“Can I borrow a pen?” “Looks like it’s going to rain.” “Do you think they’ll serve something other than beans in the cafeteria today?” “When will they install an AC in this place?” “Abi?” Brief, shared laughter.
Then, on the day, I’d said, a bit shyly as I’d brought the candy from my bag, “Would you like some? It’s caramel.”
I’d been gifted the first line in my intricate map of her. A light in her eyes as she’d popped one of the small misshapen pieces in her mouth. A slight pursing in her lips as the candy had melted on her tongue.
“Wait.” Another expression; another gift—a slight twitch of her lip, on the upper right side. “Is this goody goody?”
I smiled, ducking my head. “Uh, kind of? But no. I, um, I make it myself.”
“You make it yourself? Ehen? Planning to become a chef?” Her left eyebrow had twitched. I’d stared, obvious and greedy. “Is that what you’re studying?”
I ripped my gaze away, my blush hidden underneath my melanin. “No, um, I’m studying Nutrition and Dietetics.”
“Close enough.” I snorted. Caught another twitch of her lip like a firefly cupped delicately in my hands. “Unlike me, with my boring business degree.”
“I’m sure it’s not boring.”
“Lie again.” I laughed, my chest bubbling with something I couldn’t name. Her mouth hadn’t moved that time, but I’d seen the light in her eyes, could somehow read—could somehowfeelher clear amusement. “Okay, but seriously. If not a chef, what’s the end goal, then? What exactly does Nutrition and Dietectics entail?”
I couldn’t precisely tell her I wanted to be a rua oerhwu—a ritual native doctor who specialised in herbal healing and cleansings—like my mother before me, and her mother before her, and her mother before her, going back possibly until the beginning of time.
“Do you believe in magic?” I’d asked, shy and tentative.
I can’t explain it. Nothing in her demeanour had changed, but Genevieve had lit up at the question, her sudden focus like abeam of warm light. The sight of it had in turn ignited something in me.
“Let’s say I do,” she’d said, studying me like she was seeing me for the first time. “Why?”
“It’s not just about nutrition, for me. It’s about the whole. I want to help make people’s lives physically, mentally, spiritually”—and magically—“better. It feels like my calling.”
Genevieve had seemed to think for a moment, before she’d admitted, “I think I actually want to be a personal trainer. I’m … well. I’m big on people managing their emotions in a healthy and productive way. Yoga, meditation, and exercise have really helped me do that.”
“Ah.” I’d stared at her like I was seeing her for the first time, too.
“My mother actually wanted me to be a doctor.” She’d playfully kissed her teeth. “Can you imagine?”
“Actually, I think I can.” She studied so hard; I believed she could accomplish anything.
“Ah. Abeg, o. God forbid.”
I’d laughed, and she’d leaned forward slightly, like the sound had hooked itself in her chest and drawn her closer.
I covertly glance sideways as I pop one small chunk of the toffee into my mouth. Genevieve’s expression is faraway, her lips tilted with the barest upward curve at the edges. My lower belly dips. I wonder if she’s thinking back to that day, too. I inhale shakily with relief as the toffee melts, warm and sweet in my mouth, and instantly begins to work its magic.
Genevieve’s eyes refocus. The soft smile that had been playing on the corners of her mouth fades. Our faces are so close we’re probably breathing in the same air.
“Every time I make this, I think of you.”
She trembles, her throat bobbing with a swallow, arms tightening around my waist. I use that as an excuse to fall evenfurther on top of her, my right hand landing tentatively at the top of her chest, the base of my palm just barely brushing the tops of her breasts. There’s something hypnotic about the feel of her sternum rising and falling underneath my touch—the faint flutter of her heartbeat against my palm.
Her mouth quirks slightly, though the amusement doesn’t touch her eyes. “Has it always had eshé? Yes, yes, like you’ve said, everything has eshé; you know what I mean.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling. “Eshé might exist in everything, but it still needs that connection, that coaxing from an oerhwu, to come to life—like a spark to gasoline.”
“What does the eshé you put in the candy do?”
I don’t want to remind her of what had just happened, but talking about it like it isn’t a big deal—which itisn’t—should help to reduce the chance of her freaking out again.
“It acts like a blood supplement.” Genevieve stiffens, her expression going blank. I look down at my palm, watching that steady rise and fall come faster as her breathing speeds up. “Sometimes, if my death is particularly violent, and I lose a lot of blood, my, uh, resurrection? Recuperation? Doesn’t take anything I’d lost into account when I inevitably heal myself. The candy helps with that.”
