Her nod is slight as she bids me farewell. I return the gesture and hope she calls. Because aside from how useful her case would be while I improve theCupid’s Bowmatchmaking algorithm, I think I want to see her again.
7Moyo
“MOYO, TURN ON YOUR CAMERA. ABI, ARE YOU HIDING ORwhat?” my mom calls out.
I turn towards the other participant on the group call, my dad, and stifle a laugh.
“Ah Moyosore, is everything okay? I can hear you, but I can’t see you,” my mom says, her voice switching from concern to mild annoyance. Technological difficulties happen semi-frequently during our weekly calls because my mom is often busy with her latest hobby and doesn’t have the luxury of hopping on the phone with my dad.
“Darling, shey, your phone camera is not covered?” my dad asks, his normally gruff voice sweet and low.
I can’t see my mom, but the change in her demeanor is apparent.
“?k? mi, mi o m?. Mi o ri nkankan,” she says softly. Dad’s sweetness transforms her annoyance from a bitter black coffee to a caramel macchiato. They are adorable, but currently, too much for my taste. I’ll stick with efficient, stable, and dependable, like my daily plain matcha lattes.
My parents met in their early twenties during their National Youth Service Corps days. How they fell in love in the wilderness while marching in the hot sun, without great food or usable bathrooms, I’ll never understand.But I guess that’s what love is. Something so potent, so mind-boggling, that it only makes sense to you and your lover.
Growing up around so much love made me think it would be easy to find, but after being chewed up and spat out twice by the jaws of infidelity, I’m done with it.
“Moyo!”
My mother’s cheery voice brings me back. Her honey-brown skin is still radiant, and her pothos plants appear healthy despite the poor video quality. She needs to wipe her camera.
“Mommy…” My enthusiasm tapers. It’s been over two weeks since the incident with Cole and the Wife. And not to give Anjie any credit, but the feelings eventually came and were indeed fully felt.
The first Sunday post-incident, I couldn’t stop crying. Once the seal broke, the water came on with a vengeance. Before ten o’clock, I had bloodshot eyes and no energy to interact, so I canceled Sunday brunch with the girls and made up an excuse to get out of my weekly phone call with my parents.
After a week of forcing myself to smile at the hospital, including meeting someone fromCupid’s Bow, I was exhausted. I made another excuse to my parents, told the girls I wanted more alone time, and spent the day binging all theScreammovies with a pint of ice cream and a shit-ton of Chinese food.
“My darling, what’s wrong?” my mom asks softly, and the tears I thought were long gone threaten to return.
This is the reason I’ve avoided my parents these past two weeks. They see right through me, even when we’re separated by three screens and a vast ocean.
Mom’s eyebrows furrow and my dad leans in, as if getting right up to the camera will bring him closer to me. I wish it would.
“Oh, Mommy, I’m just tired.” I yawn a little for effect. It’s not a complete lie, and I can’t have them worrying.
“Moyosore, you know you can tell us anything,” Dad chimes in.
I want to take him up on it, but can I really tell my completely-in-loveparents how messed up my love life is? How I don’t think I’ll ever have what they have? How, despite doing everything right, I can’t hack this one thing?
I can’t share any of that.
My lungs expand with the weight of the lie I’m about to tell. I scan my brain for the most appropriate one. Work has been the reason for my recent cancellations, so that’s off the table. Maybe Anjie and the restaurant? Or how Sewa’s getting on in her program? My parents love both those girls like they love me, their only daughter.
I settle on talking about Sewa when my dad breaks my train of thought.
“Ehen, Moyo. How is Cole? Abi, that’s his name, right?”
The dark eyes, which I inherited, are full of genuine wonder, his smile small and hopeful. He’s probably mentioning Cole to put me in a good mood. I love that he wants to make me happy. Mr. Adegbite has always been the sweetest man I know. I told him about Cole before I told my mom because I knew he’d give me less flack for being with a white man.
When I did tell her, she laughed and said I’d make a great comedian before realizing I was serious. My dad just asked if I was happy and said that was good enough for him. He routinely asks about Cole on our group and biweekly individual calls, which Mom doesn’t know about because she’ll get insanely jealous. Despite his good intentions, hearing Cole’s name opens the floodgates once more.
“Kola?” My mom calls for my dad, her voice delicate like she’s traversing a minefield.
“Bisi, hold on,” he responds in an equally hushed tone while I wail, the tears unstoppable.
I can’t make out their features through the tears, but their concern is evident. Pity and worry are carved into the contours of their faces, the indentations so deep I don’t need clear vision to know I’m scaring my parents.
