I feel like I should leave but the tension in the room is so heavy that I feel riveted in place.
“What do you mean?” Their mother breaks the silence.
“I mean, I’m ready to be a mother.”
“How? You don’t even have a boyfriend,” their mother snaps.
“Mom, come on,” Sin interjects.
“Come on what?” She swivels her head to look at her daughter. “How can she have a baby without a man?”
“I am going to do it by myself.”
“God forbid.” Their mother slaps the table and shoots to her feet and grabs her husband’s shoulder. “George, why are you not saying anything?”
He looks like he’s been caught in a sniper’s cross hairs. “Because… there is nothing to say. What can we say?”
Mrs. Sackey looks back at her daughter. “She’s our child.”
“No, I’m an adult,” her sister says.
“This is your fault.” The older woman rounds on Sin, hand extended and pointing in accusation.
Sin’s eyes widen. “How is this my fault?”
“It’s not her fault, Mama. It’s nobody’s fault,” Salomé pushes back.
Mrs. Sackey points a finger between the sisters. “She has set an example and now you’re following.”
“I’m not following anything.”
“Ma, Mae is a grown-up.” Sin and her sister speak at the same time.
My head moves back and forth between them like I’m watching a tennis match. “So your sister has shown you how to keep secrets, eh Salomé ? Sin, do you see what happens when you behave the way you do? I’ve told you.”
Sin drops her head into her hands during her mother’s tirade and I suspect she’s laughing.
“I wasn’t keeping it a secret. I just hadn’t told you yet because it’searly. But I want a baby, and I’ve found a sperm donor already.”
Sin coughs and sprays the table with a mist of water she’d been sipping. We all turn to look at her. She holds up a hand and croaks. “Something went down the wrong way.” Her mother reaches over absently and pats her daughter’s back with a tenderness that is contrary to her anger a minute ago.
I realize I’ve been holding my breath waiting for the fight to go from an argument to explosive.
But…no one’s saying terrible things to each other. They haven’t asked me to leave while they discuss this in private.
I understand now why she’s so effortlessly expressive and direct.
The clatter of cutlery hitting the table draws my attention back to the fracas building on the other end of the table.
“You can forget that nonsense. I will find you a nice man.”
Mae is on her feet now, and her sister is standing beside her, arms still around her shoulder.
“You are not in charge of my life anymore,” Mae says to her mother.
She turns to her husband her eyes blazing. “I told you we should have sent them to boarding school in Ghana.” Her mother speaks in Twi.
“As if girls who go to boarding school in Ghana don’t get pregnant before they get married,” her father responds.
