Otaare

by Alessandra Ebulu

  "They don't. My siblings do, but my parents have no idea." Bola ran his fingers over Ukeme's lips, and it was only the severity of what they were talking about that kept him from being distracted. "But it's time they know. I've been keeping this secret for over a decade: better I tell them now that I have you in my life than keep it hidden for longer and have them stumble upon it by accident. I'm tired of hiding, of pretending, of lying."

  "You're serious," Ukeme said.

  "As serious as a hunter focused on getting a deer for dinner," Bola said with a smile.

  Ukeme chuckled. "That's the best comparison you can come up with?"

  "Have you seen those hunters?" Bola crossed his arm, looking sulky. "They pay no attention to anything else but the animals. It's either that or starve."

  Ukeme kissed that pouty mouth. It took a while, but Bola finally responded, working his mouth and accepting the slide of tongue against tongue. "Yes," Ukeme said as they broke for air. "But I'm not talking about the hunters you see in movies. How many hunters have you met in real life?"

  Bola rolled his eyes. "How many have you met?" He raised a hand. "And mind you. Fishermen don't count."

  "Still met quite a lot," Ukeme said.

  "And you're just trying to change the subject. Or see if I would forget all about what we're talking about. Not going to happen," Bola glared.

  And here he'd been thinking he'd gotten away with it.

  "Meeting my parents this weekend and then yours the weekend after," Bola said.

  Ukeme considered asking to switch it up so they could meet his parents this weekend to break the news, and then Bola's the next weekend. But he had a feeling that it was best to get the meeting Bola's parents out of the way first. Besides, that would be the harder part for Bola anyway. The man hadn't even come out to his parents yet.

  "Will they disown you?" Ukeme felt the need to add.

  Bola gave him an outraged look and Ukeme laughed. "Sorry. It's just in my experience, the truly rich never really get how out of place they might feel when their steady stream of high income is out of commission." Bola's scowl didn't abate. "Plus, I don't know what I would do if I'm no longer able to catch a whiff of Clive Christian cologne when I do this…" He pushed off the edge of Bola's shirt and brought his nose to his clavicle, taking a whiff of that scent that had driven him crazy the first time he'd smelled it when he and Bola had had to carry on with the friends talk. The scent still drove him crazy.

  Bola moaned but pushed Ukeme's head away with two fingers, but not before flicking Ukeme's forehead with the fingers.

  "Ouch!" Ukeme yelped.

  "I have my own money, you know," Bola said. "It might not be oil money, but dad knows I can just as easily live without his billions. I haven't touched the money he's been putting in my account in the last year. And I don't think I would ever need to."

  "Easy for you to say now, but your fans won't be willing to pay you any money when they find out," Ukeme said.

  "Plus, they would throw both of us into jail and lose the key," Bola added.

  Ukeme nodded.

  Bola didn't look as concerned. He just shrugged. "Then we share the news with only our parents and leave outsiders out of this."

  "And if they find out?" Ukeme asked.

  "We get the fuck out of the country till everything dies down. Or till they're more accepting of us."

  Never see his family again? His sister? Eze? Never hear the loud sounds of Nigerians scrambling to work in the morning. Never taste akara fried in red palm oil, filled with pepper and ground beans? Piping hot and served with hot pap?

  His panic must have shown, because Bola wrapped him in a hug and murmured, "Nothing to worry about. We'll figure something out. Let's just take this one step at a time, starting with meeting my parents."

  "Must we meet them this weekend?" Ukeme asked.

  Bola nodded. "Dad called this afternoon. Said he wants to see me on Sunday. That it was time we had the talk about Ukeme Collins."

  Ukeme sat up straight, alarm bells ringing. "He knows about us."

  He was just about to pace the room when he felt Bola take his hands. The feel of those fingers rubbing soothing circles over the back of his palm calmed Ukeme down. "He doesn't know about us yet. Knowing him, he's decided to ignore everything Sukanmi and I have done to resolve the problem. I'm sure he now wants to talk about how to crush you completely. He's never happy with all parties being happy. As far as he's concerned, nothing beats ensuring that the other person is in his own personal hell."

