   "Mother," I interrupt her.

   "What? Are you making excuses for them now?" 

   "Not excuses Mother, they're people too."

   "Hmm, anyway, breakfast, and then you'll review the accounting statements sent in last night. The board wants you to get familiar with the finances of your company, and before I forget, everything is set for your travels in September." I catch her smile before my brain replays what she said.

   Wait. What?

   "I can't leave in September, that's like two months away. And I don't want to turn eighteen doing something I don't care much for."

   "That's irrelevant."

   "Plus we just got here, it's been what? Two weeks?"

   "Well I don't remember signing an agreement for you to spend the whole year here before getting on with your life." 

   "New York isn't going anywhere, neither am I. So what's the hurry?" I ask her.

   "You are being impudent," she waves me off.

   I feel my nails dig into my palm, I like the pain. "Must I do the accounts today?"

   "Ivan," she looks at me with distant eyes, the same way she's always looked at me.

   I hate wondering where she really went after Father died because sometimes, it's like she's still there. Before he died, she was just busy-mom, traveling-mom, designer-mom, mom-that-was-always-sorry-she-missed-my-childhood. But after he died, it was like I lost her too.

   "You know what's at stake if you don't follow suit as your father instructed in his will."

   "He said twenty."

   "Why are you proving difficult? I don't see what's wrong if you get things done earlier."

   "Can I get to the accounts later then?"

   "Do you have something else to do?" she asks like my entire life is hers for the knowing; like I'm something to keep tabs on.

   "Boma is sick. I promised I'd get to her this morning."

   She places her hands on my shoulders. There are too many rings on her fingers. "What's wrong with her?" 

   For one thing, I appreciate that she cares about the one person that matters most to me. She looks at her wristwatch, I look at mine. It's 8:15AM.

   "She didn't tell me exactly that's why I have to see her." I say. 

   "Breakfast. Then you can go." 

   "Can I drive this time?"

   "Ivan, you know Port-Harcourt is dangerous."

   "I'll still have security, they can follow behind me, but I'll use my car. I don't want her to get scared." 

   "Alright then, be back on time and regards to her mother." She pats my shoulder again before walking out and closing the door, leaving her perfume behind.

   I take my bath and wear my casuals, khaki shorts and a polo shirt. I don't know what shoes to wear, they're all new and fancy. I choose the Air Max, it's less obvious than the others. 

   "Good morning sir." Two of the domestic staff mopping the stairs greet. I smile at them.

   "Morning sir." Deji and Ike salute uniformly.

   "Morning sir." An aged man smiles as I walk into the dining hall. His attire says he's the new chef Mother employed.

   I walk up to him and offer a hand shake. "Ivan."

   He shakes my hand with a bow, "William, sir." He has a Ghanaian accent that makes me smile.

   "Welcome to the Adebayo Residence. How have you been fitting in?" I ask.

   "Oh, nicely. Quite the residence," he smiles.

   "Alright then, if you need anything, you can always talk to me."

   He nods and walks into the kitchen.

   The dining table is filled with a lot of food, Mother's mushroom risotto is in a porcelain dish to one end, some moin-moin wrapped in leaves are layered in the centre, a tray of glazed chicken drumsticks rests on the other end, with a bottle of Mother's favourite white wine. All of which I have very little interest in. Mother doesn't know this, Sua does.

   I sit down and spread the napkin over my thighs. Sua walks over to me, white apron snuggly tied around her wide waist as her brown face beams in the chandelier's glow.

"Good morning Sua. Sorry about Mother. Hope you slept well?"

   "Don't let her hear you," she smiles with her gap tooth and slides me a plate of my white bread and her special handmade pap.

   "Thanks." I wink at her and she walks back into the kitchen. 

   I check my phone, Boma hasn't left any messages. Sua walks back in with a jug of warm milk and sugar to go with the pap.

  "Would you mind anything else? Maybe some fruits, I can ask the chef to scramble some eggs for you?"

   "This will do. You should have some for yourself," I say, even if I know she'll decline.

   Sua has been with my family since Tosin was adopted and Mother needed help. We weren't always nice and cordial to each other, I used to frustrate and taunt her non-stop, until the time she came along with us to Italy and we became more than Nanny and Little Sir. 

   "You know I'm not supposed to do that. Enjoy your breakfast." She pats me softly on back.

   "I'd like more eggs, it's also a good thing that you have prepared moi-moi, Williams!" Tosin yells. The elderly man walks out with his hands behind him. "Make me some blueberry pancakes and strong coffee." Williams bows and disappears into the kitchen again. "Hey lil bro!" he slaps the back of my head. 

