That strange mix of guilt and shame made his heart pound painfully.
Like she could read his mind, Ajiri snapped, “You don’t owe her anything.”
“I owe her everything,” Ejiro argued. “She’s done everything by herself—all her life.”
When their father had died—they’d been too young to remember—she had refused to remarry, against the wishes of her family. Her own parents were dead, so her extended family—aunts and uncles—had taken it upon themselves to write her future.
They’d felt it was unseemly for a single woman to take care of two children alone—or, more likely, that a single woman couldn’t and shouldn’t take care of children alone—and had cut her off when she’d staunchly kept refusing their continuous offers of a groom. So she’d set out and proved them wrong, raising them both completely by herself. The only person who’d stayed by her side was her twin brother, their Uncle Reuben.
“She endured constant disrespect and abuse from judgemental Nigerian society, and worked endless tireless hours just to be able to send us to good schools abroad—”
“Which is her fucking job, Ejiro. In case you forgot.”
“I—what? That’s not … how is that fair? How can you say that? Without her, you wouldn’t even be here—”
“That’s what parents are supposed to do,” Ajiri said, getting up from his bed. Her nostrils were wide, fists clenched in her anger. “They’re supposed to feed you, and clothe you, and do the best for you, because that is their job! They didn’t bring you into this world just so you could repay them one day; that’s not how unconditional love works.”
“Well, fine,” Ejiro snapped. “I’m still grateful to her, all right? I still appreciate everything she’s done, and if going home is the one single thing she wants from me in return, then I’m going to give it to her. Can we—can we not, please? I don’t want to argue.”
Ajiri wiped the tears that had been forming in her eyes. Ejiro had to blink repeatedly to keep his own tears at bay. God, they were useless at arguing, or being angry in general. They almost always cried when they were this angry or upset.
His twin still didn’t look satisfied with the outcome of their argument—they’d had it countless times before, and she was never satisfied—but as usual, she forced down her displeasure, inhaling deeply.
“Come on, then,” she said, taking his hand. “We’re all just about partied out, so we’re starting a game.”
“Oh? Game time already? That was fast.”
“Shut up, Ejiro.”
He laughed. Before they left the room, she stopped him, hugging him tightly, burying her face in his chest. They were about the same height—five foot eleven—so she had to stoop a little to achieve it.
“I love you, you know that right? I only say these things because I’m worried about you.”
“I know,” Ejiro said, his voice as thick as hers. “I know. I love you, too.”
“Good. Now, back to the party! By this time in about two months, you’ll hopefully be in love and engaged.” She waggled her eyebrows at him.
Ejiro blushed. Despite his misgivings, he really did want to fall in love—desperately—TV show setting or no. He wanted what Ajiri and Blessing had; a connection so deep it was like they were sometimes extensions of each other. Something like the bond he himself shared with his twin, but held up with a different but equally profound kind of intimacy. Even the way they’d met sounded like something straight out of one of Ejiro’s romantic comics.
They’d met two years ago, during Ajiri’s final year studying for her Masters in Fashion Design, and Blessing’s final year studying for her Bachelor’s in Photography. They’d both had deadlines and had rushed to the MMU print shop to print out their portfolios at the same time. Ajiri said when their eyes had met that first time, she’d known.
As their works had printed, they’d kept glancing at each other and blushing, neither one brave enough to make the first move. They’d exited the shop at the same time, about to head in opposite directions when Ajiri had forced herself to stop and turn around, her lips parted to call out to Blessing, only to find that Blessing had stopped and turned, too, her mouth open to call out to her. They’d laughed, and the rest, as they say, was history.
Ejiro wanted that with a fierceness that was almost devastating. Once upon a time, after Ajiri had come out to him, and Blessing had mentioned being not just transgender but demisexual as well, Ejiro had wondered if he might be queer, too. But he’d written off his questioning as a longing to have something in common with his twin; he didn’t think he’d ever been attracted to people other than women, and even though something about the way Blessing had described her demisexuality had felt—right to him, he’d dismissed it on the account of just how badly he wanted a deep sexual and romantic connection. Surely someone on the asexual spectrum wouldn’t want such a bond as badly as he did?
He’d thought he’d had that bond with Sam, his first and only serious girlfriend, but that had ended in disaster.
He shook off his thoughts, returning himself to the present, to Ajiri, still in his arms.
“There are probably going to be a million other contestants, so, you know, no pressure.”
“Twenty-nine contestants, not counting you.” Ajiri winked at him. “That doesn’t sound too bad. Trust me, Ejiro, once the bachelorette sees you? Once you see each other? That’ll be it. As long as you’re yourself, you’ll have her swooning into your arms in no time.”
FOUR
THERE WAS POSSIBLY NOTHING OBIORA hated more than lying to his family. It was a miracle he’d been able to secretly meet with his “handler” and the producers a few weeks ago for his in-person audition, and all the extras that came along with it. He’d gotten the confirmation call while he’d been on a lunch break at work and had managed to also keep that to himself until he could tell Esther, which, again, was a fucking miracle.
The guilt sat heavy in his stomach like a rock after his father mentioned—for what felt like the millionth time—how proud he was of Obiora for finally taking this step for his mental health.
