by Karen Botha
“These dates are ours, Zac. I’m not saying we won’t answer a call here and there. Sure we will. If something kicks off, then we must both be accessible. But, note the phrase, ‘here and there,’ we are together; this is our time. You have to agree to this otherwise we don’t stand a chance.” I'm using my hands to reiterate my point. He has to understand, because this is really important.
“Whoa, I’m whipped within a week.” He holds out both hands asking for mercy.
“Oi, I’m serious. What other way do you see us working?”
I wait, resisting the urge to tap my foot.
He takes so long to reply that doubt nibbles at my confidence. “Sure, you’re right. I can make this work.”
“Phew, glad we got that figured out. You were starting to worry me.” I eye him with concern. The grin he flashes me lights up his dark eyes which swim with love and kindness once again. Their warmth melts my fears.
“I had to be certain. I can’t commit to a relationship now and then change my mind. I’ve already gotten that loud and clear from you. I just had to be certain I could manage to deliver that’s all.” He leans forward and pecks the end of my nose. It’s such a small gesture, but one of love.
In this moment where he commits to us spending a few days of the year together, he’s prioritizing me over everything else in his hectic life. And so, this is the date when he earns my respect.
This isn’t about us falling in love; that has already happened.
But, respect in so many ways is more important than what comes easily.
It takes effort to see who we each are and explain our perspectives with a compassion and seriousness, while listening without judgment to theirs. This is why, getting to know him while missing the full picture, wasn’t working. But now, in that one empathic kiss of my nose, we have a foundation for trust. And that is the true building block for real, not passing, love.
“Now, can we go out? I don’t enjoy enough days in this brilliant city,” he says. And so, as with all things in this life, men and women are thinking entirely different thoughts, at precisely the same time. The moment is broken.
Zac
As I’m the one who is eager to get out and about, she gives me the option to choose where we go. “As it’s our first day, I’ll let you decide. Don’t expect that to happen all the time though.” She winks and gives me a light nudge.
Our first date? I suppose it truly is our first formal date, but so much has happened, I feel as though we’re far past this point in our relationship. It puts the pressure on though. I was thinking we could perhaps head out to Soho and sit in a bar watching the world go by while ordering snacks to soak up the alcohol. It seems that’s not going to fly.
Shit! Why do the men always get the hard jobs? A nice easy day has already switched up into a chore.
I have an urge to suggest the zoo, but if I can swing our South Africa trip, then a safari will be so much cooler. We could go and picnic in Hyde Park, but we’ve done loads of that when we were away. It could be a nice way to show her I’m still the same Zac she met out there though.
Theater? That’s always a great standby, especially in London, except that the weather is glorious and I don’t want to be stuck inside.
Got it.
“Right, come on then. I have the perfect plan. You need comfortable shoes and outfit.” I don’t mention that while I love my women to look good, I’m all about the natural girl next door, and I’d much rather she have fun because she’s wearing flats, than elegant and moaning because her footwear is wrong. There’s nothing worse than going to a boat load of trouble for someone, only to have it cut short because of a wardrobe malfunction.
“I love Borough Market,” she says as we hop out of the black cab.
I grab her hand, eager to weave through the throngs of tourists and locals to show her my favorite cheese stall. The smells are amazing. I turn my head one way and enjoy the waft of a charcoal BBQ; the other and the smells of the freshest fruits invade my nostrils. Both are delicious and my mouth salivates at their temptations. But they're not what I'm looking for.
“Try this.” I hand her a pot of truffle infused honey as soon as we arrive at my favorite cheese stall. She pastes it onto a tiny stick of bread.
“It’s amazing on cheese,” the stall owner says, grinning at my enthusiasm for his home made delicacy.
“Oh, my goodness, it’s incredible,” she says, running her tongue over her teeth.
We buy two jars and head off past a stall stacked high with all varieties of fresh flowers to purchase cheeses.
Lots of cheeses.
We stop at the Caerphilly stall which specializes only in British cheese, at the one stacked double head height with rounds of some kind of edam lookalike, and then at the little old lady who has been there for years. She's always in the same place.
"Hello, my dear," she croaks. "What can I get you today?" She hands Jessie a small square of a blue veined variety skewered onto her sharp knife.
"Ooh." Jessie is seriously like a child in a candy store, tasting as much as is offered. We go through five options and buy a healthy wedge of each.
By the time we’ve finished, I’m carting around seven paper carrier bags, each stuffed with different varieties of cheese from local producers.
“I can’t believe I’ve found someone else who adores this as much as I do.” I hold up the bags so she can see.
She giggles, and my heart expands another inch as she claims another piece as her own. “We’ve bought way more than is healthy for two.” She rubs her tummy, laughing.
“Ha-ha, yeah. But, before we tuck in, I know the perfect stop off.”
Heading out onto the street section, we stop off at a bar come shop which only sells English wines.
“Really?” she asks, her eyes wide. “I’ve heard some pretty poor things about English wine.”
“Well, you were misinformed. There are some great vineyards making some light, easy drinking bottles very well.”
