“Aunty, good morning, ma,” I greeted my aunts as I passed through, receiving the usual chorus of “Good morning, KC” and “Ah, KC, our Canadian big girl!”
“You finally joined us!” Esther said, standing up from her seat. She was as petite as me but slimmer and light-skinned like our mother, while Chuka and I had inherited our father’s darker complexion.
“Yes, I did,” I chuckled as we embraced briefly.
“Just this once o. You have practically been enjoying your meals upstairs without wanting to eat with the family,” she pressed on with that playful smile and pout that always got her what she wanted.
“Esther, you still like wahala. Change o,” I teased back as we approached the table.
“Daddy, good morning, sir,” I said, pulling out my chair while Esther returned to hers beside me.
“Good morning, nne. How was your night?”
“Fine, Daddy.”
“We thought you wouldn’t be joining us today,” he said with his usual gentle smile.
Before I could respond, Mum looked up from her discussion with Aunty Ngozi.
“KC, nne, ehen. We were just talking about the wedding preparations. Your Aunty Ngozi was saying that for the traditional ceremony, we should?—”
“Mummy, let her eat first na,” Esther interrupted, serving me rice from the cooler. “She just came down.”
I caught the look in Esther’s eyes and felt grateful for the momentary reprieve, but my mother was already back in full swing.
“The caterers want to know the final numbers by tomorrow, and your future mother-in-law called this morning about the wine-carrying ceremony. She wants to meet next week to discuss?—”
I nodded, forcing myself to take bites of food that suddenly tasted like cardboard.
Around me, my aunties chimed in with advice about marriage, about being a good wife, about how lucky I was to marry into such a good family.
“Sister KC, good morning o,” Chuka mumbled through a mouthful of fried plantain.
“Good morning, foodie,” I managed with a faint smile, grateful for his innocent interruption.
But the conversation quickly returned to wedding plans. Colour schemes, guest lists, what I should wear, how I should behave. Each word felt like a weight settling on my chest, making it harder to breathe.
I noticed my hands trembling slightly as I reached for my water glass.
Only Esther seemed to notice. Her eyes kept darting to me with growing concern as our family’s discussion grew louder around us.
“And KC,” Aunty Ngozi said, turning to me directly, “you must make sure you learn how to cook his favourite meals properly. Men like to eat what their mothers used to make for them. That’s how to keep peace in a home and?—”
“Actually,” Esther suddenly stood up, “KC and I need to go upstairs. She wanted to show me something important about… about her wedding dress.”
“But we’re still discussing—” Mum began.
“It’s really urgent, Mummy. We’ll be back down soon,” Esther insisted, already pulling me up from my chair.
I shot her a grateful look as she practically dragged me away from the table, past the curious stares of our relatives, and up the stairs to the safety of my room.
“Sometimes I forget how overbearing our family can be,” she said as she flopped onto the edge of my bed.
“You can say that again,” I mumbled, settling on one side of the bed.
Silence stretched between us, broken only by the gentle whir of the ceiling fan and the soft patter of rain against my window. The weather had turned chilly, and I pulled a wrapper tightly around myself.
“How are you, sis? Talk to me, how are you?” Esther’s voice cut through my wandering thoughts.
