Chapter Forty-One
After they were done buying all they needed from the market, both the sewing materials and cooking items, Michael carried the heavy bags as they returned to the car.
Like earlier in the day, Amara had gone back to being quiet, and as Michael drove away from the market area, he glanced at Amara, wondering what she was thinking.
He could tell that his behavior towards her seemed to be confusing her, but it didn't make sense either that he'd just tell her that God said she was his wife.
It was best that they got to know each other slowly, and he let his actions speak before he made his intentions known to her.
He was a pastor and couldn't do so directly anyway. The church had protocols for workers regarding relationships and courtship. The senior pastor was supposed to talk to Amara and ask her to pray about it.
Michael glanced at her again. He had been driving for a while, and she still hadn't said a word since they left the market. She just sat there, still.
He didn't say anything. He let her be.
Amara sat with her hands on her lap, staring out of the window. Her lips were pressed together, and her eyes looked far away, like she was lost in her thoughts.
Why did he buy her all those clothes? What did he want from her? What did he mean by "understand everything"? Why did he keep looking at me like he knew something she didn't know?
She stole a glance at him.
He looked relaxed, like he didn't have a care in the world.
What was he thinking about now? Was he thinking about her too? She wondered.
Suddenly, Michael broke the silence.
"It was fun," he said, his voice calm.
Amara turned to look at him. "At the market?"
"Yes. I'm glad I tagged along."
She raised her brow. "What was there to enjoy?"
Michael chuckled. "Everything. I liked watching you haggle prices with those women. You sounded like those typical African mothers."
"A typical African mother would have bought those things for half the price I bought them. And I would have bought them cheaper if you weren't cringing every time as if you were ashamed of the price I was calling," she said, and Michael laughed.
"If you go to the mall or a supermarket to buy things you don't price. Why do you price so much at the market? Those people are struggling to survive…"
"Did you see me go to the mall or supermarket? I went to the market. We are all struggling to survive. Because of you now whenever I go to patronize them, they will be using big woman eye to look at me," she said grudgingly.
"Because of the way everyone assumed we were a couple?" he asked, laughing.
Amara sighed. "Yeah. I kept having to explain that we're not a couple."
Michael laughed. "And then they assumed I was your toaster and asked you to give me a chance."
"It wasn't funny. That was a bit embarrassing."
"It was funny to me. And you were the one explaining when nobody asked you. You should have left them with their thoughts."
Amara paused. "Doesn't it bother you that people think things about you that are not true?"
Michael shook his head. "No. People will always think something. You can't stop them."
She didn't reply.
The rest of the drive was quiet again, but it wasn't uncomfortable.
When they got to the pharmacy, Michael parked and came down to help her with the bags. She tried to carry them herself upstairs, but he insisted.
"I've got it," he said.
Amara went ahead of him with the shopping bags so she could unlock her door, while Michael followed behind with some of the bags from the market.
Michael tried not to look at her backside as he followed her. He quoted Job 31:1 over and over again and looked at everywhere else but at Amara.
As Amara opened the padlock, Michael set down the bag and went to bring up the rest. By the time he got back, she'd taken the other ones inside.
"Thank you… for everything," she said as she took the remaining bags from him.
Michael looked into her eyes. "Don't overthink it, Amara. Just relax."
"Don't overthink what?"
"All of this," he said, gesturing between them.
"I didn't say I was thinking anything…"
"We both know you are. There's a process to everything. Enjoy the process."
A process to what? Why was he speaking in riddles now? Oh, Chim.
She gave a slow nod. "Okay." She didn't understand, but okay.
Michael smiled and turned away.
Amara entered the house and closed the door gently. Her heart felt funny. Not in a bad or sad way. Just funny.
Although she was eager to try on the clothes they'd gotten, she decided they could wait when she looked at the clock and saw it was almost 3 p.m.
She had Jollof rice to cook.
She changed her clothes, put on her hair bonnet, and started preparing the meal.
As she cooked, she kept replaying her conversations with Michael in her head. What did he mean by 'enjoy the process'?
She left the food and went to pick up her phone to ask Meta AI. She rolled her eyes as she read through its responses.
"This one doesn't even know anything. Just typing rubbish," Amara hissed as she threw down her phone on the bed in frustration and returned to the kitchen to check the food.
She looked into the pot, and her eyes widened. She had added too much water, and now the rice was too soft.
She poked it with the spoon. The bottom was already starting to burn. 'No… no no no…'
She looked again. The water was really too much.
She used the spoon to scoop out some and tasted it. 'Ah! My village people done finally catch me!' She cried out loud.
Not only was it soft, but it was also a bit salty, and some parts of it were not even done.
She panicked.
She turned off the gas and covered the pot, her heart racing.
"What do I do?" she whispered, pacing the kitchen.
She opened the pot again. The rice was still soggy.
She wanted to cry.
She sat on the plastic chair in the parlor and covered her face.
'Should I throw it away and tell Michael that it poured while I was taking it down from the gas?' She asked herself, and then shook her head.
'Michael spent money on this—plenty of money. I can't throw it away. God, please help me. Help me. Don't let me disgrace myself today.'
She imagined Michael's face when he tasted the food. She winced and stood up.
She returned to the kitchen and lifted the pot lid again. "Jesus! Am I dreaming?"
She covered it, went to her room, and picked up her phone. She opened her browser and typed, "How to fix soggy, salty Jollof rice."
She clicked on different links.
One said: "Put bread in it to soak the water."
Another said: "Put it in the oven."
She looked at her small gas cooker and shook her head.
She felt tears sting her eyes.
She was startled when her phone suddenly rang, and when she looked at the screen and saw Michael's name, her heart nearly flew out of her chest.
She threw the phone down on the bed and didn't answer.
She looked at the phone as it started ringing again.
Still, she didn't answer.
'What do I tell him? That the rice is a disaster? Jesus help me!'
The phone rang again. Then stopped. Then rang again.
Not up to five minutes later, she heard a knock outside her door.
She tiptoed to the door and peeked out through the small curtain.
Her breath caught when she saw Michael standing outside the protector.
His face was serious. He was frowning.
She bit her nail as she thought of just ignoring him. Let him assume she had gone out or something.
But she opened the door slowly when he continued to knock and call out her name.
He looked at her through the metal gate. "Are you okay?" he asked, looking at her with concern.
She nodded quickly. "Yes… I… I was just…"
"Why didn't you take my calls? Was your phone on silent?" He asked, watching her and wondering why she looked so distressed.
"No. I was just…" she looked down at her feet. "Busy."
Michael looked at her face. "Are you sure you're okay?"
She bit her lip and nodded again, but her eyes were glassy.
"Did something happen?" Michael stepped closer to the gate. "Amara. Open the door."
She swallowed and reached for the key. Maybe it was best to let him come in and see for himself. That way, she wouldn't have to dish out this disaster.
Why didn't she even text him and tell him the food was a disaster, and save herself from looking into his face? After all the mouth she had made.
She unlocked the protector and stepped back. Michael stepped in slowly, and she walked ahead of him into the house.
"The house smells nice. It's like you're done cooking."
And that was when the tears fell. She covered her face and cried.