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‘Kiki, you walked away from SoundSugar for a reason. Those reasons are valid. And if you wanted to still be working on the podcast, let’s face it, you would. You created it from yourbedroom.You don’t want to do it any more and that’s fine. Just think about yourself, OK? For once. I know what you sacrificed when I was in hospital. You looked after your sister, you pulled hours at the restaurant. Even now, you’re balancing working with Taré with shifts here.’ My mum gestures to the room we’re in, virtually unchanged throughout the duration of my life. Framed pictures of parties at Sákárà are on the wall, family functions, staff socials, baby pictures. It’s cosy,home.‘This place will always exist. What we did will always exist, because of you. The restaurant was important, but it’s OK to let go.’

My eyes begin to fill, frustratingly, and my voice creaks. ‘But everything’s changing, Ma. And I don’t know what I want to do next—’

My mum looks gently perplexed, and steps closer to me, wiping my tears with her thumb. ‘Yes, you do, Kiki-pops, because you’re doing it. You never choose the safe option, and it’s what I admire most about you. You, my daughter, are a risk taker when you know it’s the right thing. And that’s how you grow. When Malakai got the job in LA, you didn’t choose to break up because it would be easier. You said you would work through it.’

I blink. ‘But we did break up.’

My mother tilts her head to the side. ‘Are you being smart with me?’

‘No, I’m just saying that that’s truly an example of a risk that flopped, so I don’t see how it’s relev—’

My mum looks behind her, in wonderment, and back at me. ‘Is there a ghost in this room? Because it can’t be me you’re speaking to like that.’

I clear my throat, catching myself. ‘Sorry, Mummy. Um. You were saying?’

My mum continues. ‘My point is, you tried it because you believed in your relationship. Whether it worked or not is irrelevant.’

I pause as this thought percolates. In the many, many hours within which I emotionally juiced the situation with Malakai, I never once entertained the idea that the relationship was a success because it happened. That I believed in us enough to want to jump in, soul as my skin, for five years. That I had enough to believe in for five years. That I believed in us till the very last second. ‘Um,’ I venture cautiously, ‘I saw you talking to Malakai—’

My mother’s smile is small, etched with an arcane knowledge. ‘Yes. I was checking in, seeing how he is doing.’

This in itself doesn’t surprise me. I never told my parents the exact details of our break-up, and I never spoke ill of Malakai to them. For some reason, I couldn’t bear for them to think badly of him; it would have been almost as painful as the break-up itself. They loved him, and that was special to me. I couldn’t handle going through another, separate heartbreak.

‘It was nice to catch up,’ my mum continues. ‘He’s a good boy. So interesting that he came back so long before the wedding.’

‘Well, he had work to do here.’

‘Hmm. Well.’ My mum turns to fluff the cushions on the sofa. ‘He told me he actually didn’t get the job till he got here. You know, I’ve been talking to his mum—’

I sigh heavily. ‘Mum—’

My mother rolls her eyes. ‘Not everything is about you, Kikiola. We don’t talk about you children as a couple. We’re friends, I think of her as a dear sister, and I like to check in on her since. . .everything that’s happened.’ Her gaze flitters and she straightens. ‘She said that Malakai’s been a lot happier since he’s been here. Lighter. She said he’s been thinking of staying.’

I nod slowly, trying not to let this information settle within me, to scatter my belief that mine and Malakai’s proximity is finite. I need it to be true, because I am using all my strength to stopper a deluge of useless feelings being poured towards someone who has no need for them.

‘Well. Good for him.’

