Being Lara

by Lola Jaye

  May we take this opportunity to congratulate you on this nomination and look forward to seeing you in September.

  Good luck!

  Sarah A. Adams

  Secretary

  I.B.Y. Nominations Committee

  The two of them stood outside a little house, in a little street that meant so much to one of them. Mum was beaming, her smile stretching from ear to ear, comfortably treating Lara like a little girl again as she attempted to lengthen her daughter’s “too short” jean skirt, commented on the suitability of leggings versus tights, and grabbed her hand as they’d crossed the road. Lara instantly forgave her mother’s neurosis because she recognized the huge significance of this moment, arranging her facial features into serious mode as Mum pressed the doorbell.

  A woman who looked a lot like the Queen answered the door with a tight smile, as Lara’s and Mum’s minds remained fixated on similar thoughts—not knowing what to expect, yet deep down hoping for something.

  “Hello. Good to see ya,” said the woman, who sounded just the opposite to royalty; Lara quickly noticed how the woman stared at her with curiosity.

  “Mum, this is Lara,” said Mum as the Queen stepped aside and allowed them to walk into the home Lara’s mother had spent her entire childhood in.

  But just as Mum made her way into the lounge, Lara felt a firm tap on her shoulder. She turned around to face the Queen, who broke into a rigid smile and widened her arms slowly, watery eyes telling Lara what she should do next. So, swallowing nothing, Lara chose to answer this particular and silent question by stepping smoothly into those waiting arms, exhaling gently as she rested her head on her grandmother’s shoulders.

  The awards ceremony was in three days. Everything was set, but there was one more thing to do.

  Lara surveyed her newly plaited hair with tiny beads on the ends, silk shift dress, and long row of multicolored bracelets Yomi had given her. Her outfit was finished off with a metallic blue clutch with a gold-and-black-threaded spider on the side. She ran downstairs to the courtyard and waited by the cannons as he drove up.

  “Thanks for coming, Tyler,” she said. His smile was reserved, telling her he wasn’t giving anything away. It had been weeks since they’d last seen each other. Tyler had stayed with her for a few days as she’d grappled with Dad’s angina attack, before slipping away to resume “normal life” once they were sure Dad was in the clear.

  “Can you believe I got nominated for Inspirational Businesswoman of the Year? I got the letter a few days ago,” she began, attempting to thaw any possible ice and get them talking.

  “I know,” he said.

  “Did Sandi tell you?”

  “Who do you think suggested you to the committee in the first place? I have a lot of influence, you know.”

  “Really?”

  “In fact, I have zero influence. I just gave them your details and they had the final decision. They were clearly impressed,” said Tyler, as he broke into a wide smile.

  The two of them sat on a bench beside one of the cannons.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I told them your story. Where you came from, what you’ve achieved in such a short space of time. I told them how confident you are. How strong you are. How you never take any shit from anyone while managing to remain one of the nicest, kindest, and most beautiful women I have ever had the good fortune to meet.”

  Lara wasn’t expecting that and couldn’t find the words for a quick response, so she tried humor.

  “Me? Inspirational? Huh?!”

  “I don’t know about anyone else, but when I’m around you I feel like I can do anything. Achieve anything I want. I’d call that inspirational.”

  The sides of their thighs touched.

  “I’d no idea you felt that way.”

  “That was then,” he said, deflating the tentative balloon that had been forming.

  And then he nudged her playfully. “Of course it’s how I feel. I’m proud of you, Lara. That will never, ever change, whatever happens between us.”

  She allowed herself more than a glimmer of hope.

  “I am sorry … about everything.”

  “I know.”

  She searched his face for something.

  And then he tried the humor. “You just want to be rescued. Like most women!”

  She pinched him playfully. “Shut up!”

  “Okay!”

  “Seriously though. You’ve probably got a point,” she said.

  His eyebrow rose. “I have?”

