“How could you bring an akata boy to this house, Chioma?”

Mom’s words somehow draw out into a long hiss. Her volume, light as a feather, does not capture how her lungs rasp when she stresses on the word akata.

She no doubt wants to yell. The orange triangle print wrapper around her bulbous breasts can barely contain her. 

Maybe bringing Darius to meet my parents wasn’t the best idea.

You know when you’re at that serious stage in your relationship? The weird "maybe we will get married or maybe we won’t?"

Yeah. Darius and I are at that stage.

And meeting the parents is one of the determining factors to decide if we do get married.

Standing in the kitchen trying to calm down my mom is not a good sign. 

She has an iron lock hold on my wrist, chaining me to her. I shake my mother’s grip around my wrist loose. 

“He’s a good guy. We’ve been dating since freshman year, Mom.”

The words slip out. Her lip puckers in protest.

“Mcheww. Foolish girl. You should be bringing home an Igbo man! What have you been doing in college? Instead of getting good grades, you’re busy dating!” she squawks.

Her satin black head cap falls back to expose dainty silver hairs. 

“Stop it. I’m going back out there. You better respect Darius.”

I don’t give her room to reply as I make my way back to the dining room. I can hear my mom muttering, “God, please, ooooo….”

Darius sits straight, looking forward. 

My dad, on the other hand, inspects Darius like he’s a foreign insect. When he cannot seem to find a fault, my dad zeroes in on Darius’s piercings. 

Darius’s piercings gleam in the chandelier light like diamond polka-dots. 

My dad hisses. Darius sits straighter. 

I slide into the seat next to him and thread my fingers through his. Darius squeezes my hand.

My dad’s gaze shifts from Darius to me. 

He looks as if he is trying to put the fear of God into me. My dad crosses his arms. 

“Did you guys talk a little?” I ask.

My dad’s frown somehow grows deeper. He simply sighs. 

My mom comes back to the table, simply staring at the egusi soup she cooked. Steam no longer rises from it. 

Darius clears his throat. “I was ’bout to tell Mr. Udo about how I decided to major in Art.” 

Both of my parents gawk. 

Slowly, my dad breaks into a slow clap. He shakes his head in wonder.

“Chioma. Chioma. Chioma! Which kind man have you brought to this house? Majoring in Art? How will he support you and your children?” 

While my father speaks, my mom nods at each word.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, the man had to be the breadwinner. And of course, I had to have kids. 

“Eheh! Tell this girl, ooo. She don dey craze,” my mom says. She wipes the beads of tears forming at the crinkles of her eyes.

Darius looks to me for translation. I keep my eyes on both of my parents.

“I care about Darius. He means a lot to me. That’s why I brought him here. I want him in my life,” I say. 

Darius nods in agreement. 

“I love Chioma, Mr. and Mrs. Udo. Shit, I’m not perfect. Always tried, but couldn’t be. But for Chioma? I want to be as close to perfect as possible.” 

If I could kiss Darius right now, I would. 

I’m not perfect. He’s not perfect. But we’re both trying to make this work. 

My mom shakes her head. “Look. You don’t even understand our culture.” 

Darius gestures to himself with his free hand. “I’m willing to try, Ms. Udo. I’m notta ’bout to act like I know much about your tradition or customs. But I’ll learn. I’m willing to learn.” 

I squeeze his hand in support. Our palms meld together with the rising intensity of the room. 

My mom shakes her head and begins to speak in tongues. 

My father? Well, he’s gotten up as if he’s been possessed by a spirit. 

He paces back and forth in the cube-tight space of our dining room. Finally, he stops, pointing a finger straight at Darius.

“What do you even do for work? What will you do after you graduate?” His words come out hurried and jammed. 

This is ridiculous. “Dad, we’re still in college—”

Darius detangles his hand from mine and rises. 

His expression is one of an archer aiming to hit the bullseye.

He stands to meet my father.