   I draw out my seat and give him a deathly stare. "Sua, I'm done, please excuse me. When I return, I'd follow up with lunch." She shoots Tosin a stare, perhaps wondering why he can't grow up. I pick my key from the key galleria, while signalling Deji. 

   Udon opens the gate and I drive out. Mike, Deji and Ike follow in a Hilux behind me. I don't know my way around Port Harcourt so I let the GPS guide me.

°°°°°

   When I get to Boma's house, I realise I'm not as invigorated as I was last night. Then I didn't know that I'd have to add my impending travels to the list of things I have not told her. 

   "Sir, is there any trouble?" Mike asks over the speaker.

   "I'm fine. Can you do me a favour and not call while I'm inside?" 

   "Sure, sir." 

   "Thanks." 

   I call Boma and she picks up immediately. I tell her I'm at the gate. She says she's coming so I relax. 

   Boma is different from all the girls I've ever met, and I met a lot at all the fancy schools Mother made me attend. It's not because she's mixed race, there were Europeans, Asians, Indians and other mixed-girls at those schools, but most of those girls were fancy girls. I don't like fancy; sometimes I feel it's all Mother is. 

   The gates rattle open as Boma walks out barefooted. Her skin reminds me of latte and her hair is free like a curly fiery cloud around her face, the last time I saw it this way was on her seventh birthday. My cheeks rise when I remember the peck I gave her after I mistakenly blew out her candles, and how everyone laughed.

   Today, she's wearing a frilly white top and denim shorts, showing off her lean legs that knock hilariously at the knees. She sees me looking at them and her cheeks turn pink. Everything about Boma is beautiful. I always notice but I don't tell her, it's breaking the rules.

   "Excuse me lady, I'm still waiting." I say from behind the wheel.

   She opens the gate and I drive in. I turn off the engine and step out of the car. She eyes my Air Max before looking up at me with only the biggest and bluest eyes. 

   "I have like a million questions and I still don't know what to ask."

   "First, it's my mother's car," I lie. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you I could drive. The shoes are a gift." 

   "It's fine, only because you look good behind the wheel, and I like a boy in nice shoes." Her voice has always been so soft, feathery. 

   "Do you want to try?" I toss her the keys. 

   "Nah," she swings it back to me. Her nappy curls bouncing around her beaming face. "I don't want to smash it for your mom."

   "I love your hair this way. It's like a spicy cloud of noodles." 

   "Hmm. Interesting description. I'll save it." She flashes me another smile. 

   "Ok, what now?" I ask 

   "Now, let's go inside. My mom wants you to have breakfast with us," she says.

   "I've kind of had breakfast already." 

   "It's only past ten. What are you?" she asks, I don't think she expects an explanation. "Anyway, my mom says boys eat a lot so I'm sure your belly wouldn't mind." 

   She walks into the house, leaving me there to take in the sight. My brain can discern sexiness when it gets the impulse. It knows I'm staring at a sexy girl. I tell it to look away, I don't want those hormones simmering now. 

   "Ivan, if you were going to stand out there all day,you probably shouldn't have come!" she yells. 

   I meet her up at the door and we walk in. 

   Their house has not changed a bit since I was a child. The array of empty flower pots still line the staircase. The abstract art strewn with soft pastel colours and oil paint are still on the wall in the sitting room, same as the pictures from all Boma's parties, all of which I attended and blew candles until we left. 

   "Oh, Ivan, sweet," her mother walks out of the kitchen in a small black dress. She embraces me and I'm reminded of Paris. 

   "Good morning ma," I bow. "You look lovely as always." 

   "Thank you sweetheart, how are you doing? How's your mom?" 

   "I'm good ma, she's good as well. Sends her regards." 

   "Oh, how lovely. Please tell her I look forward to meeting her soon. In the meantime, you're having breakfast with us." 

   "Ma I. . ." 

   "I know your mom made you have breakfast, but I also know boys eat a lot, so your tummy wouldn't mind." She drops a soft pat on my shoulder before walking into the kitchen.

   "Told you." Boma snickers behind me, carrying in some cutlery and dishes from the kitchen. She sets them on the small dining table and I'm sure that she's okay, except that I wasn't dreaming last night. 

   She walks up to me. "We're having fried plantains and egg sauce. There's also vegetable sauce as a side dish. If you want that." 

   "Whatever you're having." I say.