  “I suppose I was feeling a bit hard done by. Wanting to be really fought for because … well, I kept blaming my mother for not fighting for me thirty years ago.” She’d just referred to Yomi as her mother and the moment was not lost on either of them, as they plunged into a swift silence.

  “But I think we—Yomi and I—have worked through that all now. Or at least I’m trying to.”

  “Let me just say this, Lara: I have always fought for you. You may not have felt it and you may not have believed it, but I always have and I always will.”

  She nodded her head, hoping he saw how sincere she was being.

  “I’m still here,” he said, taking her hand. And this time, no resistance.

  “I know,” she whispered, squeezing his hand, firmly.

  “And that day… When Dad was rushed to hospital … before the phone call… I’d wanted to say… I love you!” she blurted out, going for broke. In one half of a second, feeling foolish, the other half, perhaps liking the way it sounded.

  I love you. There.

  He searched her eyes, following them until she burst into giggles.

  “See, it wasn’t that bad, was it? Saying the L-word?” he teased.

  “No,” she replied sheepishly. On a roll, Lara continued quickly. “I’m changing, Tyler. And I want to change. I need you in my life. I really, really do. No more running.”

  “No more running,” he reiterated as they simultaneously faced each other and Tyler took her remaining hand.

  “You love me?” he asked. His unusually blue eyes, boring into her, beautifully and effectively melted away any doubts she’d ever had surrounding that word.

  “Very much.”

  “And I love you, Lara. I’ve waited so long to hear you say that.”

  He exhaled slowly and paused.

  “Although… I’m not sure. I mean, how much are you really changing?” He raised his eyebrow mockingly.

  “A lot, Tyler!”

  His hand was now on her back, giving her gentle caresses that felt wonderful. In fact, the whole moment, the two of them sitting beside those cannons, felt so, so right.

  No more running.

  “Hmmm, Lara … so this change … does it involve you being a little more spontaneous or do you still need to plan?”

  “I’m … a little better.”

  “Let’s go up to your flat, pick up your passport, and jump on the Eurostar to Paris then.”

  “What, now?”

  “Yes. Now.”

  “I have an awards reception in three days!”

  “We’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “No way, I can’t! There’s too much to organize!”

  “Really?” he said, one eyebrow raised.

  “Okay… I see what you mean, about being spontaneous and everything … but can’t we leave it till another weekend?”

  “Which one?”

  “A couple of months from now?”

  “You are kidding, right?”

  “How about in three months’ time? Yes, let’s do it then…?!”

  Knowing she wasn’t winning this one, Lara placed her hand around his neck, pulled him toward her, and waited for that kiss utopia Tyler was so very good at. Then she closed her eyes and slowly allowed herself to submit.

  No more running.

  Epilogue

  Almost Human

  The last time Lara had worn a dress this long was for her school play, during a radical updated version of Cinde
rella, when she beat Connie Jones to earn the role of lead. She’d always remember that triumphant feeling when the drama teacher announced the judge’s final decision, before realizing just how itchy that damn material felt against her sensitive skin and how it emitted the stench of mothballs every time they took it out of the school storeroom.

  But this dress, a Bayo Adegbe silk-lined number, which to Lara represented both Nigerian and British influences, clung to her body appreciatively; and all at once, she felt womanly, confident, and sexy. The touch of shiny gloss infused with crystals made her full lips glow, and her braided hair was teased into a sort of beehive-esque bun; the two curly tendrils at the side of her face made her left eye feel heavy as they connected with mascaraed false eyelashes.

  “The car’s here. Are you ready??!!” called Sandi, who looked effortlessly beautiful in a long, flowing white Grecian couture number and Fulani silver twist earrings that, according to Lara’s website text, were not unlike those still worn by the Sudanese women of today.

  “I’m just so nervous!” screeched Lara, surprising herself, usually so composed and managed.

  Sandi patted down an imaginary crease in her dress and smiled. “Who’d have thought it?”

  “Certainly not me!”

  “This is your day. Enjoy it,” she said, before slipping her hand into Lara’s.