  That didn't sound reassuring, either.

  "Stop worrying so much," Bola kissed the tip of his nose. "It will all resolve itself, you'll see. We'll meet my parents. And then go see yours next weekend."

  Why did he think, though, that it wasn't going to be that easy?

  chapter twelve

  "Deep breaths. In. Out. You can do it. There's nothing to fear in there."

  A scoff cut through the encouraging words, and Bola and Ukeme glared at Sukanmi, the idiot who smirked right back at them and didn't look remotely repentant.

  "It's not funny," Bola said and reached for Ukeme's hand. Something told him that Ukeme needed the contact.

  He'd been right. Ukeme squeezed his hand so hard that Bola was sure he'd cut off all blood circulation to that particular palm. Not like he minded. Anything that would get his boyfriend's mind off meeting his parents was welcome.

  Boyfriend. His boyfriend.

  Bola grinned.

  "What's funny?" Ukeme asked. "Do you think it's funny like the big idiot over here?" he jerked a thumb at Sukanmi.

  "Hey! The big idiot has feelings," Sukanmi said. The laughter that accompanied the statement confirmed that he wasn't pissed.

  "Just thinking," Bola said and brought the palm up to his lips. He kissed it. "I've not had a boyfriend in a long while. It makes me happy."

  He saw the tension leave Ukeme's body. Starting from his head, all the way down to his shoulders, down his body, and then to his feet. Ukeme sagged against the wall. "Me too," he said with a tentative smile.

  "We'll be fine," Bola told him. He nodded as much for Ukeme's benefit and his.

  "Besides, Debs, Tuji, and Tinu are also on the other side of the door," Sukanmi piped in. "Even Deji flew in to offer support. If the thought of Uncle Goke and Aunt Sola scares you like that, just think of them."

  Ukeme's back went rigid. He brought his palm up and slapped it against his forehead. "I've forgotten all about that."

  "That my siblings will be in the family home?" Bola asked.

  "That you have protective siblings who would have my balls should I do anything to hurt their brother," Ukeme hissed.

  He looked so terrified that Bola chuckled, and then hurried to explain when Ukeme gave a huff and looked like he was about to bail as fast as he could catch a danfo heading to Ojota. "They will love you," Bola said.

  Ukeme looked at him like he'd lost his mind. Bola understood the look. Accepted it, even. Because he was sure his parents would spend the night glaring at Ukeme, whilst his siblings would spend the night grilling him. He wasn't going to tell Ukeme, though. Better to give his man some sort of calm. Get him in the door first. They would sort everything out later.

  Sukanmi scoffed, spoiling that, and Ukeme rounded in on the sound. "See? Even he doesn't believe that."

  "Like you said, he's a big idiot," Bola said, without bothering to look at said idiot.

  The idiot in question spluttered, but everything faded away when the door swung open, and they were face-to-face with Adebisi Johnson. She'd done her hair up in a fancy style and was still wearing the traditional iro and buba sewn with blue lace.

  The family had just gotten back from church. Talk about bad timing. If the heavens hated his guts, their family pastor, who was also their father's younger brother, would be there as well, to add more fuel to the fire.

  Debs' eyes danced.

  With mirth? With anxiety?

  "Why now?" she just barely hisse
d, giving him the heads-up he needed just before she was pushed out of the way and his mother filled the doorway.

  Olusola Johnson was five-foot-one, with a big afro she carefully combed out before any big event, red lips, and an embroidered kaftan paired with strappy red heels. She looked gorgeous. Nothing like the fifty-nine-year-old, soon-to-be grandmother, just waiting for her children to give her grandchildren she could bounce on her knee. Her first choice had always been Bola, and here he was about to officially tell her the news that that might not be feasible—he couldn't imagine any adoption agency in Nigeria willingly giving out kids to gay couples. They were just too damn narrow-minded for that.

  "Bola," she breathed and spread her arms wide.

  He walked into them and hugged her, his small frame seeming bigger against her shorter frame. "Mom."

  She patted his back. "O ma pe e," she said and pulled back to give him a disapproving look.

