It took effort to keep his face from twisting into an uncomfortable grimace at the thought of coming up with plans and shit for this new building.
And then there was the guilt, rising and rising, threatening to cut off his breath.
“I know, daddy,” he forced himself to say, knowing the gruffness in his voice would be attributed to his grief. “I’ll do my best.”
“If you need anything—absolutely anything—you know I’m here for you. As are your brothers.”
Obiora finally looked up. His responding smile was small, but it was genuine.
“I know, daddy. Thank you.”
Osita grunted, and that was the end of that.
Obiora left the office and walked straight to his cubicle, slipping in his earphones, one of the best methods to get the rest of his co-workers to leave him the fuck alone.
Time kept moving, yet it never got any easier.
ON MOST DAYS, OBIORA LOVED his mother’s love and attention, but whenever the anniversary of Ada’s death came around, her affection felt smothering in its intensity. Luckily for him, he had the best mother in the world, because she understood the moment he cut their visit short and said he was heading out.
“Hold on, let me pack some of the leftovers for you.”
“Mummy, you don’t need to—”
“You’re talking to the air,” she replied, already disappearing into the kitchen.
Obiora smiled fondly and shook his head. He followed after her, knowing if he decided to wait in the sitting room, she’d take her sweet time.
Ifeoma Anozie rolled the smooth balls of pounded yam into small, clear cellophane bags, then lovingly folded them tightly into a food warmer. She was generous with the meat as she scooped some Egusi soup from the pot—in fact, it seemed to be more meat than soup, from what he could see, which made him feel weirdly emotional, like he was going to cry. What was with African mums and thinking more meat would heal all wounds? Not that it didn’t.
She followed him to the door.
“I will make pepper soup for you tomorrow. With goat meat. Would you like that, honey?”
He nodded, swallowing to rid the lump in his throat. “Thank you, mummy.”
“We have lots of extra bedrooms, you hear? We’re just thirty minutes away; make sure you come over if you’re feeling somehow.”
“I will.”
“Good.” She switched to Igbo, “I love you.”
Fucking hell, he needed to get out of here. “Love you, too,” he echoed, also in Igbo, then he was hightailing his way out of there.
ESTHER WAS LATE AGAIN. WHEN he got a confirmation text from her stating she wasn’t going to be for another hour, he was filled with a mix of annoyance and gratitude.
I know what you’re doing, he sent.
Whatever do you mean? She responded, ending the text with an emoji with a halo.
He’d half-expected her to use her wife or children as an excuse for her tardiness—it wouldn’t be the first time—but it seemed today was one of those days she wasn’t even trying to pretend. He replied with the poop emoji, then put his phone on silent, heading to the locker rooms to change and drop his things, his shoulders already feeling lighter.
When he came back into the main space, most of Esther’s evening class were already there, waiting, some of them doing some mild stretches.
“All right, everyone, are we ready?” There were echoes of affirmatives around the room. Obiora clapped his hands. “Great. We’ll do some basic cardio today. Remember to listen to your body, everyone. Understanding that you can’t or might not be able to keep up with me is not a personal failure. Got it?”
“Got it,” they echoed.
There were bright, eager and excited smiles all around, which filled Obiora with a sense of fulfilment no amount of projects from his father could ever hope to accomplish.