She stares at me for a moment, eyes twinkling, before she walks towards me. ‘You know, you’ve always had a sharp tongue. Even when you were a child. You never really hesitated in telling people what you really thought, but it’s the strangest thing. When it comes to your own hurt, you always used to keep quiet. I don’t know why. It’s like you don’t want to. . .inconvenience people. Maybe it’s our fault. You’re the eldest and we put so much on you to be responsible. You grew up around us working and I think. . .I think you always tried to not bein the way. One time– I think you were about five? You were at a birthday party playing musical chairs, and a girl accidentally stepped on your foot–you were wearing sandals. You didn’t say anything. You went into a corner. Your little lip was just shaking, face all scrunched up.’ My mum mimics an approximation of my expression before her face melts into a laugh. She cups my cheek. ‘The other girls at the party thought you were being stuck up, that you didn’t want to play with them any more. I came to ask you what’s wrong, and eventually you told me, breaking down in tears. Õ ké! I asked you why you didn’t want to tell me before. You said you didn’t want to spoil the party, but, my love, no one knew why you were upset because you didn’t say anything. The girl didn’t know she’d hurt you, and thought you just didn’t like her. And really you could have enjoyed the party if you had spoken to the girl and given her a chance to say sorry. Which she did, after I brought you two together to talk it out, but it scared me, Kiki. It scared me because I realised you’re someone who can hold on to your hurt and hurt yourself more in the process. And I’m sorry if you’ve felt that you couldn’tsharethings with us because you didn’t want to stress us, but I want you to know that your pain is never a burden.’

I can feel my eyes glimmering, my breath getting shallower. I’m wholly unprepared for this impromptu therapy session with my mother.

‘Mummy, you guys were amazi—’

My mum shakes her head firmly, her expression as serene as ever. ‘Let me finish. You don’t have to console me. That is not your job. I know what I could have done better. Now, Kiki, you’re so smart. And I know you’re smart with who you choose to bless your love with. Aside from Bakari. That one I’m not so sure about. Did I hear that he was outside wearingleather trousers? Why? How can he withstand that much leg humidity? Anyway, my point is, you should be able to trust your instincts enough to trust whoever you love to understand your pain and not see it as a weight. Because you do that for other people. There is no virtue in tucking in your hurt. You don’t get a medal for it, my darling. You just get morehurt. And after a while you will have to take accountability for that hurt. It isn’t on anyone else.’

I bite my lip. ‘Mum. . .mine and Malakai’s issues were. . .complicated. So much happened—’

My mother is unmoved by this. ‘I’m sure. So much happens in life. We grow, and that’s OK. This isn’t about you people getting back together. I just want you to be happy. My own thing is I don’t want you to have any regrets. Just make sure you say everything you can say while you can say it. Respect yourself enough to do that. That’s allI’msaying.’ I’m pretty sure I’m making the same face I did when I was five at that birthday party. I press my lips together in attempt to keep the emotions in. Relief. Gratitude.Love. My dad may be the diva, but my mother will always be the astute queen, reserved, but never in the background, all-seeing, all-knowing. I nod. ‘Noted. Thank you, Mama.’

She rubs my arms and gently tugs on my ear. ‘P?l?,?k?mi. No more sad face,?o gb?? Now let’s go and remove that microphone from your father’s possession. I think Taré is being polite.’

As we walk out into the din of the dining room, my mum makes a beeline for my father. I recognise a boom of a voice that immediately delights me; the tenor brings memories of university, simpler times, a home away from home. Just as my eyes skit across the room, I’m enveloped by a huge bear hug, a pair of arms lifting me up off the ground with an exclamation of, ‘Ah, ah, Kikiola! Total wealth! Babygirl!’

I immediately hug back tighter, delighted, before Meji puts me back down on the ground and twirls me under his arms. ‘Wow. Look at her! Glowing.’

I laugh as I do the royal wave, and prop my hand flat under my chin, batting my lashes. ‘I’ve been up since 5 a.m., but I’ve always missed how you stay lying to me. When I used to come to Sweetest Ting looking like a feral cat during exam season you used to call me Nefertiti.’

Meji, looking ever the prince himself, handsome with high cheekbones, wise eyes that tilt heavy with knowledge and play, and a smart grey kaftan, bows to me. ‘And that you were. I still don’t know what juju this one used to bag you,’ he says, turning to greet Malakai with a large hug, a dap and several pats on his back. He teases Malakai with a massive kiss on the cheek that Malakai playfully pushes off.