“I own and operate an indie game development studio,” I say, spearing a piece of yam.
His brows lift. “Video games?”
My eyes narrow. “Yes. Video games.”
He leans back, nodding slowly, as if weighing the worth of my answer, or my career. The thought of him deciding on whether to engage in conversation with me based on my job irritates the hell out of me, and I fight to keep a straight face. My career is a very touchy subject for me.
“Hmm. I’m not really into games… but I’m sure they’ll be making one of me someday, so we may work together in the future.”
I roll my eyes internally.
Of course.
Any glimpse of interest in me boomerangs right back to him.Why am I not surprised?But luckily, I see the perfect opportunity to turn this around.
“Oh, really? You must be really popular then. What doyoudo for work?”
The table freezes. Forks pause mid-air. Even their Mum’s spoon hovers above the pot. They all stare at me like I’ve just cursed in church.
Jabari blinks. “Okay. Now I know you’re full of shit.”
“Jabari!” Mrs. Mac snaps.
I widen my eyes, all innocence and confusion. “I’m sorry?”
“No way in hell you don’t know what I do,” he states. “Everyone knows what I do.”
“I don’t really keep up with pop culture,” I reply evenly. “Do you dance like Za? You’ve got the legs for it.”
I hear Zaza snort and cover it by clearing her throat.
His jaw flexes. “Francine.”
Not the government name.
He leans forward, eyes pinning me. “I know for a fact Zaza told you I play football, professionally.”
I shrug. “Did she? We don’t really talk about you much. I knew she had a brother who was sent to Nigeria when you lot were younger, but that’s about it. Sorry if I offended you.”
His mouth twitches. “You ain’t sorry.”
I raise both brows, genuinely surprised by the bluntness. “What makes you say that?”
“You’ve been testing my patience all evening,” he says, voice dropping low. “And I’m sick of it.”
oop.
“I’m testing you?” I scoff. “You’re the one forcing me to recall who you are magically. The only people who ask, ‘Do you know who I am?’ more than you have memory loss.”
His eyes narrow. “Well, excuse me if I find the girl who used to bury her nose in my dirty briefs suddenly forgettin’ me suspicious.”
“Jabari,” Their mum warns again.
I freeze for just half a second, but he clocks it.
“In truth,” he goes on, “it doesn’t even matter if you don’t remember me. Why would I care if someone likeyouremembersme?”
Someone like me, huh?
