Escapades of Toun: Part VI

Escapades of Toun:
Part VI – Love in a time of rules and things

Ibiene Bidiaque

Marielle arrived on the last day of Phillips & Chain’s Safety and Security International Week. The week had been filled with seminars that were compulsory to attend and Toun fell behind on her work. She had been hesitant when Marques invited her to have dinner with him and Marielle the night of her arrival; she told him she thought it was be nice for the father and daughter to have some time to themselves after months of being apart and he conceded.

Then he asked her to come over for lunch on Saturday and she lied that Yerima had told her she had to work that weekend – which, to be frank, wasn’t beyond Yerima.

The following Monday, when they met on the staff bus, Marques said he felt as though she was avoiding him (and Marielle), and so Toun was compelled to show up for dinner that evening.

After work, she spent too long picking out what to wear and Nike eyed her suspiciously.

“Where are you going?” Nike asked.

“Marques’ place.” Toun dislodged a chiffon blouse from the closet, pressed it against her body, changed her mind and threw it back in.

“That’s why you’re picking and choosing tops like you’re confused?”

Toun sighed. “His daughter is around.”

Nike shrieked. “Meet the kids! You don enter!”

“Shut up, jo.”

Nike walked to her side of the closet and removed a black cotton blouse from a hanger. “Wear this. With those black pumps you love wear like they’re your only pair of shoes.”

Toun took the blouse as Nike smirked.

“Yummy step mummy,” Nike teased.

Toun spread her fingers at her. “Iya e.”

---

Moses called Toun when he arrived. When she got outside, where he had parked by the gate, she saw her mother speaking to him through the wound down driver’s window. Her heart nearly stopped beating. She watched them as she approached.

            “Toun,” her mother said when she saw her.

            Toun tried to read her mother’s eyes but got nothing.

“I’ll be back before eleven,” she said. “Please remind Nike not to lock the gate.”

            Her mother nodded. “Ko si problem.”

            In the car, Toun and Moses played tag with their eyes through the rear view mirror. She was itching to know what the snake had been talking to her mother about, but didn’t want to give him to pleasure of knowing she cared.

---          

Outside Marques’ front door, Toun’s heart pounded. She didn’t know whether to knock or ring the doorbell and she realized then that she had never had to do neither until now.

               She exhaled. She could hear the television beyond the door, and laughter; female, playful.

               She, on the other side of the door, was a wreck.

               She reached for the bell, withdrew her hand and then knocked. Three quick raps.

               No response. She was reaching for the bell when the door swung open and the smell of pasta gushed into the hall way. Marques was wearing jeans and a t-shirt; his feet were bare.

               He enclosed her into an embrace and Toun wanted to stay there forever.

               In the living room, Marielle was curled up on the sofa, a mobile phone pressed to her ear, eyes on the television. She had a head full of loose curls dyed blonde, a gold ring hanging in her nose and eyes like Marques’. She looked at Toun and waved. Toun waved back and followed Marques into the kitchen.

               She felt safe in the kitchen. Pots of pasta and tomatoe sauce simmered on the hub. Toun opened the fridge and noticed the jar of chapman she had mixed was gone.

               “Marielle finished the whole thing.” Marques chuckled. “She likes it.” He said it too deliberately, obvious he was trying to make her feel less anxious.

               Toun sat at the Island counter.

               “Isn’t she jetlagged?” She asked.

               “Not really. She’s been up since three but she’ll probably crash out after dinner.”

               Marques’ eyes moved from Toun towards the door and Toun knew Marielle had walked in.

               “Hey,” Marielle said. Her voice sounded husky, too mature for that young face.

               Toun turned. “Hey.”

               They shook hands.

               “Toun, right?” Marielle pronounced the name, Toon.

               Toun nodded. “Yeah. Marielle. Right?”

               “Right.”

               Marques watched the exchange, possibly amused.

               “So, mami, this is Toun, the girlfriend,” he said.

               “Nice to meet you, Toon, the girlfriend.” Marielle was standing by the fridge now, looking in.

