by Jewel Daniel
"Fake hair, fake eyes, what else is fake?" he teased.
"My boobs are real," she responded sarcastically and immediately regretted it.
He smiled playfully and whispered in her ear, "How do I know for sure?"
"You won't."
He stood behind her and removed the ponytail from her hair trying not to mess up her natural hair beneath it. Her naturally wavy brown hair was soft and silky beneath his touch. Kwabena couldn't resist running his hand through it. He then tried yanking the zipper downward. "You have a pair of scissors?"
She pointed to the dresser. He cut the hair and tried yanking the zipper up. It wouldn't budge. "I have to unzip it," he said.
Tamara sighed. The thought of him peering at her naked back was unnerving. Slowly he eased the zipper down to the waist until the last strands of hair fell out. He observed her light brown soft skin beneath the dress and had to fight the urge to caress her. He pulled up the zipper.
"You're not wearing a bra," he observed.
Tamara blushed. "T... the dress has cups," she stammered. "But that's not your concern."
"Really? We're married, remember. Most married men see, feel and taste their wife's breasts."
Tamara looked up at him. From the twinkle in his eyes she could see he was teasing, but she had no intention of falling unguarded into his trap.
"Our relationship is not like that."
"Not yet," he whispered, letting his lips brush her ear lightly. Just that small gesture made her heart beat frantically and turned her face and neck red. Her hands shook as she replaced the hairpiece. "By the way, do you realize that in Ghana, red is a color of mourning?"
"Well it just happens to be my favorite color," Tamara replied defiantly. She had no intentions of changing the dress.
"You look very beautiful in that color," he said as she donned a bolero jacket over her dress. "And for the record, I prefer your natural eyes and your natural hair."
She smiled at him. "I can't see without my contacts."
"I still prefer to see your own beautiful eyes."
Tamara was in for a few surprises at the wedding. First off, Kwabena never told her he was a part of the wedding party. At the church Tamara found a seat in the second pew. A few minutes later, a tall, stately looking woman in pink and gold traditional African dress with a large scarf around her waist and hips, and a matching head dress sat next to her.
The woman looked at her and smiled and immediately began talking in a deep Ghanaian accent. Though she spoke very fluent English and it was obvious that she was well traveled, Tamara had difficulty understanding her. In time, it was obvious that this woman was the mother of the bride and she was brimming with pride. Tamara learned that the marriage was arranged, and though her daughter was resistant at first, she'd finally come around. She learned that this woman, who introduced herself as Akwape, had tried unsuccessfully to arrange a marriage for her very picky thirty-oneyear-old son. No woman was good enough. She'd almost given up hope of grandchildren from him and so had focused on getting her twenty-three-year-old daughter married. From the initial contact by the groom's important maternal uncle to the wedding took over a year and multiple feasts and ceremonies.
To be polite Tamara asked, "Are they your only kids?"
"Unfortunately, yes. I wanted more children, but my husband traveled so much and we lived in all kinds of countries, it was not feasible. You see, my husband was the ambassador to the United Nations. If I have to count the countries where we lived, I'd run out of fingers and toes."
Just then the bride arrived on the arm of a six-foottwo elderly gentleman dressed in full traditional African regalia. The mother stood, beaming with pride. "That's my Afie. Isn't she the most beautiful person you've ever seen? I know that man will make her happy. He's studying to be a medical doctor. Comes from a good family, and I know he will take good care of her."
The second surprise was the bride. She was the woman Tamara had seen crying in Kwabena's arms that night. Tamara breathed a sigh of relief as the ceremony got underway.
She leaned over to the mother of the bride and asked, "Why a Christian wedding and not a traditional African wedding?"
The woman looked at her as if she was dense. "Because we're Christian, obviously."
Tamara remained quiet for the rest of the ceremony.
The biggest surprise came at the reception hall. While appetizers were being served, Kwabena came to her table. "Enjoying yourself?"
She nodded in reply.
"There are some very special people that I want you to meet," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. He escorted her to a table where Akwape sat with her husband. The couple stood and hugged him.
"This is my wife, Tamara. Tammy, meet my parents, Dr. Kwame and Akwape Opoku."
Tamara stared speechless. These were his parents? How do you behave when you meet the parents-in-law in Ghanaian culture? Do you bow? Do you shake their hands? Do you embrace them?
They stared back, equally stunned. Finally, ever the diplomat, Dr. Opoku came around and embraced Tamara. With an awkward grin, Akwape did likewise. Tamara did not understand why he introduced her to his parents as his wife when they had agreed to keep their marriage a secret.
Tamara looked up at Kwabena and smiled, suddenly making the connection. "Then Afie is your sister."
He looked at her and smiled, seeing the comprehension on her face.
"Can you excuse us for a second?" Akwape asked Tamara. She turned to Kwabena and spoke to him in Akan. From the tone of her voice, Tamara could tell she was giving him a scolding. Kwabena answered her with the respect of a child to an adult.
When they returned to their table, Dr. and Mrs. Opoku requested she sit with them. Then the grilling began. Mrs. Opoku wanted to know Tamara's background, her family history, her level of education, her job, how they met and if they planned on having children. Tamara realized her own mother's interrogation of Jared was tame in comparison. She wished for an escape.
