“Did you win, then? Is that why you look so good?” Obioma asked with another leer. Obinna elbowed him violently in the ribs, making him grunt.
Osita glared at them both, but it held no heat.
Obiora instantly wanted to lie to placate his mother—she seemed really upset that he’d kept this from her. He wanted to tell them it was because of the contract that he’d kept it from them—he wanted to smooth over their hurt, but he knew it wouldn’t help.
He thought of Ejiro at that moment, and felt his heart twist painfully. His mother was partially right; he hadn’t told them mostly because he’d wanted a break from his father’s firm, and hadn’t known how to ask for it. But he also hadn’t wanted them to get their hopes up about him “getting over” Ada.
Which he needed to address. Now. There was no way he was going to be able to tell them about Ejiro, not if they planned to use his feelings for him as proof that he was “moving on”. He couldn’t let them tarnish his love for Ada any longer.
“Mummy, daddy.” He couldn’t quite meet their eyes. “I have to say something, and I want the two of you to listen.”
“All right, Obim.”
“What is it?”
Obiora braced himself. “Brother, you should probably listen, too,” he said, referring to both of his siblings. They only ever used the formal mode of address when they were being serious or teasing, there was no in-between.
“Go on,” Obinna said, plastering a neutral expression on his face.
Obioma nodded.
Obiora swallowed. He thought of Ejiro again, the passionate strength in his voice when he’d told him you don’t have to choose. Fuck, he wished Ejiro were here.
“I’m never getting over Ada,” he said in a rush.
His mother seemed to swell in her seat. “Obim—” she began worriedly, sternly, about to argue.
“No, mummy, please. Listen.”
She pursed her lips reluctantly.
“I’m never getting over Ada,” he continued, “because there is nothing to get over. I loved her, I was planning to spend the rest of my life with her, and then the world took her from me. We didn’t—break up, or part ways; she was taken from me, do you understand?” He met each of their eyes, silently begging. “Of course I’m never going to stop loving her. But that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of loving someone new. I loved Nicholas with my entire heart, but he wanted me to choose. When I refused, he decided to choose for me. That’s not something I ever want to go through again.”
His mother interjected again, stubbornly, “Obim, I get you, I understand what you’re saying, but Nick’s issue was that you kept making Ada a priority during your relationship—”
“No, I didn’t,” Obiora said, using a herculean effort not to snap. “What, because I celebrated her birthday or mourned on the anniversary of her funeral? How is that making her a priority?”
“Obim, you need to understand. It must’ve felt to Nick like he was sharing you—your—your attentions—I mean, celebrating an ex-lover’s birthday—”
“Mummy,” Obiora interrupted, his heart breaking. “You’re not listening.”
“I’m listening,” she said, a little desperately, switching to Igbo. “I hear you, and I loved Ada—I loved her so much, Obim, like she was my own daughter—but you need to understand where Nick was coming from. How would you feel if Nicholas had pictures of his ex all over his house? In his wallet, kukuma? Wouldn’t you feel somehow?”
“Ada isn’t my ex,” Obiora said, jaw clenched, hands fisted on his thighs.
“You know what I mean.” Ifeoma waved him off.
Obiora felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. He regretted ever bringing this up. He should have taken his mother’s apology at face value and left well enough alone. Let them think whatever they wanted to think about Ejiro. Oh God, he felt like he was going to be sick.
“Ah, I think I understand now,” his father said. Obiora looked up, feeling his heart swell with painful hope.
“Ify,” Osita called his wife by the nickname he solely used for her. “Say, God forbid, I die today, and you meet someone new down the line. Will you stop loving me?”
Ifeoma recoiled. “What? God forbid! How can you even—?”
“No, nne. Please, listen. Pay attention to what your son is saying. Will you forget about me? Will you pack all the things we’ve shared together, all our mementos, and shove them in a box, never to speak of or see the light again?”
Ifeoma looked stricken.
