Chapter 9 - The Grandmother
762 Words
She found out about the grandmother on a Friday.
Dare knocked on her bedroom door at 10am with the expression of a man delivering news he would rather not deliver.
"Mrs Okafor," he said carefully. "Mr Okafor asked me to inform you that his grandmother will be visiting for lunch today."
Adaeze put down her book.
"Today," she said.
"Yes ma."
"As in this today. Friday. In how many hours."
"Two hours ma."
She stared at him.
"He could not tell me this himself," she said.
Dare's expression remained carefully neutral in the way of a man who had worked for Emeka Okafor long enough to have developed excellent facial control.
"Mr Okafor said to tell you there is no pressure. You can have lunch in your room if you prefer."
"If I prefer," she repeated.
"Yes ma."
She closed her book.
"Tell Mr Okafor I will be at lunch," she said. "And tell him that next time he should tell me himself."
Dare almost smiled. "Yes ma."
Emeka found her in the garden forty minutes later.
She was sitting under the flame tree with her phone pretending to be calm. She was not calm. She was doing extensive research on Okafor family history and finding very little because the Okafors were apparently excellent at keeping their private lives private.
He sat down across from her without being asked.
"You are angry," he said.
"I am not angry. I am two hours notice away from meeting your grandmother and I am wearing house clothes."
He looked at her house clothes. A simple yellow dress and sandals.
"You look fine," he said.
"Emeka."
"She is seventy eight years old. She does not care about clothes."
"Every seventy eight year old grandmother in Nigeria cares about clothes. That is not a thing that exists. A grandmother who does not care about clothes."
Something flickered in his eyes. "Fair point."
"Who is she," Adaeze said. "Tell me about her. What does she like. What does she hate. What are the things I must not say."
He was quiet for a moment. She could see him deciding how much to give.
"Her name is Mama Dayo," he said. "She is my grandfather's wife. His widow now. She is the only person in my family I trust completely."
"Does she know about the arrangement."
A pause.
"She knows we married quickly," he said carefully. "She does not know the details."
Adaeze looked at him. "So we are performing."
"We are being discreet."
"That is the same thing."
He held her gaze. "Can you do it."
She thought about it honestly. She was a woman who had been protecting her mother from hard truths for eight months. She knew how to hold a face steady while everything inside was complicated.
"Yes," she said. "But you owe me more than two hours notice next time."
"Agreed."
She stood up and smoothed her yellow dress.
"Is there anything else I should know," she said.
He stood as well. Looked at her for a moment.
"She will ask you personal questions," he said. "She asks everyone personal questions. Do not be alarmed."
"What kind of personal questions."
"The kind grandmothers ask."
"That is not helpful Emeka."
"She will ask if you love him," he said. Meaning himself. Said with the complete detachment of a man discussing weather forecasts.
The garden was very quiet suddenly.
"And what should I say," Adaeze said carefully.
He looked at her steadily. "Whatever feels true enough to say out loud."
She did not know what to do with that answer.
She went upstairs to change her clothes.
Mama Dayo arrived at exactly noon.
She was a small woman. Barely five feet tall. White hair cut close to her head. A deep purple boubou with gold embroidery. Reading glasses pushed up on her forehead. The kind of woman who had clearly been beautiful her whole life and had simply transitioned into being magnificent instead.
She walked into the house and Emeka went to her immediately. Something happened to him when he saw her. He became less careful. Less armored. He bent down and she held his face in both her small hands and looked at him the way only grandmothers look at people.
"Too thin," she said. "You are still not eating."
"I eat Mama Dayo."
"Mrs Fashola told me." She released his face. Turned.
And found Adaeze standing in the doorway
The old woman was still for a moment. Her sharp eyes moved across Adaeze with the thoroughness of someone who had spent seven decades reading
- Writer
