“Ha,” I scoff. “You’re funny.”
Mum draws my attention back to her. “Bari, there is no time to do that anymore. We’re late. I’m sorry, but we have to go now. Put your shirt on.”
“But Mu–” I start, but she doesn’t give me a chance to complain. And, of course, I have many more complaints to make.
“Now, Jabari. We will be waiting in the car,” she says with finality as her and Dad head downstairs while I stand there looking stupid.
Does no one respect me anymore?
I need my own place. And an assistant.
Mum pokes her head back, impatient. “Hurry, child. If I miss the greeting, there will be hell to pay.”
I hate people touching me.
I hate people in my personal space.
I hate faking smiles and greeting people who aren’t paying me.
And that’s all I’ve been doing for the last twenty minutes. Mum and Dad parade me around the church hall like a trophy, stopping everyone and forcing me to engage in niceties I do not consent to.
However, I don’t hate the attention.
“Sister Janet! Come and greet my son.”
My dad elbows me as I roll my eyes for the fifth time while Mum introduces me to another one of her friends.
When does Zaza get here?
I need someone to take the spotlight off me for a while so I can rest my grin and recharge my social battery.
“Wow! Strong man. And so tall,” Sister Janet greets. “Your mother does not stop bragging about you. And still her words don’t do your handsome face enough justice.”
“Ah!” Mum swats her arm playfully. “Take time. This is still my baby.”
And they both laugh while I wonder if the crucifix up front is high enough for me to jump off and kill myself.
“Where is Chinaza?” Sister Janet grins.
“Tuh, I’ve been wondering the same thing,” I mutter under my breath.
Elbow. I groan and side-eye my father, whose face is perfectly calm.
“Late, as usual,” my mother says through gritted teeth. “I don’t know what I will do with that child.”
Hm.
“Anyway, Sister Janet.” My mother’s forced smile almost mirrors my own. “I will see you when service starts.”
With a polite nod, the woman walks away, and Mum exhales.
“That child will stop at nothing to embarrass me,” she says.
Dad pats her shoulder. “Calm yourself, she’ll be here.”
Mum scoffs. “Yes, late. And drunk from last night.”
“Am I missing something?” I ask.