Escape came twenty minutes later when Kwabena whisked her off to the dance floor. "We need to talk," she whispered to him.
He took her by the hand and led her to a darkened balcony just outside the reception hall. The November air was chilly, but she didn't mind. It was the only quiet semiprivate place where they could talk.
"Why did you do that?" she demanded as soon as they stepped onto the balcony.
"Do what?"
"Introduce me to your mother as your wife. I thought we agreed to keep this marriage private. How was I supposed to act?"
He pointed to a woman in her midfifties standing close to the glass doors separating the balcony from the reception hall. "You see that lady? I'm trying to stop my mother from arranging a marriage."
"With her? Isn't she a little old?"
"Not with her; with her eighteen-year-old daughter. I figured if I tell her about our marriage, she would quit trying to find me a wife that suits her taste. And," he said, drawing her into his arms, "I want to do this to you without questions." With that, his lips covered hers in a slow, tender kiss.
Tamara closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of his full lips on hers. Everything disappeared around them as they lost themselves in each other's kisses.
Akwape cleared her throat loudly.
Kwabena released Tamara and looked up at his mother sheepishly.
"We're ready for family photos," she said tersely.
Tamara stayed behind while Kwabena followed his mother. Akwape turned around at the door. "Come. You're family too."
As they gathered for photographs, Tamara was surprised at the few family members present. Besides Kwabena and his parents, only Afie's husband's parents and a few siblings were present. She whispered to Kwabena, "I thought your family was large."
He whispered back, "This is the American wedding. They are going to have a traditional wedding in Ghana when he finishes medical school. That's when the family will be out in full force."
Suddenly Akwape took Tamara by the hand and announc
ed to the small family gathering, "This is our new daughter, Ben's wife." She glanced sternly at Kwabena clearly indicating her displeasure in the way he'd sprung his wife on them.
All eyes turned to Tamara as the small group greeted her graciously. Tamara turned beet red, uncomfortable with the sudden attention. Kwabena put his hand around her waist possessively and smiled reassuringly.
Afie hugged her closely and whispered apologetically, "I'm sorry our first meeting was under such unfortunate circumstances." She looked around furtively at her new husband and then lowered her voice even more. "When you saw me a few weeks ago, I was having second thoughts about this marriage. I guess I was really scared because I don't know him that well. Ben assured me it would be ok. After all, you have an arranged marriage and it's ok."
Flattered, Tamara smiled.
As soon as the photos were taken, Kwabena placed his arm around Tamara and led her to the dance floor.
Hours later, as they prepared to leave the reception, Akwape said something to Tamara that she did not quite understand but interpreted as a request for a visit.
"I'd love to host you before you return to Ghana," Tamara responded. From the horrified look on Kwabena's face she knew she said something wrong.
As they entered the car, Kwabena said, "Do you realize that you've just invited my parents to stay with us?"
"I did?"
"Fortunately, they're going to visit some friends in New York this week. It means they're spending Thanksgiving with us. We have to make this marriage look real."
Tamara was quiet the entire ride home. Their marriage just got complicated. Darlene knew about the marriage, and his parents were spending Thanksgiving with them. That was less than two weeks away. Between now and then they had to develop what appeared to be a real marital relationship. Moreover, she expected her mother to call anytime to berate her about her foolish decision. She glanced over at Kwabena as he concentrated on the road. If he was worried, he did not show it.
Kwabena looked over at Tamara as he drove the car. "You worried?" he guessed, seeing the expression on her face.
"Of course I'm worried. First you tell Darlene that we're married, and then you tell your mother. My mother is going to call anytime now and chew me out for it. If you think that scolding your mother gave you was bad, just multiply it by three and you'll know what I'll get from mine."
Kwabena smiled. He could not imagine anyone as domineering as his mother. She had indeed scolded him. She told him she could have arranged a marriage for him with any amount of good Akan or Asante women from distinguished family lines. She didn't see why he needed to marry a fat American woman who did not understand his background or culture. Even when his father calmly reminded her that Kwabena spent most of his life outside of Ghana and had been in the U. S. for more than twelve years, she did not stop. It was only after he pointed out to her that most of the people around understood the language that she had quieted down. Smiling sheepishly, she kissed Kwabena's cheek and told him he always was an independent thinker anyway and promised to accept his choice of a wife, but only if she didn't disgrace their family.
He reached over and grasped Tamara's hand in his, steering the car into the driveway with his left hand. "It'll be ok."
They walked to the door still holding hands. "I know just what would make you feel better. Some hot tea," he offered as they entered.
Tamara kicked off her shoes and sat barefoot on the sectional in the den while Kwabena headed to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with a steaming pot of aromatic herbal tea and two teacups. He removed his jacket and vest, slinging them carelessly over the chair arm and sat next to her.
Slowly they sipped their tea in silence. Tamara's mind raced as the warm drink soothed her. Kwabena was like a layered mystery flower unfolding one petal at a time to reveal something new and intriguing. She wished he would tell her things up front rather than revealing little tidbits on a need-to-know basis.
