My Mother's Boyfriend

THE DETECTIVE

The following events happened inversely of what had transpired between me and dad. He had set the table for dinner. I had taken a cold shower.  He had instructed that I put on the dress mom had given me and be ready for dinner. I went to our small dining room and sat there perplexed. I wanted to send my mother a text message but what for? What exactly would I type?

‘Don’t come home’

‘Start running’

‘Stand where you are’

‘Stop and turn around’

‘Don’t move’

‘’You are being watched’

Wow. This last idea sounds great in my mind. I swipe my lock screen. Tap on moms contact and start to type. ‘You are being watched....’ I hesitate and pause. That’s an incomplete message. I want that message that you send to someone and they quickly decode the message. No replies. I don’t want to chat with her, in fact, our chat box is as empty as Frankie’s manners.

I type and delete repeatedly. Dad turns up with a tray of food. He is clad in a waiter’s apron at a fancy downtown eating joint. He looks romantic and young. It sparks a smile on my lip but then, my mind is stuck on the fact that things are about to get murky, murkier then murkiest. I want to help him down it.

“Sit and relax.” He intercepts as I get on my knees.

“Dad, you really doing this?”

“Really.” He goes back to the kitchen.

He understood not what I asked. I want him to stop this. I want him to relax and give it time. He comes back carrying a bowl of steaming water and towels. Places them orderly at the side table and looks at me assuring.

“Everything will be fine, Tyra.”

Had he read my mind? He pulls the chair next to him and sits directly opposite to me. Every move he makes seems calculated. We rarely ate with cutlery here. We just ate like that. Without complicating the eating and delaying the ultimate goal. Being satisfied.

“Can we pray for the food now?” I suggest.

I want to eat fast so that I can go and remove this scandalous dress. I felt naked in this dress. I feel like my whole being was exposed to my father. Not that way, this way; like he was seeing through my soul. His presence was less of a person and more of a spirit. Hovering and searching instinctively.

“No. We are going to have a family dinner tonight.”

“So.”

He gesticulates facing the door. “So we wait for your mother.”

“But why?”

“Isn’t that how family should always be like? Together,  happy, bonding...”

I nod. He cross matches his fingers and lowers his chin. Then sighs and scratches his cut beard. He goes on to speak.

“Besides, you can learn to be a good wife from this.”

I marvel at that. First it hit nicely, then differently. Is he suggesting that his is a bad wife?

“I am just overthinking.” I console myself at heart.

“But why the spoons dad?” I laugh out.

“The spoons and knives mark the difference between supper and dinner.”

We both laugh loud. He is getting funnier.

“You know Tyra, guys that live in Hulingurm and uptown estates take dinner in the evening. We on this other side take supper.”

“So this is a treat?

“More like a date.” He added as we burst into roaring laughter.

He is right. Carline is a case study here. While her parents ate from the dining room. Her elder brother, Shawn, eats from the living. She dines from her bedroom. The tension that exists in their family is entertaining. Theirs wasn’t even supper, looked like jail meal times.

While at this commercial break from my tension. The door swings open. It’s her. The last family to arrive at the table. Dad swings into dramatic action. Like a rehearsed movie scene. He pulls a chair for mom. Wipes it and gestures her over to it with a broad smile. A smile as broad as abroad.

“Awwwww.” She moans.

“Don’t mention it.” Dad cuts in.

“What’s up today?” She asks smiling.

“Just take your sit.”

She scans the set. Like a detailed director of a sitcom. She reads the mood and gets into character. Everyone here is acting their role well. No blunders. Everyone is waiting for the ‘cut’ so that they can breathe.

“We were waiting for you.” Dad announces.

I can feel my mother’s eyes upon me. She is turned on by the dress.

“Shall we?” Adds dad.

“Of course!” She responds with a feigned smile.

“I am starving!” I add.

“Awesome. Who shall pray for us?”

To dad, this is fun. To mum, this is burning suspense. To me, things are f****d up. Unknowingly to poor mum, we are in the interrogation room. Two suspects and one bad ass detective.

“Let’s pray.” I whispered.

 ...........................

THE DINNER

Mom is making broken comments here. As in like broken English. She is slirtish like this lady from unfinished riding, waiting for the man to adjust himself for horizontal mechanics. She licks her fingers then rolls her eyeballs as if she’s taking in something s****l.

“If this is the food you can ‘cooowwwk’, then I want to be married to you every day.”

She places her palms on the table like the owner of the house she is and belches. Her chest shoots up. Her titties strike 12 O’clock. They look expectant, full and lactating. She looks at the food submissively then up to us.

“That was amazing teamwork. I need to enrol for classes.”

“He did it alone.” I remark.

“You must be lying. Youtube came in handy. Ted...you must admit, right?”

“There is lipstick on your left cheek.” Observes dad. 

..........................................

PRAYERS

I had invoked national prayers. Instead of praying for the mighty food before us, I had prayed for peace, love and unity. I almost added quotes like ‘God bless us, God bless America’. I dropped in some random lines from pop music like ‘heal the world and make it a better place’. As I prayed, I had seen images of departed souls like MJ, Lucy Dube and Martin Luther King.