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It had made perfect sense. Joy hadn’t questioned it again. Of course, there was no way she could’ve walked around with an anklet without her mother noticing. The moment she found outwhoJoy had gotten it from, the anklet had suddenly gone “missing”.
Joy’s heart ached. Fuck, she missed her mother. So fucking much. She missed her father, too, but shehadn’t been as close to him as she’d been to her mum. He’d worked all the time, going to this or that conference; in fact, her mum had been escorting him to one of them when the accident had happened.
The cab made it to number twenty-two on the outer concentric lane, the driver sliding his car up into the driveway.
“Thank you,” Joy said as she handed the driver a thousand naira note. “You can keep the change.”
“Thank you, ma. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
Aunty Paloma’s house was a cute two-storey buildingthatseemed a little too big for just one person. Joy remembered a flash of what she’d seen the last time she’d come here—what had looked like a demon standing behind her aunt, so quick Joy had thought she’d imagined it.
She definitely didn’t think she’d been imagining it now.
Joy squared her shoulders and stepped up to the front door. When she lifted her hand to ring the doorbell, she hesitated. She patted down any stray curls on her afro, ran her tongue along her teeth, then checked her breath.
She pressed the doorbell. After a few moments, the door came open.
The woman standing in front of her was such a splitting image of her mother that Joy immediately had to bite back tears. Medium height, fat, with warm, medium brown skin. Her hair fell to her shoulders in a wavy, stunning silk press, and she was dressed casually in a long sleeve t-shirt and fancy jogging bottoms, her feet in indoor slippers.
“G-Good afternoon, Aunty,”Joygreeted, her voice coming out thick without her control.
“I was wondering when you would contact me,” Aunty Paloma said, sounding both fond and reprimanding in equal measure. “If you hadn’t reached out by tomorrow, I’d have thought you were dead.”
“I’m sorry, Aunty,” Joy said, ducking her head. “I just … got caught up in everything.”
Her aunt softened. “Oya, come inside. We’re letting out all the cool air.” She closed the door, then held her arms open. “Come, come. Don’t think you’re escaping my hugs.”
Joy dutifully let herself be swallowed into her aunt’s buxom embrace. She clenched her eyes shut. Fuck, she even smelled the same—shea butter and something fruity, like berries. Mum had always handmade her own lotion;Aunty Paloma probably used the same one. Or perhaps she’d madehers, too. Joy thought of asking Aunty Paloma to teach the recipe to her, but—even after two fucking years—it still felt too close to home.
She pulled away quickly before the tears could escape. Aunty Paloma was sniffing suspiciously.
“Come, come,” she said, her voice thick.“Don’t forget to take off your shoes.”
Joy ignored the heaviness with all the strength she could muster. She left her shoesina designated corner on thewelcome mat, and slid her feet intoa pairof waiting indoor slippers sitting on top of the shoe rack behind the door.
Aunt Paloma’s living space was interconnected, faux privacy lent to the space by wide arches. Her art—stunning abstract erotic paintings—adorned nearly all the walls. The talent had also seemed to “suddenly” surface after the death of her husband, which made her family feel even more justified in cutting her off.
She led them to the kitchen. Joy took a seat on one of sixbar stools bracketing the kitchen island.
“What’s your choice of soft drink?” Aunty Paloma asked, heading for the fridge. “Or do you prefer juice? Alcohol?”
“Just water’s fine.”
“No, you can’t drink water. I made shawarmas earlier. They’re in the oven. You’re not allowed to say no.”
Joy’s lips twitched. “Then why ask?”
“I see that smart mouth of yours hasn’t changed since.” Aunty Paloma grinned.
Joy ducked her head. “Only with you.”
Aunty Paloma laughed. “Go on, darling. Drink?”
She settled for orange juice, since Aunty Paloma said it had been freshly squeezed that morning. She couldn’t resist some freshly made juice.
At first, they sat and ate and talked about nothing important. Joy appreciated the small talk,because it made her more confident to bring up why she’d really come here.
“So, you live here all by yourself?”Joy had wondered aloud two weeks ago.
