THE SOUP TEST

THE TEST

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CHAPTER 3:

They say, _"When a child is given two clothes, she will test which one the wind blows first."_ In 2021, I was given two clothes, and I tested the wrong one first, every single day.

That was my test. Not exam hall test. Real life test. The test of who to answer, who to leave on read, who to run to, who to hide from.

And I failed it beautifully.

It started small. A choice.

Reed would text me in the morning: "Estella, have you eaten? I kept jollof for you."

Jamie would text me at night: "You up? You look sexy in that pic you posted."

Morning care vs night hunger. And every time, I would leave the morning on delivered and I would run to answer the night. Because morning feels like home and I was tired of home. Night felt like city, like being chosen, like being seen as sexy. And I wanted to be seen as sexy more than I wanted to be seen as safe.

I remember one Saturday vividly. I can still see it now like it just happened yesterday.

Reed came to see me. He didn't come with empty hands. He came with his massive body carrying a bag of groceries. Tomatoes, onions, plantain, even Maggi he bought with his own hustle money. His arms were full, his forehead had small sweat, his dark skin shining. He said, "You said you don't like going to market on Saturdays, so I went." He didn't make noise about it. He just dropped the bag in my kitchen, his biceps tight as he lifted it, his chest breathing heavy but steady. A massive, admirable body doing small, kind things. That was Reed.

What did I do? I thanked him quickly and told him I had to go braid my hair. Lie. I was going to see Jamie.

I left Reed standing in my compound, his massive body looking suddenly too big for my small corridor, and I ran to Jamie who was waiting on a boda with his slim legs dangling, light skin glowing in the sun.

Jamie saw me and didn't hug me. He touched me. Immediately, those thin fingers found my waist. Not to hold me, but to pull me into him in front of his friends. "See my girl," his eyes said to them, even though I was not his girl. His friends looked at my hips and laughed that hungry laugh. And I laughed too, because back then I thought jealousy from other women meant I was winning.

We went to a small place. He bought me one soda. One. And he talked about himself for two hours. How many girls DM him. How light-skinned boys suffer. How his ex was crazy. I nodded like a fool.

And when he tried to kiss me that day, with his mouth smelling of that soda and hunger, I let him. Not because I wanted it deep. Because the whispers said, "If a light boy kisses you, you must be fine." So I let him kiss me to borrow his light.

Meanwhile, Reed was still in my compound, waiting, until my small sister told him, "She went out." He left the groceries and went home. He didn't call to quarrel. He never quarreled. He just said later, "I hope your hair came out fine." His voice was heavy. Not heavy with anger — heavy with disappointment that he tried to hide behind kindness.

That was my pattern. *R.E.P.E.A.T — Rejecting Earnest Protection, Embracing Addictive Temptation.*

I was rejecting S.A.N.E and choosing S.I.N, every day, with my own hands.

If Reed asked me to cook together, I would say "I'm tired." If Jamie called me at 10pm and said "come outside, just to talk," I would wear perfume and go outside, standing in the dark with a slim boy who had no body to shield me from mosquitoes, let alone life.

Why? Because Reed's love felt too real to trust. It felt like marriage, like children, like responsibility. And I was — I thought I was too young for that. I wanted play. I wanted shine. Jamie offered play. Reed offered plan. And I was too foolish to know that *P.L.A.Y — Pretty Lies Amuse Youth* but *P.L.A.N — Pure Love Anchors Now and future.*

My father says, _"The frog does not jump in the daytime for nothing — either something is after it or it is after something."_ I was jumping in daytime. I was after something — validation. And something was after me too — my own L.O.W.

I remember the day Reed cooked fully. He made katogo. With his massive hands, he peeled matooke carefully, cut the meat, stirred the pot. His dark skin had oil shine, his arms flexed when he pounded, his body filled the kitchen with warmth and safety. He called me, "Estella, come taste." I tasted. It was delicious. Delicious like mother food.

Jamie never cooked for me. Jamie would never. Slim boys who have no body don't cook — they order. He once ordered chips and gave me half and kept his hand on my thigh the whole time while I ate, his thin fingers pressing, claiming, waiting for his price.

But when Reed gave me food, he just watched me eat. He smiled when I said "you added too much salt" — I lied, it was perfect, but I wanted to find fault because perfect scared me. He laughed that deep laugh that came from his big chest and said, "Next time I will add less, for my lastborn."

My lastborn. He called me lastborn like my parents. Like someone to protect.

Jamie called me "sexy". Reed called me "lastborn". One wanted to undress me. One wanted to cover me.

And I, with my S.O.U.R — Seeking Outside, Undervaluing Real — still chose sexy over lastborn.

That month, I blocked Reed for three days. No reason. Just because Jamie told me "you give that dark guy too much attention, he thinks you like him." I blocked a massive man who brought me groceries, because a slim boy with no body told me to. That is how low my L.O.W was.

When I unblocked Reed, he didn't insult me. He just said, "You are safe? I was worried." His massive voice had worry in it. Worry like a father, like a brother, like a husband all at once.

And I cried that night. Not because Jamie hurt me — Jamie hadn't even hurt me yet. I cried because I knew I was hurting Reed with my own hands. I knew he was S.A.N.E — Strength And Nurture Earnestly — and I was choosing S.I.N — Shine Intoxicates Negatively.

But I didn't stop. Because the test was not over.

****_She didn't know it yet, but the test she was failing would soon become a taste. She thought she was just testing clothes, but she was about to dip her finger deeper — to taste one soup with her mouth, and the other with her body — and learn that when you taste two soups, you taste none and spoil both. That is where Chapter 4, The First Dip, was about to begin._****

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