The Double-Tap Accident

Chapter Thirty-Five: Imaginary Halo.

Chapter Thirty-Five: Imaginary Halo.

MY GRANDMOTHER HAS NEVER gotten along with my mom.

It was one of the many things that stayed constant in my life.

It didn't matter how many years have passed, how many events have occurred in our lives, she never liked her. Even when she had first met her before my parents had become romantically involved.

Despite the evident dislike, my father's mom always treated my sister as her own. That's another thing I loved about my family and it showed on Christmas. It showed since my grandmother, my aunts, uncles and adjacent family showed up on our doorstep two nights ago. Blood didn't unite us and that was never seen as a negative in the Okusanya household.

"Jaime, watch out!" One of my younger cousins yelled as three of them ran right by me chasing one another. I flattened myself to the wall, watching them breeze through, giggling and screaming as they burst through the kitchen door.

Oh, shit. I followed them past the door but didn't pay attention as they were scolded by one of my aunts to stop running. My focus on was my mom, a short beauty with deep brown skin, an afro high in the sky that was pushed back with a colourful scarf used as a headband. The nail of her thumb was being disintegrated by her teeth as we both stared at the cause of her anxiety, my grandmother.

Who was tasting the fried rice my mom had tasked herself with for dinner tonight. Oh, fuck. 

Our house was filled with aromas. I could see trays that held moi moi, chin chin, efo riro that I knew would be served with amala, jollof rice and more that I recognized and failed to. Some of the food was ordered but most of it was brought or made by my family members who were starting to bring everything out to the dining room. 

One of my uncles moved past me with a tray of scotched eggs, shooting me a smile as I quickly took one. Eventually, I had no choice but to look at my grandma and mom as my grandmother tasted the fried rice once again, her expression completely unreadable. Mom had moved onto her other thumbnail at this point.

The thing was that my mom could cook basic things. My father was the one who did most of the cooking in the house when we were living here. But she always tried to make traditional food that her parents didn't teach her. She tried. My sister and I would know. We've both gone through the number of changes she's made to different meals over the years.

She couldn't cook well. But she gave it her all every time. I think her reason for trying to cook traditional food was because she made sure that even though she wasn't born and raised in Nigeria, she wanted us to have a connection to it someway somehow. Thus, the family dinners. Thus, seeing our grandparents whenever we could even though grandma didn't like her. My mom's overall effort was something I'd like to think I shared with her.  

But now I sighed when grandma gave my mom a face filled with disapproval at her effort. She was quick to push her out of the kitchen before she completely took over. I discreetly followed my mom as she walked upstairs to her bedroom where my dad was sitting at the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone.

My father, a handsome man with dark brown skin rose to his 6-foot height. He was the spitting image of my late grandfather who I found myself missing the most today. But my dad's face was accompanied by a frown. He glanced at me before reaching her, holding onto her shoulders. "Emi, what's wrong?"

But the look on her face summed up everything. "I'll talk to her." He said, about to leave when she held him back.

"It's okay. She's trying to fix it instead. I'll never get it right anyway," The laugh she let out was pitiful. "It's been around 20 years. You'd think I'd get it right."