IT WAS AN INTERNATIONAL CALL BUT SHE KNEW IT WASN’T FROM CAMEROON because the first three digits on her caller ID weren’t 237. For a moment she considered picking it up, but she and the children were running late for Olu’s mother-in-law’s seventieth birthday party in Flatbush, so she ignored the call and the voicemail notification. She threw the phone into her purse, hoping she would get a chance to check the message on her way to the party, but Olu’s sister, who was giving them a ride, chatted nonstop about the five-hundred-guest wedding she and her fiancé were planning in Lagos in December. It will be beyond fantastic, oh, the woman said at least five times, to which Neni was tempted to say, yes, enjoy the fantastic wedding because when the dancing is over and it’s time to get to the business of being married, you will forget the definition of fantastic. But she didn’t need to say it—the woman would find out soon enough; she merely listened and nodded as if she cared. It was only the next morning, after a seemingly endless night of dancing to hits by musicians from Fela to P-Square with a roomful of Yoruba women in the most elaborate gele styles she’d ever seen, that she thought about the voicemail and drowsily reached over a worn-out Jende to get her phone.
Hey, Neni, it’s Vince, the caller said. Hey, how are you guys? Hope everyone’s doing great. I know, you’re probably surprised to hear from me, but don’t panic, it’s all good. I’m doing good; great, actually. Just calling because I have a quick question for you. Actually, something I’d like to discuss with you. I wouldn’t wanna be a pain ’cause I know it’s a major imposition, but … you think you could call me back when you get this message? You could just call me for a second, let me know you’re free and I’ll call you right back. I wouldn’t want you to spend your money calling me in India but if you could get in touch, I’d appreciate it. Okay, peace and love to my man Jende, and to Liomi. Thanks and … well, hope we can talk soon. It’s Vince Edwards, by the way. Ha, ha. Just in case you know a couple of Vinces in India. Namaste.
She saved the voicemail and lay back on the bed. Outside, two men shouted at each other in drunken voices; beside her Jende snored befittingly for a man who had just finished a sixteen-hour shift at work. She closed her eyes, trying to resume her sleep, but Jende’s snoring and the pile of laundry on the floor and Vince’s out-of-the-blue voicemail had all combined to wipe off the last drop of sleep left in her eyes, so she climbed over Timba and Jende and went to the living room. There was only one thing Vince would want to know from her, she thought as she listened to the voicemail again: what had transpired between her and his mother. Anna must have told him. He must have been perplexed that someone he’d thought was a good person wasn’t such a good person after all. He must have told himself he needed to know the truth, since he was all about Truth. If we do not live in Truth, he always said, we do not live. Good thing she had a phone card. She was going to call him, and if he really wanted to hear her side of the story, she was going to tell him.
“Wow, I wasn’t sure you were going to call me back,” Vince said delightedly when he picked up the phone.
“Why would I not call you back?”
“I don’t know, everyone’s got so much going on you can’t expect them to return your calls just because you ask them to.”
“I’m not like everyone.”
“No, you’re not, Neni. No one is like everyone, and you haven’t changed a bit,” Vince said with a laugh. “How are you guys? How’s Jende, and Liomi? You’ve got a new baby, right?”
“Everyone is fine. How are Mighty and your dad?”
They were doing well, Vince told her, though he was a bit concerned about them now that it was just the two of them at home. Neni nodded as he spoke, but she said nothing. She was interested in knowing how the Edwards family was doing, though not at the expense of immediately learning the reason for Vince’s call. With any other person, she would have asked within thirty seconds because she hated being kept in suspense by unexpected callers—especially if she suspected the call might be about a matter that would make for an uncomfortable conversation—but with Vince that morning, she had to be kinder and gentler. So she started asking him question after question, and, seemingly eager to share, he proceeded to tell her far more than she thought she needed to know, all while leaving her wondering the reason for his call.
His dad was doing pretty well, he told her, but he’d become such a worrier ever since his wife died. He couldn’t stop checking in on everyone all the time. He called his parents at least three times a week, far more than the weekly calls they’d become accustomed to. He emailed Vince at least every other day, to learn about the latest places Vince had visited and to make sure he hadn’t run out of money. He called multiple times a day to check on Mighty, though Anna and Stacy and the part-time chauffeur repeatedly assured him that Mighty was fine and promised him that nothing bad was going to happen on their watch.
“It’s hard as a parent not to think about your child all the time,” Neni said.
Sure, Vince said, but it was really strange how his dad had suddenly become a man who made his life revolve around family. It would even be funny if it wasn’t so sad. He appeared to hold nothing dearer than Mighty’s well-being, rescheduling meetings to attend Mighty’s hockey practices, turning down invitations to parties and dinners so he could stay home and play video games with Mighty, writing poems for Mighty while the boy slept.
“I called him the other day and he’s coming back from taking a cooking class,” Vince said with a laugh. “He wants to learn how to cook the meals my mom used to make for Mighty.”
“I’m so happy to hear this, for Mighty’s sake,” Neni said. “I’m sure you know more than me, but that child wanted nothing more than to spend time with his father.”
“Yeah, I’m glad for Mighty. But it’s pretty sad whenever I talk to my dad about his day … he seems to be learning quickly and holding it together well, but the Universe has thrown him this heavy curveball, and he’s struggling to carry it and walk on his path. And at his age, he still hasn’t figured out his path, which is what happens when you go off pursuing illusions.”
“For a man to raise a child alone, it’s not easy. Us women, it’s in our blood.”
“It’s definitely not in his blood, I’ll tell you that. But I’m proud of him, how he’s coping and doing his best.”
“You should tell him that, Vince. It will make him happy. What would make a parent happier than to hear their child say ‘I’m proud of you’?”
“I’ve told him how grateful I am that Mighty’s doing well, and it’s all thanks to him.”
Neni nodded but said nothing.
“It’s going to be a long road for him,” Vince continued, “but he seems to have learned the importance of balance and recognizing that—”
“But Mighty,” Neni said, “he must still be struggling to understand.”
“Yeah. The good days are good, and once in a while he has a bad day when he doesn’t want to do anything and poor Dad has no clue what to do. But overall, I’ll say he’s much happier than I thought he would be, and he gets to have something I never had. I was very worried for him when I left after the funeral.”
“You left right after the funeral?”
“No, I stayed for over a month, but when I came back here I thought about returning home a lot.”
“You? Returning? Don’t you hate America?”
Vince laughed. “I don’t love America,” he said, “but my family’s there, so I have to find a way to at least be able to stomach it.”
“I still don’t understand what is hard for you to stomach.”
“All the bullshit the masses are blind to … so much mindlessness. People sit on their couches and watch garbage interrupted by messages to buy garbage which will create a desire for more garbage. They go to their computers and order from incredibly horrible corporations that are enslaving their fellow humans and pretty much destroying any chance of children growing up in a world where they can be truly free. But hey, we have our material comforts and we’re saving money and corporations are creating sixty-hour-a-week jobs with sick leave so what does it matter if we’re complicit? Let’s just carry on with our lives while our country continues to commit atrocities all over the world.”
“You want to give me your American citizenship and take my Cameroonian citizenship?” Neni said, laughing.
Vince did not laugh. “Anyway,” he said, “now that Mighty and my dad are mostly okay I’m probably never coming back for good. Maybe I’ll visit once a year, I don’t know.”
“Once or twice a year will be good for all of you.”
“Maybe. I had a really hard time saying goodbye to them after the funeral.”
“I cannot even imagine,” Neni said. “I am so sorry about everything that happened, Vince. Truly sorry. I wanted to email to tell you that the news made me very sad, but … I couldn’t even—”