“How are you, Mum?” I ask when she lets go.
“I’m blessed, my dear. My bags, please.” I bring them in and she asks, “How’s work?”
I focus on heaving her suitcase over the threshold. “Fine. Using up a few holiday days. You’ve cut your hair?”
Mum runs a hand through her coils. “Yes, it was so damaged and shorter is more manageable for the heat.” She walks into the living room and loudly says, “Fiifi”—Dad’s Ghanaian name—“how are you doing?”
I watch Dad closely, but he simply smiles at Mum. “Fine,” he says.
Mum pats his arm. “Always happy to see me, hmm? You’re well?” Dad slowly nods and she says, “Good, good. Anyway.” She walks into the kitchen next, and I already wish she would stop and sit down. Her energy makes me restless. I remember it’s not my house and that my daily routine will have to change in order to accommodate her presence.
“Has your father eaten?” Mum asks, opening the fridge.
“It’s not his dinnertime yet.”
“I am hungry—have you prepared anything?”
“There’s lasagna in the fridge.”
She inspects the container. “I hope it’s seasoned well.”
She gets two plates down from the cupboard above the sink. I don’t usually eat for another hour still, but she’s already spooning out two portions. I go into the living room. “Hey, Dad, you okay?”
He smiles. “Yes, I’m okay.” His face and demeanor hasn’t changed since this morning; at first, I wonder if he really realizes Mum is back. Then, as I eat in the kitchen, balancing my plate in one hand, fork in the other, and Mum tells me about running the hostel in Ghana, I wonder if my dad’s brain has made him think that Mum never actually left.
James
Is Mum back now?
Maddie
Yep
James
You still moving out?
Maddie
Yes
James
It’s about time but are we sure we wanna leave Dad with Mum?
Maddie
You can always move in for a bit. My room will be empty.
James
Lol that room is a shoebox Mads. And no one can look after Dad like you. You’re his favorite
Chapter Eight
Unbelievable. I was hoping to open my emails and find a job interview offer but instead I’m greeted with a single-line response from HR at CGT.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Injustice I tell you!
Thank you for your email, Maddie. We will consider this matter further in due course.
Sincerely,
The HR team
My bedroom door handle rattles and Mum lets herself in. I close my laptop and frown at her. “Do come in,” I say.
Mum shrugs. “It’s my house,” she says.
“Technically, it’s Dad’s. His name is on the mortgage.”
She swipes at me. “Did I not bear his heavy children, hmm? You were the heaviest, you know. James wasn’t allowed to carry you in case he hurt himself. Come help me in the garden.”
* * *
“… And you shouldn’t be cooking him lunch and dinner every day,” Mum says. “That’s why the carer is here; I don’t know how many times I must tell you that.”
Mum squints in the sun as I hand her a peg and she throws a clean sheet over the garden dryer line. This is nice, hanging up the washing; a nice, normal mother-and-daughter activity. All that’s missing are sun hats, lemonade, and enjoyable conversation.
“You’ll wear yourself out,” she continues. “No wonder you were sounding so miserable on the phone as of late. You’ve been doing too much. Your father isn’t well and he needs professionals looking after him, not a twenty-three-year-old.”
“I’m twenty-five, Mum.”
“Yes, of course.” She raises her eyebrows. “It’s because you’re not married, so my brain thinks you must be younger.”
Wow.
“How has your father been doing anyway? I try to talk to him, but he doesn’t understand me, I think.”
“He’s better,” I answer truthfully. “You were right about that.”
She stops to look at me as if I’ve stated the obvious. “I am never wrong,” she says. “All is well. Maybe now you can feel comfortable living your life in your new flat. Do you have a boyfriend yet?”
I remember Ben’s text and how I’ve yet to reply. The longer I leave it, the more I feel it’s too late. “No, Mum, I don’t.”
She drops her arms from the line. “That’s weird, isn’t it?” she says, looking at me. “You know, you’re so pretty. I know all mothers say that about their daughters, but many mothers are lying. You actually are beautiful, so I don’t understand it. Twenty-five and no boyfriend, ever.” She narrows her eyes. “You’re not into girls, are you?”
“No, Mum, I’m not.”
“Huh, very weird then.” She pushes her mouth down, hitching up the sleeves of her tunic. “When do you plan to get married?” Before I can answer, she says, “You don’t have long. I know you think you do because you’re twenty-five, but it is only men who can make babies whenever. For us women, there is a clock.” She makes a grabbing motion with her hand, so I give her another clothes peg. “Time is running low because you’ll have to meet the man,” she continues, “date, then wait for him to propose, be engaged, then marriage before you even think of children, especially if you’re going to have more than one. You want more than one?”
“Maybe.”
She sighs. “How can you not know, Maame? How can you not think of these things?”
“I do, but children are worth really thinking about,” I say. “Looking after children properly … it’s hard.”
“I know that, I am a mother.” There’s more to being a mother than giving birth … “You need not think too hard, because for women, babies are natural. It is men who need the help. You’ll be fine once you start to have them.” I want to say: I’d like to be more than a “fine” mother, but it doesn’t come out in time. “Also, you have me to guide you, if you are scared.”
I don’t say anything about this.
“Are you looking in the right places?” Mum asks. “Like I have said, church is a good place. You want to make sure you get the right partner; you have to pray about it, pray that God sends you the right man. Look at what happened to me and your father. I don’t want that for you, my only daughter.” Seconds later, she adds, “Who will you marry? Will he be Black?”
“Mum, I don’t know. I don’t have a crystal ball.”
She whips her head round at this. “I should hope not. Crystal balls are witchcraft. Anyway, I don’t mind if he is white—with the time it is taking you, we can’t afford to eliminate too many prospects. No, so long as he is God-fearing, that is number one, and financially stable, number two. Although, someone from our own culture will be easier for you.”
“You just said you don’t mind.”
“I still have a preference,” she says. “Dating a Black, if not Ghanaian, man will be easier because there is less to explain. Do you understand this?”