  “Oh, have the caterers arrived at the hotel?” asked Lara.

  “Of course they have!”

  “Did you check the menu was what I requested?” continued Lara.

  “Yes, silly! Of course, they looked at me like I had two heads, but the food will be as you want it!”

  “How do you know what their expressions were like if they were on the phone?”

  “It goes without saying! I mean, who has oxtail stew, mashed potato, peas, and okra as a main course. And mo mo, yam fries, and cheese and pickled onions on sticks as side dishes?”

  “It’s moi moi, actually. A steamed bean cake commonly served in Nigeria and other parts of Africa.”

  “Okay, Ms. Knowledge of All Things African. And the cheese and pickle? The jellied eels?”

  “All a mixture of who I am!”

  “No need to explain it all to me. I get it,” Sandi said, smiling warmly. “Now, deep breath, okay? Everything is sorted out. All you need to do is show up at the ceremony, Ms. Lara Control Freak Reid, that’s all. Now breathe!”

  Lara remembered the little ten-year-old she once was, a little girl lost, looking for her father in the face of a man who danced and sang in Boney M, looking for her mother in the background of a news report covering the release of Nelson Mandela or in an American sitcom. A little girl lost, but now found.

  “Let’s do it!” said Lara with faux confidence.

  She stopped for a split second, considering. Tap or no tap. Just two? Perhaps it would help. No. No tapping. Not today. “So how do I look?” she asked instead.

  “You know you look great!”

  “Do I look as nervous as I feel?”

  “Why would you be nervous? You’ll knock ‘em dead. It’s not like the Oscars; you already know you’ve won!”

  “Not the award! I mean … you know everyone’s going to be out there. My WHOLE family…”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. This is your moment, and you belong up there.”

  Lara stood in front of the gleaming Mercedes in her shiny green dress as the smart chauffeur opened the door, butterflies backflipping in her tummy.

  I have arrived, she thought. And a few months ago the phrase “I have arrived” would have referred to merely being selected for the Inspirational Businesswoman of the Year Award and finally being recognized by her peers for all the hard work over the years, such knowledge validating and completing her. But now she had so much more.

  Sitting in the front row with the other nominees, her mind was racing, and at first Lara didn’t hear her name being called, even though she’d known it was coming. She still felt a genuine lurch of surprise when the bouffanted announcer said once again, “The recipient of this year’s award goes to Oh-moo laa … erm…”

  The woman tried again, before quickly giving up. “Miss O Reid!” she announced quickly as the applause shattered the muted silence. Lara joined her onstage, they shook hands, and she took the glass triangle, smiling warmly as the announcer widened her eyes apologetically with a shrug. The botched attempts at saying her name she’d get used to.

  The room fell silent as Lara’s gaze turned to her family and friends. That huge, multicolored, flawed, beautiful family of hers: Brian squeezing Agnes’s hand, Annie and Keely next to Jason, himself trying hard not to peer down Sandi’s cleavage, next to a beaming Tyler, beside Jean, behind Mum who sat next to Yomi shoulder to shoulder—both rigid with nervousness and pride—Dad and Granny silently challenging each other to who could stay awake the longest and one extra grandmother who sat with a straight smile, looking more like Queen Elizabeth than ever.

  Lara’s family.

  “Receiving this award is such an honor…” Lara began, her words like a loud thud as everyone’s face turned to her up on that stage. Her sparkling eyes remaining focused on her smiling family, surrounded by a sea of homogenous faces. She took in their strength, soaked up their love, acknowledging the magnitude of this moment as she spoke of the struggles of growing up. Perhaps many in that audience, apart from the voting committee and her family and friends, assumed she meant the “usual angst.”

  Lara threw in bits about university, the online explosion and how she’d just missed out, and finally what it meant to be a woman in the workplace today.

  And then the best bit.

