“When I was four or five years old,” my fiancée Sophia says, her eyes gazing into the distance, “I’d seen more men enter and leave our door than the doorman at the Grand Regency.”
“What’s a grand regency?”
“It’s a fancy hotel, fool.”
I raise my hands. “Sorry I asked.”
“There was this particularly nice gentleman. Uncle, I called him. I called all of them uncle. Mother insisted that I do, but this one was special, you know?”
“He was your mum’s brother?”
“No, stupid!” She tosses up her arms. “Talking to you… It’s like talking to a rock. No, it’s worse. It’s like talking to a dumb rock. None of them was my relative, okay? They were mum’s boyfriends that she made me call uncle. Clued in now? Good.
“This one man was Uncle because he was nicest to me, treated me like a real person, you know? Not like an inconvenience in the way of whatever they were after. He always said hello to me, brought me nice gifts and never once did he leave without saying goodbye.”
“Sounds like a nice man.”
“Mother must’ve thought so, too. Sometimes she’d be gone for days on end, leaving me with one maid or another.”
“There were many of those, too?”
“They didn’t last long. Especially if mother felt any of her boyfriends even remotely gave the help a second glance. Once, mother had to go and we had no sitter. Uncle said he’d take care of me in the meantime.”
She smiles. “He was a widow raising two kids on his own, and his house was nice. It smelled of flowers and fresh bread. Soon, it became routine for me to go visit him, at times staying for two or even three days, having fun with kids almost my age. One day, he was supposed to pick me up for the weekend but cancelled at the last minute.”
“Your mother must’ve been devastated.”
“Not as much as I was. I took it very hard, pouting and throwing a tantrum. Mother took that to mean I didn’t enjoy spending time with her. That I’d rather gallivant off to a stranger’s house than be home with the woman responsible for my being alive. You know what she did?”
“Gave you a hiding? My mother would’ve laid it thick on my bottom. My house was a tantrum-free zone.”
She shakes her head. “I’d have taken a beating and forgotten about it in a day. Mother said, ‘If you don’t enjoy living with your mother, you might as well go live in an orphanage.’”
When I realise she’s not kidding, my jaw flops to my chest. “She said that?”
“She did one better. She pretended to get on the phone with the orphanage and arrange for them to come pick me up. Then, she packed my clothes in a small suitcase, threw me out of the house, and told me to wait for the orphanage bus at the gate.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I must have sat outside for hours, thinking a children’s home must be better than the Sunshine Motel that was my home. By evening, the bus hadn’t come. So mother came out, hefted the suitcase and hauled me in by my armpit. ‘You see?’ she told me. ‘You’re so bad even the orphanage doesn’t want you.’”
As she wipes a lone tear off her cheek, I put an arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, dear.”
Her eyes dig into mine. “She’s always ruined my life, Makini. And she’ll keep doing it. That’s why I can’t marry you. I can’t make you part of my misery.”
