HEDGED
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Episode 11
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“…I don’t know how you meant it, but I’m sure you understood perfectly how I meant mine”.
Mama dumped the plates she was holding in the sink and walked right out afterwards.
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After Mama had departed, there was a brief silence in the kitchen. Tricia’s expression had long changed. I could tell she was upset at Mama’s outburst. She probably thought it was inappropriate.
I thought so, too.
Tricia felt misinterpreted.
I couldn’t have agreed more.
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I was enraged by Mama’s attack on my wife, but I couldn’t express my feelings while both women were still in the same room.
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I will, of course, address whatever problems arise between these two, but not right away.
I didn’t want anything to get in the way of understanding whatever point I was trying to make with my speech.
I didn’t want anyone to misinterpret my intentions.
I didn’t want to make matters worse by presumably cutting across as “taking sides”.
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I moved in closer to Tricia and poked her funnily.
Tricia was no longer interested in any of my plays. She had every reason not to be.
I apologized to my wife on behalf of my mother. I had to tell Tricia that Mama was having a bad day just to make things right.
“All day, Mama seems hypersensitive, even with me.” “This was probably one of the explanations for why she responded in such a way over something as minor as a thank you.” “Trust me, baby, she was not attempting to hurt you by uttering those words; it was just Mama having a bad day.”
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Tricia stared me in the eyes, as if she could see beyond the words. She looked at me as though she comprehended every word I’d just uttered as “excuses” for my mother.
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It took a bit more persuasion, but Tricia ultimately nodded her head to my words and let me hug her tightly.
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I stayed with Tricia in the kitchen for the rest of the morning and into the late afternoon.
We had fun while cooking.
It took a unique kind of grace, control, and careful monitoring not to eat the meat in the food we were preparing, all in the name of “tasting.”
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Tricia’s gists, like Mama’s, are inexhaustible.
Sometimes I wonder who “this woman” is, especially since I used to have a reputation for being the only person talking in order to keep the room vibrant. Right now, I couldn’t even persuade Tricia to stop talking if I tried, and worse, she has turned me into a gossip companion.
I mean, our gossip is unrivaled.
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It is a Saturday. Tricia frequently cooks on this day to prepare for the upcoming week.
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Tricia usually cooks on Saturday evenings, but because she was leaving town later that day (for a friend’s wedding), she’d opted to cook earlier, which is why she’d stepped out so early for the meal items.
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It wasn’t the first time Tricia and I had prepared food together; however, it happened to be the first time Mama witnessed me in the kitchen, much alone, crushing pepper while my wife was ostensibly doing nothing.
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When Mama arrived in the kitchen, she couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw me p******g pepper while Tricia sat on one of the kitchen cabinets, stuffing my ears with gists.
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Priscilla had been sent on an errand.
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Mama may have felt her eyes were playing a quick one on her when she saw these.
Greg? Her son? The golden boy, who would never be allowed to do anything on his own? Greg, for whom she has frequently cooked and packed soups virtually since his university days? Could this Greg be the same person? Could this be her son slaving for a woman while she sits around doing nothing? How long has this gone on? Is this how he is generally treated in his home?
All of this and more could be deduced from Mama’s reaction upon seeing me in that state.
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Mama was taken aback when she saw me sweating while hammering those peppers. The intensity with which I lifted and dropped that pestle into that mortar had to have been too much for her.
Tricia was the first to recognize Mama’s presence.
I’d only noticed that Tricia had abruptly stopped speaking.
I lifted my head to ask the obvious question when my gaze met Mama’s blazing eyes.
To be continued…
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Moshood Avidiime The Writer