“We should sit then.” She plonks her bottom on the top of a high wooden chair which surrounds a barrel placed on its end.
We select our choices and wait in easy silence. When the glasses arrive, the tender places them on the upturned barrel and Jessie's hand automatically goes to the base of the stem, she starts to twizzle it, judging its legs.
I’m suddenly consumed by nerves, it should be natural to just place my hand over hers now and hold it, like we have been doing the entire time we’ve walked around this amazing organic food market.
But there was a bustle then to distract.
Now, it’s the two of us, I’m in awe. I really like this girl. She’s fun and sparky and although independent, she’s also willing to compromise to make a life with me work.
Am I up to the job? Will I let her down? I always have in the past so why should Jessie be any different?
As though she senses my internal dialog, she takes my hand in hers and laces her fingers with mine. Problem solved.
“Thank you. Today has been lovely. I’m looking forward to many more.” She lifts my hand to her lips.
Zac
By the time Jessie and I arrive back at my place, we’ve only been out a few hours, but it feels like it’s taken the entire day. Life passes so quickly when we’re together, but also so slowly. It’s as though we’ve been together a lifetime. The plane trip over to Elliott and Kyle’s wedding feels like an age ago, it’s hard to believe it was just under a week.
“I need to pop into the office tomorrow. They’re expecting me back and I have some clients I need to babysit. Are you OK with that? You can stay here,” I ask.
Another piece of cheese explodes in my mouth, accompanied by the perfect pickle combination.
“Sure. But I won’t stay. I’ll go home and sort out some bits there. We can meet when you finish up if you like?” She says.
And that’s how simple it was for us to get on with our lives as a couple. One day of negotiating in light of all the fact
s and then we pick it up and run.
The next week we head out on any number of dates although I’ve avoided impressing her by flashing my cash. Jessie is well acquainted with the high life through her work, and so is more appreciative of ideas which are quirky rather than costly.
She stayed here most nights, but now, it’s the end of her summer vacations and she is taking off tomorrow for Belgium.
“I’m not looking forward to you leaving.” I can’t believe I admitted that. If I’m honest, it’s been like a death row countdown waiting for her to take off. I will miss her.
“I was thinking...” She looks at me under her perfectly lined eyelids.
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t you come out for the race? I’ll be working for a lot of it, but you know Elliott and Kyle. Elliott is going even though he's not competing again yet. Kyle will be working of course, but now you know the rest of the crew it'll be good for them to see us still together. Start off on the right foot and everything.”
“What, are you saying I should come over and stake my claim?” I smile to soften the words, tip my head in a way which I hope is adorable, not threatening.
“Sure. Why not?”
Wow, I was not expecting her to come out with that. She’s full of surprises. “I don’t know. Let me check my schedule. You’re only in Belgium right?”
“Exactly, so it’s only a short hop over from here. It could be a great opportunity.” She grabs ahold of my top and drags me down until her lips hover over mine. “Plus, I’ve gotten quite used to having you around.” Her lips don’t move, and that spark which has drawn us together since we first me pulls me towards her and although we’ve kissed a million times since that first time, I still drown in the warmth which floods me when we connect. Our breath catches and all thoughts of co-ordinating diaries are forgotten as my tongue dips inside her mouth, gentle at first and then working into a heated frenzy as passion flares.
Jessie
Just as Zac is confirming whether he can come out and meet me in Belgium at any point over the few days while I’m there, his phone rings.
“Dad,” he says before falling quiet. We’ve not discussed our parents, preferring to spend all of our time immersed in each other for now. I get the impression from the way his tone rises up at the tail end of the word that he doesn’t hear from his father that often.
“OK, we’ll come over. Just wait. OK?” He hangs up. “I’m really sorry, but we need to leave. My dad is stuck at the hospital. They want to admit him, but he’s fighting with them. They’re threatening to commit him.”
OK, so this is a revelation. “Oh? So, what do you need to do?”
“I have to go and figure out what is going on. The hospital doesn’t try to admit people for fun over here. It’s not like the National Health Service is stretched, so I’ll probably have to talk some sense into him.”
He rushes off down the hallway and struggles to slip his feet in his athletic shoes.
“What’s wrong with him?” I say, waiting. Thankfully, I’m wearing flip flops.
“All manner of things. He’s never been well; that’s part of the reason he was so angry when I was growing up. And then as you get older, other pieces start to fall apart. He’s in a wheelchair now. He didn’t say why he was up there, actually. I should have asked.” He rubs his head over his dark hair and for the first time since I’ve seen him, he looks tired. The weight of his family is wearing him down more than two weeks’ worth of no sleep.
Of course we can’t find a cab. Even when Zac marches to the end of the street and stands on the corner, the roads are clear. “Typical.”
I keep my mouth shut, wondering why he is so wound up about someone who treated him so badly. But then, it’s not like I don’t care about my mother so, here we are. Doing our best by flawed parents.
Although the streets were empty when we needed to find a cab, as soon as we hop inside one, traffic appears from no-where. The journey takes double the time it should normally.
A good hour after receiving the call from his father, we locate and enter ward B which is where Zac’s dad’s is currently residing.