"Tell me something," she said quietly, holding her teacup in both hands. "Why did you marry for your green card? Looking at your accomplishments and contributions it seems logical that your employer would have sponsored you or you could have obtained it by a national-interest waiver. It's time you answered my question. Why marriage?"
He was silent for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts. "I came to this country when I was nineteen years old on an F-1 visa to attend college. After I completed my doctorate, I did a postdoctoral fellowship with Dr. Thomas Cronin. Through him, I got an H-1 visa, which permitted me to work in this country. It was in his lab that I began work on the smart prosthesis. It was a very successful three years. After I completed the fellowship, the university offered me a tenure-track faculty position and start-up funding for my own lab. I hadn't thought about getting permanent residence then because I fully intended to return to Ghana. Thomas continued to mentor me throughout. We collaborated on multiple projects, held joint lab meetings and shared many resources. Then last year, he showed me a paper he had to review for publication. It was from ajapanese group. The work was excellent, though it was written poorly and they needed a few more controls. But Thomas told me he intended to give the paper a negative review, recommending several tedious experiments that would take months if not years to complete. He planned to set several postdocs immediately to work on the same project and publish before that other lab. It's something we call scooping, which is not illegal but highly unethical. I told him so and that I wanted no part in it. I tried to convince him to reconsider his actions, and he promised me he would. A month later, I found out he had indeed set six postdocs to work on the stolen project. If such information was made public, it would tarnish the credibility of our work and the university. Since he wouldn't listen to reason, I took the matter to the department chair. Needless to say, Thomas was furious.
"Unfortunately my appointment was up for review this year. Thomas, being my mentor and closest collaborator was required to evaluate my tenure. I heard through the grapevine that he was going to give me a bad review. Rather than lose my position, I tendered my resignation and moved my lab to Bethesda. However, my H-1 visa was about to expire. I found out that Thomas was waiting for it to expire so he could call INS and have me deported. At this point, I have invested too much in this country to leave just yet. The only way I could have gotten a work permit to reside legally in the U.S. before my H-1 visa expired was to marry a U.S. citizen."
"Seems like your year was as bad as mine," Tamara observed, finally understanding Kwabena. "Do you have any regrets?"
"Other than receiving the sharp end of your fiery temper, no," he responded teasingly, slipping his arm around her shoulder.
Tenderly, he traced her lips with his fingers. Tamara's breath caught in her throat. He kissed her nose, her cheeks, her eyelids and her double chin. Slowly and gently his lips captured hers, his tongue gently teasing hers, exploring the sweet pleasures of her mouth. Tamara closed her eyes and submitted to the flood of emotion she felt, letting her tongue discover the sweetness of his mouth. She drew close to him, her chest against his. She could feel his heart beating loudly beneath his muscular chest.
His fingers traced a line down the center of her back, sending shivers through her spine. Their kiss deepened in intensity and passion, sucking the very breath from her lungs. He sent a trail of light feathery kisses down her neck and chest. Tamara gasped. Her body was a fiery furnace, her passions ablaze.
She unbuttoned his shirt, running her hands over the muscles of his smooth, hairless chest. The feel of her hand on his bare chest sent him wild with desire. Kwabena trailed moist kisses down her chest to her exposed cleavage. His hands fondled her breast through the thin fabric. A moan escaped her throat. He unzipped her dress, caressing her exposed skin, driving her crazy with lust.
"I want to make love to you," he whispered between kisses as he lowered her onto the sofa. The feel of her soft smooth skin beneath his fingers made him moan with desire. He wanted her more than anything else r
ight now. He took her hand and guided it to his groin, letting her feel his desire.
Then the phone rang.
"Don't answer it," he whispered breathlessly, but Tamara pushed him off her, still breathing deeply and rolled away from him.
"Hello," she answered hoarsely, trying to catch her breath and control her racing heart. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she tried to keep her unzipped dress from falling.
It was her mother. The call she was dreading. "What the hell were you thinking? You married a man so you can pay your mortgage? Tamara, all you had to do was ask me for the money. How could you?"
"This is not a good time, Mommy"
"When is a good time? After he strips you of everything you own? You didn't learn from Jared?"
Tamara put her head back and sighed. She wished she could say it was just a business deal. But after what happened tonight she could not even convince herself that it was just a business deal.
"Apples and oranges, Mommy."
"What in the world is wrong with you?" Leyoca continued with a long tirade and a full-length lecture before concluding, "I'm coming up there next week and we're having Thanksgiving at your house. I want to see what this new leech is like!"
"You can't come for Thanksgiving. His parents will be here."
"Better yet, I get to see which rock he crawled from."
When Tamara hung up the phone, she looked at Kwabena and shrugged. "My mother is coming for Thanksgiving."
"Speaking of marriage, how about we consummate this thing?" he whispered huskily, kissing her exposed shoulders.
Tamara shook her head. "I...I don't think I'm ready for that yet."
Kwabena struggled to control himself. Ever since that first kiss, he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anyone. She was warm, passionate, loving... and he could not get her out of his mind. But he was willing to wait. She was worth the wait.