   "Then you're having plantains and egg sauce," she smiles, excusing herself back to the kitchen.

   I get seated on one of the three seats. Observing how much smaller the house seems each time.

   "Hope we didn't keep you waiting too long?" her mother walks back in.

   I smile, "not at all."

   They settle down, Boma seats directly across me. I like it this way. Her mother starts a prayer, Boma closes her eyes and bows her head. Her hair dips into the dish in front of her. 

   She looks up, I catch her eyes, she smiles before closing it.

   "Amen." We chorus and begin eating.

    For a couple minutes, I'm carried away by the flavours erupting on my palate. Then I notice Boma's mother is staring at her. I turn to look at Boma and she's eating away at the plantains like she's been starving. 

   She looks up. "It's really weird that both of you are watching me eat."

   I resume eating. "Well aren't you worth watching?"

   Her mother clears her throat, she's now watching us. Boma starts laughing. I'm laughing too. 

   "You two," she shakes her head. "You'll just never change."

   "It's amazing, ma. Everything as usual."

   "Aww. Thanks darling, if you would believe it, this miss"—she points at Boma—"did the plantains this time."

   "Oh, congrats Bo. How did you manage?" I ask because I remember she told me that she can't cook, even though her favourite channel is Food Network. 

   "It's just plantains, it's not that big of a deal." She says it like we should clap. So I clap and she shakes her head, smiling.

   "Ivan has Boma told you about her prom–"

   "MOM!" Boma grunts. 

   "It's this Saturday," her mother adds. Boma drops her face in her hands. 

   "Prom? No. They do that at your school?" I ask Boma. She doesn't respond, her face is still in her hands. 

   "Your school didn't have a prom?" her mother asks. 

   "My last school was quite old-fashioned, so we just had a graduation ceremony, our parents were invited, we wore academic gowns and caps, gave speeches and left with our certificate."

   "That's so sad. I think all schools should adopt prom as a graduation ritual," her mother sighs.

   "Boma I think your mother is right."

   "I don't even want to go. I'm sure it's not as fun as you imagine." She rolls her eyes, before directing them at me like icy arrows. 

   "I thought prom was that thing where the senior class look fancy and arrive in pairs or with friends to celebrate graduation?" I ask. 

   "You should go with Ivan. He'll make you feel more promy," her mother says 

   "Can we just eat?" Boma shoots me a frustrated glance, but she's blushing. I shake my head.

   After we're done eating, I help her take the dishes to the kitchen.

   "I didn't ask. Stop trying to be a gentle man, and can you stop saying 'Mother?' It feels weird." 

   "Mother is weird?" I ask. 

   "Yes, we say 'mom' now," she explains. 

   I laugh, "I see." She wouldn't understand my reasons if I explained them.

   "Thanks for coming," she says. 

   "Yeah. No problem. About yesterday, what was wrong?"

   "Right. . ." she smacks her forehead with her palm. "I'm so sorry about that, I was out with Mom the whole day, wedding planning. Was just stressed." 

   "Obviously," I say. "Your eyes look yellower."

   "Yeah. Probably another anaemia season. I got my drugs started." 

   "You shouldn't stress yourself so much Boma, it's not healthy." 

   She rolls her eyes. "I know daddy."

   I laugh. "I told my mother you were sick." 

   "You shouldn't have lied to her," she says.

   "Was the only way she'd let me come. Had a line up of things for me to do." 

   She squints. "I see. You used me."

   "Yup," I say, and she starts laughing. "How are the plans coming along?" 

   "Uhmm, she'll be travelling with her fiancé on Friday, so they can get the wedding date fixed. She'll be back Saturday morning." 

   "You'll be alone?" I ask.

   She looks at me quizzically. "Ivan, I won't be alone. Chinny is going to come over. It's better for the prom spirit, maybe she can excite me." 

   "Excite you huh?" I wiggle my eyebrows.

   After a moment's pause, she begins to laugh again. 

   "I feel like I know what you're implying and it's not exactly friendly." 

   I shrug. "Do you have any plans for today?"

   "Why?" 

   "Because I wanted us to go out, someplace that's not your house, if your mother would permit." 

   "If you stopped saying 'mother', I'm sure she would." 

   "Bo, I'm serious." 

   "I think you should ask her. She's in a good mood today." 

   "Fingers crossed," I say. She shows me her crossed fingers. 

   I walk to the sitting room where her mother is, and I hope she says yes. 
 

~°~°~°~°~°

And so, Boma and Ivan finally meet again.