In the elevator, my limbs began to shake. I crossed my arms and the trembling moved to my lips. I’d always thought myself so savvy and grown, smoking in Leila’s basement, kissing boys in hidden corners, maneuvering my mother with my smart mouth. I’d never felt as much of a child as I did just now.
The elevator opened. A small crowd had gathered in the lobby. Chinyere wasn’t among them. As I walked outside, a few photographers mobbed me, waving blurry photos of Chinyere and me that we hadn’t posed for. I went over to where we had parked and made two turns around the small lot before realizing that no, I hadn’t gotten the spot wrong; the car was gone. Chinyere had left me.
Panic billowed in my belly as I walked back to the event center. Inside, I stopped a young woman in usher red and asked if she had a phone I could borrow. At her cagey expression, I explained my predicament (stranded) without going into the why of it (I’m a walking disaster), and between my American accent and my panic, she must have believed me. She looked to the right and left, then pulled a small phone from her bodice. It wasn’t until I had it in my hand that I realized I didn’t have any Nigerian numbers memorized. Shit. I dialed my number, hoping Chinyere would answer, but it rang and rang until I was listening to my voice mail asking me to leave a message. I took a deep breath and texted.
Chinyere, it’s Ada, please call this number right away, please, I’m so sorry.
I hit send, then remembered what Chinyere would see if she checked more of the messages—My cousin is a bitch and worse—and began to cry.
The usher had returned to her duties but stayed close enough that she could keep an eye on me. I turned away, embarrassed at my sniffling, and leaned on a decorative pillar, my back to the lobby. Then I dialed Leila, who always knew what to do.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me, I’m such an idiot; I really fucked up.”
“What did you do now?”
I was only a quarter of the way through the condensed version when the phone beeped, then cut off, all the credit used up. The usher, who had been waiting to catch my eye, approached me, smiling softly.
“Did you reach your cousin?”
“Yes,” I said, resisting the urge to drag her into the orbit of drama that revolved around me. I handed her the phone, relieved when she slipped it into the front of her dress without seeing the out-of-credit text that had no doubt come through.
I must have looked as awkward as I felt, unmoored, the pillar my only companion, because I kept drawing stares. After a third man nodded and lifted his glass to me, I realized they thought I was a high-class runs girl scoping out her market. I began to see most of the gawking for what it was. This is a children’s fund-raiser, their looks said, couldn’t this ashewo find somewhere else to lift her skirt?
I went back outside and stood at the lip of the entrance, just off to the right. Chinyere would come back for me, she wouldn’t risk being buried under the avalanche of shit that would shake loose for stranding her visiting cousin in the middle of the night with no way to get home.
The air was muggy and soon a fine dampness settled on my skin. I was partially hidden by a large potted palm, but the electric blue of my dress drew every exiting eye in my direction. Most gave me quick glances before turning to more pressing matters, like studiously ignoring the pushy photographers. But some lingered, and a kindly woman even asked if everything was all right, to which I responded yes, my cousin is coming to get me.
Idleness did what it always did, and I found myself unable to ignore the disquieting information the night had brought me. I’d always believed that any secrets between my mother and me were mostly mine, indiscretions I might confess long after they lost the power to draw her ire. She had always avoided talk of what happened after my father’s death and faked cheeriness during what must have been a tumultuous legal battle. What else didn’t I know?
The hour grew late and the mad rush of departing guests began to peter out. Even an usher or two had left. I was about to make my way to the parking lot again—maybe Chinyere had returned—when someone tapped my shoulder. It was Chi-Chi’s antagonist. She held up one finger to hold off words while she completed a message on her BlackBerry, then looked up.
“You have been standing here all night. Where is Chi-Chi? Don’t tell me that girl left you.”
I didn’t want to hand this woman any more ammunition, but I was also tired, and the long night of rude stares had eaten up a lot of my guilt.
“My driver is coming around, I will take you to your auntie’s house.”
I didn’t dare turn down the offer at this late hour. Besides, it would serve Chinyere right to return and not find me. I followed the woman to the edge of the red carpet, where a gleaming black Range Rover pulled up. A young man stepped out and opened the back door. The woman settled in, then pulled out a bottle of water and sucked at it, the plastic crackling.
She gave the driver directions, which I tried to memorize just in case. Then she watched me till I started to fidget. The wine must not have passed out of my system because I couldn’t help myself.
“What?” I said rudely. My mother would have slapped my mouth.
“You look just like him. I didn’t see it before, but you do,” she said, opening a small tin of Vaseline and moistened her lips. “We were supposed to be married, you know.”
My father, a man I had never really thought about, at least not in this way. A man with a past.
“You could easily have been my child. I don’t have any girls.”
She looked me up and down, lingering at my shoes.
“Your dress is nice.”
“My mother picked it.”
I hoped the response would hurt her. Instead she laughed.
“You are very clever. You get that from him, too.”
She began to ask me questions typical of adults when they’re trying to be polite. How is school? Are you enjoying your trip? How long are you here for? She followed up with talk of her sons—one my age, two younger. She didn’t mention Chinyere. I relaxed, surprised to find myself liking her, this woman who had been my enemy short minutes ago.
It was not long before we pulled up to my aunt’s gate. As we waited for the maiguard, she took my chin in her hand and studied my face.
“You are everything I would have expected his child to be.”
I wavered between being flattered and being aware that this styled, polished girl was not really me.
“Thank you.”
Then the maiguard opened the gate, and we drove through.
Auntie Ugo was on the front steps, dressed in a wrapper and head scarf. No doubt she thought it must be Chinyere and me returning for the night.
I expected their encounter to be hostile and it was, but in a different way than I anticipated. My aunt was deferential, calling the woman “ma,” while the woman called her Ugo and answered her chattiness with as few words as possible. It was clear she just wanted to leave.
She soon did and Auntie Ugo changed back to her irritated self the moment the gates closed.
“Where is Chinyere?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does this girl have your phone?”
I nodded.
I expected her to start shouting but she remained calm, putting her cell phone to her ear as she walked into the house.
“Chinyere, my dear, how are you? Are you enjoying yourself?” Her sugary tone should have set off Chinyere’s warning bells but I could hear my cousin chattering on the other end.
“And Cousin Ada, is she well?”
More chattering.
“Let me talk to her.”
I opened my mouth to say something but my aunt held up her finger and gave me a look of such fury that I shut up.
“Oh, she’s in the bathroom? Well, she won’t be long I’m sure, I can wait on the line.”
More chattering as Chinyere dug a hole deep enough to be buried in.