  “There is a Nigerian saying: ‘A child is what you put into him.’ And I’d like to thank first, my lovely dad, who has always been there for me. Who taught me so much as we sat among the garden gnomes in that shed, just the two of us! So sorry you didn’t get to keep it as your sanctuary away from the wife!” Dad raised his glass as some of the audience looked toward him, slightly confused to see a portly silver-haired man, half awake yet beaming with pride.

  “And my two best friends, Sandi and Tyler. One has taught me about love, the other taught me how to be loved.” Sandi rolled her eyes as Tyler threw a loving wink.

  “To my English gran. I can’t wait to get to know you better over another one of your fabulous Madeira cakes—sorry, Mum, the best I have ever tasted!”

  Laughter and a smile from Grandma.

  “To my Nigerian granny—you are the wisest, most amazing young woman I have ever had the privilege to know. I love you, Granny, and even though it took long enough, I’m so glad I have you!” Granny waved back regally, loving the attention in that room.

  “And last, I’d like to thank my two mums sitting in the back over there—”

  The heads of strangers shot to the back table, plucked eyebrows scrunched at what they had just heard. And that’s when Lara paused, composed herself, and then spoke. “Mum, you gave me all the support I could ever need. When I wanted to become an astronaut, you said I could do it. When I wanted to become a ballerina, you said it was possible even though I have really big feet.”

  Laughter.

  “And when I wanted to fly, you said, well if that’s what…” She felt a wave of self-consciousness as a tear struck out of nowhere. “You said if that’s what you want to do…”

  More laughter.

  “You also gave me discipline—and admittedly, I didn’t really like that bit!”

  More audience laughter, except for Mum who had the “I’m about to tear up” look.

  With Lara’s own tears mingling with a smile, she continued. “You gave me boundaries that allowed me to feel secure. Loved. I had so much love. What else does a child need?” Lara’s voice broke, and then she turned to Yomi. “And you, my other mother… I can’t thank you enough for having me. Giving me a shot in life and allowing me the chance to grow up in the most wonderful and fantastic environment.” Yomi blew her a kiss.

 
“And thank you for that really good gene pool. If Granny’s skin is anything to go by, I’ll be fine. She looks like a teenager!” The audience erupted into louder guffaws while Lara’s two mums sat side by side, not holding on to each other, but bonded by an invisible force that promised to bind the three of them together, forever.

  Heads were shooting back and forth with animated expressions, while Lara lapped up the round of applause, enjoying the sensation of not feeling “weirded out” at presenting her unusual family to the masses.

  She was Omolara Reid, an almost thirty-one-year-old Inspirational Businesswoman of the Year, standing on a stage marveling and rejoicing at what had become. What she’d become. This moment, the pinnacle of everything. All the years of her life finally fitting in together, like a Connect Four game—finally. Making some sense and at last completing the picture that is Omolara Reid.

  As her speech ended, the applause increased, but she blocked out the sounds and instead focused on her mother whispering something into Mum’s ear just before the two of them tentatively embraced, both capturing Lara’s gaze at the very same moment, as they came up for air.

  Lara wished for a camera, a recording device—something to capture the moment. But she smiled instead, realizing the memory and every great feeling it invoked would be stored in her heart forever.

  It doesn’t matter how I got here.

  It’s what I do with my life from now on that matters.

  Now, that’s a mantra.

  Acknowledgments

  Love and absolute thanks to:

  God.

  Grace and Sheila—the strongest, most beautiful and inspirational women I have ever known. This book is a work of pure fiction, but in the real world, you have both allowed my true story to gracefully unfold and lead me to now.

  Michael … for your words of delight (“You wrote a book?! Wow!”), the plaque, the clock, and your insightful encouragement.

  Jen (Pooley) and Esi (Sogah) … for the belief and saying yes.

  My four brothers, relatives, friends, colleagues, readers, and ANYONE who has ever taken the time to buy/borrow/review my books, sent me an e-mail, or just said a kind word. I am and will always be appreciative and humbled (and slightly aghast that people actually read my books!).