  If she thought it took forever for him to show up, he wondered what she would think after his father kicked him out permanently and banned him from ever coming back to the house.

  He might be okay with not seeing his father for a prolonged period of time. But his mother? Not so much.

  The bile started to build, as did the panic.

  This was not a good idea!

  "Is everything okay?" his mother asked. Her keen eyes searched his face, seeing far more than he hoped she would ever be able to see.

  "Yeah," he said as convincingly as he could.

  He hoped Ukeme couldn't hear the fear. Hoped his lover didn't think he was having second thoughts about doing this. He wanted to be with Ukeme, but how the hell had he ever thought this was going to be easy? Now he understood how panicked Ukeme had been about him meeting Ukeme's parents.

  His mother was just about to say something when she noticed both Ukeme and Sukanmi. And being the gracious hostess that she was, she waved them in.

  "I didn't see you there," she said, smiling at Ukeme. "Please come in."

  He heard Ukeme's minute gasp as he stepped in through the foyer. The sound made him take a good look at the home he'd grown up in as a child; the home he'd taken for granted.

  The marbled archway gleamed and the chandeliers his father had had flown in from Venice when he'd wanted to have his dream home built shimmered in the Sunday afternoon. The walls had been painted in varying shades of cream, white, and yellow. His mother's heels click-clacked on the tiled marble floors. The doors were solid oak. It was a three-story building that housed seven bedrooms and with each bedroom having its own ensuite bathroom—with a bathtub, of course. His father had always considered the building modest. Sure, he had massive screens in each room—living, dining, and kitchen inclusive—and there were flowers in every corner one turned. Plus, the hot tub and the swimming pool in the backyard, and the in-house gym, so his father wouldn't have to go to a public gym to maintain his healthy frame. To his father, it wasn't the monstrosity that the other billionaires in the country lived in and usually Bola thought his father was right. Their home had been lived in.

  But now, he took in the building, the fourteen-man staff that cooked and cleaned and drove them around, and who all stood at the entrance bowing to them and he considered that it might just be a bit too much. Especially for Ukeme. Ukeme, who had shrunk away from him the minute that his mother appeared.

  That just wouldn't do.

  Bola reached for Ukeme and placed his palm on the bottom of the other man's back. Except for Sukanmi and Debs, who were pulling up from the rear, and the servants who had been trained to just look and not tattle, nobody saw him do it.

  But it worked. He felt Ukeme relax against his palm.

  Ukeme smiled at him, and he smiled back, hoping he could convey all the reassurances he knew Ukeme needed at the moment.

  Two throats cleared simultaneously and Bola's eyes swung to just ahead of the archway—damn, when had they gotten to the living room?—where his father stood with Uncle Ige. Or as his congregation called him, Pastor Ige.

  Both men were standing and staring hard at him… them. Bola fought the urge to remove his palm, like he'd been scalded, the darkening expression on his father's face said well enough that his father had his suspicions. Adegoke Johnson didn't become one of the richest men on the continent by being slow on the uptake. Bola didn't budge, though. The plan was to spill the beans, anyway. The best way was to rip the Band-Aid off in one clean swipe.

  He kept his hands on Ukeme, even though Ukeme had tensed up and inclined his head in a greeting. "Good evening, Sir. Good evening, Uncle Ige."

  His siblings had taken up one of the couch and Bola caught the nod and smile Tunji tossed at him. Sukanmi went over to join them, leaving just a bit of space for Debs to squeeze into.

  His mother took one of the single chairs, and his father and Uncle Ige took one of the love seats. That left the other love seat for them, which they took.

  Silence. Everyone just sat and stared. His father stared at Bola. His mother and uncle, too. Bola stared right back at them. Ukeme sat up straight and stared at no one. Debs, Tunji, Deji, Tinu, and Sukanmi shuffled between staring at Bola's dad and mom and the floor.

  Just when Bola was about to ask why he'd been called, his father spoke. "I always did say that your brains would have served you better in law than in music." His father jerked his chin at Ukeme. "You already figured out what I wanted and brought him along."

  Was his father going to play at not having immediately figured out what Bola's hand on Ukeme meant? This was going to be even harder than he'd feared.