We hear him before we see him.
“That’s him.” Zac points to the ceiling, off which raised voices are bouncing.
Sure enough, when we get at his dad’s bedside, no amount of machines and drips can stop this thin, white haired man from trying to escape the confines of his bed. He’s putting up a good fight against three nurses who are doing battle with all manner of wayward limbs.
“Dad, what are you doing?”
“They’re trying to capture me.” His voice is strong, resilient. He is not someone to be messed with.
It does not look like that to me, but I keep my opinions to myself and smile at a nurse restraining his arm.
The old man has the same color skin as Zac, but somehow hospitals and illness have made it sallow. The trimmed, white beard on his face is indistinct against his skin. Although he’s a little man, his arms are strong and the nurses struggle to maintain control against a man fortified with passion, and perhaps a little fear.
“Let me go!” he shouts. “Zacharias! Tell them that they must release me.”
“Papa, I need to understand what is going on first. Can you stop struggling so they can speak with me?”
“Just tell them to release me. They have no rights.” This is when he first notices me.
On the journey over, Zac did fill me in on a few facts about his family and father in particular. “You should know before you arrive,” he said.
The crux of the issues is that his dad is devout where religion is concerned and will not approve of our mixed race relationship. I’m to take this with a grain of salt, because Zac will do as he always has, and please himself. He makes it clear that his life is his own to live as he chooses.
“If my family didn’t want me to be Westernized, they shouldn’t have brought me up in the UK,” he says. “I have respect for my family and their religion, but my life is different than theirs. It can never be the same; we have a different set of experiences and values.”
I’m assuming that should have prepared me for what is to come next as I hover out of the way, feeling like I’m intruding on a personal family moment.
“Who is this?” He points at me, bellowing at full volume. “Is she with you?” His eyes are wild as they search his son’s expression.
“Yes, it’s OK Dad, this is Jessie, she’s with me. She’s my girlfriend.”
“Get her out of here! She’s not family.” I do a double take.
“Excuse me?” I ask at the same time as Zac points one finger in his dad’s face.
“You stop that now if you want me to stay here and sort out your mess.”
His dad looks like he has more to say. His mouth moves, but the words don't come as he decides to keep any further abuse to himself.
Again, I kick myself. Sure, Zac has a different background, but it didn’t occur to me that this would cause issues for us.
But it could if Zac listens to his father’s opinions.
He's saying he won't, but despite their history, Zac dropped everything to be here when his father called. There's a bond there that perhaps Zac isn't even aware of. And that could be worrying. Parents have a funny way of controlling us when we don’t even realize we’re being controlled.
Zac
The worst of the shouting is over and Jessie has gone for some much needed bad coffee out of the vending machine. It’s too hot in the hospital, the heat is keeping both sick people and germs alive.
I’m using the opportunity to speak to my father about his super rude behavior toward Jessie. Even by my dad’s standards, that was way off the acceptability radar. He’s never been that rude to ‘outsiders,’ as he calls them before.
“Papa, what is wrong with you? Why were you so disrespectful to my girlfriend?” I ask him when I’ve managed to get him to calm down and allow the doctors to help him.
“Pah, she’s
only someone you are seeing at the moment, Zacharias, she’s not the woman you will marry. I know my son. You are just acting out.” He says it with such certainty, I could bop him. In all our years he still doesn’t know me.
“Papa, I’m 34 years old. I’m past acting out. I will marry whomever I choose. You have to appreciate that by now?” My voice is pleading. I want this to be easy for everyone. Why the hell not?
“What I understand is that underneath all of his Western ways, my Zacharias will come home. You are my son and you have the good values that I instilled in you.”
I sigh. My values came from my mother, a good woman with a heart of gold and who fought with every ounce of strength she possessed to make her own way independently of my father. It’s never easy to divorce, but for my mother to go against all of her family’s traditional principles in pursuit of a better life for us, and for her… well. That’s where my loyalties lie.
Rather than upset a sick man, who despite my best efforts, I still love, I keep my mouth clamped shut. And shake my head. “I’m disappointed in your behavior earlier Pa, you should apologize to Jessie. She came to the hospital when you were ill. She’s a good person.”
“I will not. I love you son and what I say is for your benefit. I will not have you following the path your mother led. I mean what I have told you in the past, Zacharias.”
“What is that father?” I know what is coming, but for some sick reason, I need to hear him say it again. Maybe I’m hoping that one day he will see my perspective enough to rethink the words when he has to speak them.
Today is not that day. “That you will be dead to me as my son if you do not marry the correct girl. I have given you your freedom, but the time is coming for you to stop this silliness and settle properly.”
I shake my head, the only indication that I’m grieving on the inside. I hide my feelings from the world, placing the mask of independence over it, but my father’s opinions of how I run my life hurt me to the core. It rips at my soul that he is more bothered about convention and ‘outsiders’ judgment of our lives than of his little boy’s happiness. And that of my mother. If it weren’t for my mother, I would feel so alone and I thank goodness I have inherited some of her inner strength because being my father’s son requires it.