Reluctantly—because I must, because defying elders in my culture is highly frowned upon and basically a one-way ticket to hell—I obey. And when I see the man my uncle has dubbed my visitor and my mother has dubbed my future husband, I gasp.
Shit.
He walks forward and extends a hand to me. I look at that hand and then at him, clenching my jaw and fisting my hands, restraining myself from reacting.
He has a lot of nerve, showing up here.
The last time I saw him was the night he took my virginity. It was the last night of church camp. We were counselors, and after everyone had fallen asleep, we snuck out of our cabins. He was waiting for me at the rim of the woods, hiding behind a hefty tree. When he revealed himself, I jolted, and his lips came over mine before I could yelp.
“Shh,” he spoke into my mouth as he kissed me.
With a flashlight guiding our way, he led us farther into the woods. We stopped at a dome tent he had set up. Inside, he peeled off my clothes. His hands and lips touched every inch of my body.
“You okay?” he asked as he eased into me. When I nodded, we made love. He walked me back to my cabin after, and that was the last time I saw him.
I was nineteen at the time—naive, overly optimistic, and foolishly in love—and he broke my heart in the worst possible way. Because of him, I acquired insecurities I never had, and my memories of my first love, my first sexual encounter, were tainted. Elijah Osunde did all that. Now, six years later, he’s standing in front of me, holding out his hand for a handshake. A handshake.
“Azere,” he says. “How are you?”
“To be honest, I’ve had a pretty horrible day, and seeing you here confirms that there is a force in the universe who has dedicated this day to my personal torment.”
Efe releases a loud snort but settles when our mother fixates on her.
“Azere.” With just my name, my uncle discreetly warns me to behave. “Why don’t we give them a moment to get better acquainted?” He stands and makes an exit. Once in the dining room, he calls for my mother.
“Zere, you better behave.” Her warning is indiscreet. She hisses, grabs Efe’s arm, and marches off.
After my family leaves, I focus on the man in front of me. “What the hell are you doing here?” My voice is hushed, but the anger in it is knife-sharp.
“Azere. You look”—keen eyes move over my body—“amazing.”
“Answer the question, Elijah.”
“Your mom invited me. Our mothers are apparently friends. They thought we could—”
“They thought wrong.” They thought so wrong. “You need to leave, Elijah.”
“Your mom invited me to dinner,” he says. “Leaving is rude.”
“No, rude is taking my virginity and then going MIA. Remember that, Romeo?”
“But, Azere, I thought you understood why I had to leave.”
“The fact that you left isn’t the problem. The problem is how you left. How you left me.”
“Azere, I was twenty-three and very stupid.”
“And I was nineteen and very intolerant of stupidity. Six years later, nothing has changed. So please.” I press my eyes closed, forcing back tears on the verge of falling. “Leave, Elijah.” I look at him. “Just go.”
“Zere, I made a huge mistake. Okay? I didn’t handle the situation well. I wish I had.”
I wish he had too because up until that point, when he left and broke my heart, I envisioned a future with him. I envisioned eventually becoming his wife and the mother of his children, and he told me, on so many occasions, he envisioned the same. We were in love—a love that, in our youth, was consuming, obsessive, invigorating, ardent. And then he was gone along with the promise of our future.
“Azere, I want another chance.”
“Another chance?” I’m stunned. A mixture of chuckles and puffs surges from my mouth. “Another chance to do what?”
“To be us again—to be everything we were supposed to be.” He takes my hand in his, and I flinch before settling into the sweet familiar. “Zere, after all these years, there hasn’t been another girl who has come close to being everything you were to me. Everything you still are to me.”
It’s unfortunate that I can say the same. It’s unfortunate that I haven’t loved another man as fiercely as I loved him or met one worthy of envisioning a shared future with. It’s so very, very unfortunate.
“Azere, give me another chance. Please.”
“Elijah.” I pull my hand from his grip. “I can’t.”
“Just let me prove myself to you. I’m not the same person. I swear. Just look at me.”
Yeah, I’m looking and admiring just a little. With his swarthy complexion, he looks like a young Morris Chestnut. His shaved head is lined neat and sharp like the goatee framing his lips. He’s wearing a black suit with no tie. The first two buttons on the white oxford shirt are undone, revealing a hint of his firm chest. He’s more handsome than he was six years ago. If I didn’t have such a strong grip on my resentment, I would be tempted to accept his apology.
“Elijah.” I shake my head, rejecting any lustful thoughts that might compromise my good sense. “I need you to leave. Right now.”
“Come on, Azere.”
“Right now, Elijah. If you don’t, I’ll . . . I’ll . . . tell my mom.”
“Tell her what exactly?” He laughs, mocking my juvenile statement. “Your mom loves me. She already calls me her in-law.”
“Well, once she finds out you took my virginity at church camp, I’m sure her opinion of you will change. She’ll probably chase you out with a broom, or maybe she’ll grab the hot oil off the stove and aim for your head. And so you know, my mom’s aim is on point.”
“Zere, are you serious?”
I cross my arms over my chest, indicating I am indeed very freakin’ serious.
“Okay. Fine. You win.” He throws his hands up in surrender. “I’ll go. Just let me say goodbye.”
“There’s no need for that.” I usher him to the front door and anticipate his exit. “What are you waiting for?”
He holds the knob as if he doesn’t know how to work the damn thing. “Azere, I’m sorry. Really. I am.” There’s a hint of remorse in his eyes. “I hope one day you’ll forgive me. Good night.” Finally, he leaves.
When I slam the door, my mother steps out of the dining room. Efe follows her like a loyal dog.