  He was just about to correct his father that no, he hadn't brought Ukeme over to play games. But then his father spoke. "You're Ukeme Collins."

  Ukeme sat up even straighter, if that was possible and answered. "Yes."

  Bola's father's eyes flared, but Ukeme just stuck his chin out and didn't add the required 'Sir'. It made Bola want to smile. His boyfriend might feel that he had to be on his best behavior, seeing that he was there to meet his boyfriend's family, but he wasn't going to pretend that he particularly liked Bola's father. Bola understood that. Respected it, even.

  "You're a writer," Bola's father said.

  Ukeme nodded.

  "The writer who was accusing Bola of plagiarism about two months ago," his mum said, voice soft, eyes as hard and as hot as coals.

  Ukeme nodded again.

  "I see," his father said.

  "I see," his mother repeated. "And you're friends?" She directed the question at Bola, eyebrows high up in the air.

  "Don't be preposterous," his father barked. "He's nothing more than a fly that will soon be crushed."

  The scornful way he said the words had Bola gritting his teeth. He reached for Ukeme's hand and brought it straight to his lips. He brushed a soft kiss over the back of the palm, even as he stared into Ukeme's wide eyes that were at the moment screaming at him. He could read the 'what the fuck do you think you're doing? Hell no, not like this!' as clear as day. He didn't give a fuck though. He smiled at Ukeme, and then turned back to look at his parents and his uncle. "He is not a fly, and we're more than friends."

  His eyes swept by his beaming siblings, and a Sukanmi who was shaking his head with just about the same expression Ukeme had had on the way to meeting his parents, wide-eyed and terrified.

  His mother looked just about ready to faint. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth hanging open and she looked just on the side of having some sort of attack. "Mum," he called.

  There was a blur of white agbada, and then he was seeing stars and could taste metal in the corner of his mouth.

  "You must be joking," his father snarled as he backed away and rotated his wrist.

  Bola heard Ukeme gasp and attempted to reach for him. He pulled away and pushed off to stand on his feet. "Not joking, Dad. I'm gay."

  "You're not gay," his father spat.

  His uncle did a sign of the cross.

  His mother started shaking her head, like she was trying to clear out t
he cobwebs in her head.

  "No son of mine is gay," his father continued. "You're marrying Cece at the end of the year."

  "No, I'm not," Bola said. He worked his jaw. No loose tooth. It would swell a bit, and it would be difficult to swallow for a couple of days, but he was sure he would be able to feel better in less than a week. "If I'm marrying anybody, it will be Ukeme."

  He saw the blow coming this time around and raised both hands to protect his face.

  His father just spun on his heel and decked Ukeme.

  Shit.

  "Dad!" His sisters screamed and rushed, right along with Sukanmi, to Ukeme.

  His father was breathing hard, looking like if he had the power, he would level an entire building on both their heads. "Go anyway near him and you're all out of my will," he told Bola's siblings.

  Neither of them answered and just went straight on ahead to Ukeme.

  "That would work if we were still eighteen and depending on you," Bola told his dad. He reached for the handkerchief in his back pocket, and tried as carefully as he could to wipe the blood that trickled from a cut by Ukeme's cheek. Ukeme gave him back a watery smile, and he suddenly wanted to lean forward and kiss his boyfriend on the lips. His strong boyfriend, who wasn't pissed that Adegoke Johnson was a class 'A' act. "But we have our own money now," he said as he turned to look at his father. His father glared at him, but he didn't back down. His mother hadn't moved from her chair. She looked… hurt. Sad. Sorry. He hoped she could read how much he loved her in his expression. How sorry he was that all this was going down. How much he wished he could have found another way of breaking the news to her.

  "Get out," his father spat.

  Bola wrapped his hand around Ukeme's waist to do just that, when Uncle Ige spoke up. "Wait a minute, here. There's no need for any of us to be in such a hurry."

  Uncle Ige had not necessarily been his favorite out of his father's siblings. The man could be highhanded sometimes, and he had this way of being supercilious. But right now, all Bola could think of was the fact that there was someone who seemed to be making sense in the madness that was his family at the moment.