               “Lunch is almost ready,” Marques said, “no more biscuits.”

               Marielle prodded out of the kitchen and Toun felt relieved.

               “Oh. God,” she muttered.

               “She likes you,” Marques said.

               “How do you know?”

               He shrugged. “I just do.”

               Toun fought the urge to roll her eyes.

---

Lunch was awkward. For the first time, they sat at the small dining table by the glass doors leading to the balcony. When Marques asked how the pasta was, Toun said it was good, but really she felt it needed a little more Maggi.

               Marielle stayed on her phone the entire time, at some point Face Timing, other times giggling to herself. Marques and Toun could only manage half a conversation, a limb discourse about the past Safety and Security International Week.

               After lunch, Marielle disappeared into the spare room. Toun washed the plates in the kitchen, Marques enjoying a bottle of beer at the island counter. He suggested they go see a movie, but Toun couldn’t wait to get out of the apartment.

               “I… I’m helping Nike with something,” she said, drying her hands on a kitchen towel.

               “Oh?” He asked.

               Her phone buzzed on the counter. It was Nike.

               When she answered, Nike’s voice sounded strangled. “Toun. Mummy knows.”

               Toun wanted to ask, Knows what? But she knew just what.

               “I’m coming.” She hung up.

               “What’s the matter?” Marques’ voice was tinged with avuncular concern.

               “Nike needs help with something. It’s for work.” Toun grabbed her hang bag where she had placed it by the door.

               “Let Moses drop you,” Marques said, standing up.

               The thought repulsed her. 

               “I’ll be fine,” she said.

---

Nike gave her the low down on her way home.

               Mummy had somehow found out Toun was dating an older man and she was livid. She did not know who he was, only that he was older and that the car and driver who had come to pick Toun up belonged to him. After Toun had left, she had come into their bedroom, looking like she was going to cry, asking Nike questions she denied having answers to.

               Toun’s mind raced to Moses, seeing him speaking to her mother through the car window.

               Toun found herself at yet another door she was too scared to walk through that day. When she entered into the living room, her parents were watching television, their backs turned to her.

               Nike must have heard the front door open because she burst into the living room from the corridor and stood by the door way, eyes filled with emotion.

               “Toun,” her mother said. “Where are you coming from?”

               Toun shifted on her feet. “Ma?”

               “Where are you coming from?” Louder this time.

               Toun cast a furtive glance at Nike, who shook her head, resolved, telling her not to bother lying.

               “Marques’ house.”

               “Mar—kini? Who is that?”

               Toun swallowed. “My boyfriend.”

               Her mother nodded, said nothing.

               “Why are you standing up?” Her father asked. He had reduced the volume of the television and was now looking at her. “Are you a soldier?”

               Toun sat down. She had not stolen. She was not pregnant. She had not run away with another woman’s husband. She tried to convince herself that, logically, she should not be in any trouble.

               “That man that picked you today. He told me this… your boyfriend… is one of the ogas in your office.” Her mother said. "Is that true?"

               “No, ma. He’s not.”

               “But he’s a big man. He has… a wife and… children?”

               Toun looked at Nike. Nike looked down.

               The pause annoyed her mother.

               “Am I speaking to the wall?” Her mother shouted.

               “He’s… not married.”

               Finally her mother turned to face her, the look in her eyes betraying disappointment and bewilderment. “What are you doing with a man like that, Toun? A man old enough to be your father.”

               Toun looked down at her finger nails.

               “Toun. Haven’t we given you the best we can?” Her father. “Why do you want to embarrass us? This is not the way we raised you.”

               Her parents went on about what dating an expat for his money looked like, what people would say, what people might have already said when they saw that Land Cruiser Lexus parked outside the house today. Her mother said that she had to immediately disengage from Marques, else the house would be too small for the both of them.

               Toun took it all in, letting the words wash over her. She felt misunderstood and judged, and all alone, bar Nike’s warm eyes watching her, quietly siding with her.

               After the talk, she went to the bedroom, lay on the bed, closed her eyes, but couldn’t sleep.