“Oh God, Ejiro, no,” Ajiri said, gathering him into her arms.
He hugged her tightly, biting back his sobs, unsure why he was even crying. There was a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders, yet he still felt like literal shit.
“It’s okay, Ejiro. I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
“What’s going on?” Blessing came into the kitchen. She lowered her voice when she noticed Ejiro crying. “What’s happening? Is Ejiro okay?”
Ajiri lowered her voice as well. “I’m sure he’ll tell you when he’s feeling better, babe. Just give us a moment, yeah?”
“All right.” She hesitated. “Whatever it is, I’m sorry, Ejiro. And I’m here for you.”
Ejiro managed a nod. Blessing left the kitchen.
Ejiro let his twin hold him, and though he felt slightly better, there was one person’s arms he specifically wished he could be in right now, if only Obiora weren’t so far away.
OBIORA WAS FULL OF JOY and relief. Of course, his father had been disappointed when he’d told him he wanted to leave, but his old man had been deeply supportive.
“Some part of me didn’t want to acknowledge it,” Osita had said when they’d had their talk in the guest-room-turned-office in his parents’ house. “I knew you were struggling, that while you had drive and creativity, you lacked that certain passion and intensity your brothers brought into their own projects. But I thought maybe that was just how you expressed yourself. I see now that it was just wishful thinking.”
“I’m sorry, daddy.”
His father scoffed, waving his apology away. His other hand held a shot glass filled with Amarula. Obiora had fond memories of his father sneaking him and his brothers a sip of the milky rich alcohol when they were children. The taste of it now felt like happiness and nostalgia.
“Don’t you dare apologise,” Osita said roughly. “When you graduated and you moved in with Ada, do you remember I offered you a spot at the company?”
Obiora felt bittersweet at the memory. “I remember.”
“And do you remember what you said?”
Obiora frowned. That part was a little hazy. “I remember wanting to wait. Me and Ada wanted to take a little break from work and school, just, you know, be with each other for a bit.”
Osita smiled, fondly instead of sadly as he might have done in the past, and it helped gentle the ache of loss in Obiora’s chest. It felt so good that he could talk about her like this with his family now. It felt freeing.
“You told me,” Osita continued, “point blank, that you weren’t quite sure yet if Architecture was what you wanted to do, even though you’d just spent three years at University studying it.” Obiora laughed. “Or, looking back, perhaps studying it was why you didn’t want to do it?”
Obiora laughed again, rubbing the back of his neck. “I said that?”
“Oh yes. But I was desperate. I wanted to help you with your grief, yes, but I was also being selfish.”
Obiora bristled at that. “Daddy,” he began, his tone placating.
“No, no, let me finish. I was selfish in the sense that I’d had the dream of handing over the company to my three sons. And while I wanted to help you get back on your feet, the means I used to do so was not entirely honest.”
“Daddy.” Obiora felt choked up. “But you helped. This job—it helped a lot. It was exactly what I needed at that time.”
“And now, you don’t need it anymore.”
Obiora slowly shook his head.
His father sighed. “I understand, my son. So, what do you want to do instead?”
Obiora’s shyness and nerves had abruptly returned. “I want … I want to be a personal trainer.”
“Huh.” His father didn’t seem surprised at all, which, for some reason, made Obiora burst out laughing, his relief palpable.
His father’s support was strong and unwavering, and Obiora couldn’t be happier. He’d been right when he’d told Ejiro that honesty and vulnerability went a long way into bonding relationships, because that conversation left him feeling so much closer to his father afterward. And when he’d broken the news to his mother and brothers, they’d been equally supportive, so supportive in fact he’d felt a little silly for being so afraid of telling them.
He couldn’t wait to tell Esther. He couldn’t wait to get his licence and actually be a registered trainer—have his clients under his name, instead of Esther’s.
