tijehi: My lolascious baby, hope u're okay o. Waiting patiently for my usual tonic.

A fine dear. Am so sorry, expect an update tonight. I promise!

Angel_777: Where is omolola ooooooooo! Plssssss come and update sharp sharp ooooooo. U are a talented writer. Just finishd reading divided emotion, i was soo touched, thank God i came across dis story tooo., more ink to ur pen.

Thank u sweet Angel...am sorry the next update is taking soo long.

bigsholly: Hello omolola1 I've been expecting ur update
Bt it seems its nt forthcoming, hope all is
Well?

My system crashed *crying*
I'm sorry for the late updates.

Damex333: Omosexy, why na. Why are you not updating. *sobs*. Pls na beg we dey beg.

Am sorry dammy...on my knees

Angel_777: Omolola last seen 9:09a.m, so i wonder why she is not updating! well, i gt to unfollow, thanks.

Haa! Sweet angel, don't unfollow nah *sad face* am sorry

oleku baby: OMOLOLA IS ON HONEYMOON . PLS DONT DISTURB. WRITERS BLOCK IN ACTION. PRAYER TO CONQUER IN PROCESS . TOO STINGY

Oleku baby herself...on my knees!

Ok dearie God will grant u unusual speed 2
Re-type on tym

Thank God o. She finally responded. *dancing etighi*

Chapter Thirteen

"Whose idea was this anyway?" I grumbled.

"I believe it was your grandmother's," Mother reminded me. "There, I think that's all of it."

She compared the items crammed into the boot of her car to the items on her list. Coolers filled with ice, chairs, first-aid kits, poles, tie-downs. How in the world did she get all of that in there?

"Are you sure that's all? I don't think we've hit critical mass yet. There's still a centimeter of space remaining in the far left corner of the trunk."

"Good. You can put your sense of humour in there. That ought to fill that tiny space right up," Mother replied as she slammed the boot shut. Or rather, she bounced on it a couple of times until she thought that she heard the lock catch.

"Do you have the directions to the recreation center, Priye?"

"Uh-huh." I nodded. "They're in my purse in the car." Mother looked at me with laser-beam eyes, charring me on the spot.

"Okay, okay. It was just a joke. I put a copy in the glove compartment." I relented, waving my hands to ward off the evil in her gaze.

"And what about Jack? Is he going to be able to make it?"

"He promised that he would try."

"That really was sweet of him to donate some of his personal items and to volunteer his time for our family fund-raiser."

"Volunteer? He told me that Granddad practically held him hostage and forced him to submit."

"That's Daddy for you. He never was one to let an opportunity pass."

"He could have at least waited until Jack came out of the bathroom before pouncing on him."

"I think Jack handled him like a gentleman," Mother said.

"He probably thinks we're a family of nutcases."

"And he'd be right." Mother opened the car door and tapped on the horn. "Sunny! Sunny, let's go. Time to go!"

Actually, it was more than a tap. More like a boooooooommmmmp! bomp-bomp! bomp-bomp-bomp!

Loud enough so I could see a couple of our neighbours poking their heads out of doors or peeling back window curtains to look, then shaking their heads in silent disapproval.

"Do you want me to go and get him, Mum?" Anything to stop her from leaning on the horn again.

"No, he'll be out in a minute. She leaned on the horn again. This time, if it was even possible, more obnoxiously. "He can't stand it when I do that."

"He's not the only one." I remarked.

Daddy flung the door open, working his lips at Mother. I couldn't read the words, but I understood the gist. As he approached the car, he said, "You know I hate it when you do that, Doris."

"What?" Mother said innocently, raising her eyebrows. "Oh, you mean this?"

She reached her arm inside the car door again.

"Don't do that again unless you want to draw back crowd."

"You're the boss," she said, casting a glance at me. "Let's get moving."

"We have plenty of time, Doris."

"I'm sure Mum's already there, wondering where we are and how she could have raised such inconsiderate children to keep her waiting."

"I just got off the phone with your father. That's what took me so long to get out here. They're just setting out themselves."

"Then let's hurry up and get there before they do, Sunny."

It was a constant battle between them. Mother hated to be late. She would rather arrive her destination twenty-four hours early than arrive one or two minutes late.

Daddy, on the other hand, hated to be rushed. I think it had something to do with being a roofing contractor. He learned in the early days of his business that if he rushed a job, even at the client's insistence, it usually meant that he wound up with mistakes - mistakes for which he had to eat the costs.

"I'll drive," Daddy offered. He adjusted the seat to accomodate his longer legs. Mother pulled back the seat to let me climb in. Then she took the front seat, rummaging through the glove compartment for the instructions to the recreation center.

He cranked up the engine.

The car had started right away. By the way he'd cocked his head and frowned, I expected to be leaving a trail of clunking car parts down the road.

"How long has this oil light been on?"

"Is the oil light on?" Mother sounded surprised as she peered over my father's shoulder at the dashboard.

Again, my father's lips moved, but no sound came out of his mouth. It was like watching a ventriloquist's dummy without the ventriloquist to provide the sound.

"You all right back there, Sweet Cole?" Daddy called out to me.

The floor was covered with extra bags of ice so I'd swung my legs around and bent my knees. My feet rested on the armrest of the opposite door.

"Just fine, Daddy."

"Good. Now, duck your head down while I make a reverse."

He rested his right arm along the headrest behind my mother while his left hand made tiny adjustments of the steering wheel to back out of our house.

"You sure you can see, Sunny?" Mother also craned her neck to keep watch.

"Yes dear," he replied automatically.

"Watch out for that child on the bike, Daddy," I pitched in.

"Will you let me do this? I've been driving since long before you were born, little girl."

"Yeah, but it's a lot easier using three-sixty vision when you're siiting on top of a horse, Dad." I said sweetly.

"Oh, you want to crack on your father? You hear that, Doris? That's your daughter. Do you want to say something to her about that smart mouth?"

"Shame on you, Priye. You know perfectly well that your father didn't get his driving practice on a horse," Mother said. She paused dramatically for effect, then said, "Everybody knows that the Model T's provided perfectly good viewing distances way back then."

"Oh, ho! It's going to be like that, then? I knew I should have ridden with Mike and Dozie. Let me slow down to about forty so you two can jump out."

"Daddy, you wouldn't put us out."

"Say I won't, when I will."

"We love you, Daddy!" I sang out, leaned forward, and kissed him right in the center of his bald spot.

"I love you, too. Sweet Cole." He reached behind his head and patted my cheek. "Say, what time is that beau of yours coming to the outing?"

"Beau? Daddy, no one says beau anymore."

"Your father does," Mother said.

"What do you call him, then?" Daddy asked.

"He's just a friend, Dad."

"A friend, huh?"

"Uh-huh."

"A real friend would have gotten you home sooner than three o'clock in the morning, Priye."

I glanced at Mother. She cleared her throat delicately and touched her neck.

"He said that he had some things to take care of this morning, but he would be there as soon as he could."

"He'll probably be there waiting for us when we get there," Mother predicted.

I had my doubts. After the way I'd left him high and dry, I didn't think he'd be in too much hurry to see me again.

"How do you know?" I asked.

She smiled back at me; her eyes were warm and kind. "Call it mother's intuition."



*******************************************


I've got a bad feeling about this.

I'd heard that line in a movie once. The hero had ventured out, far away from home (in a galaxy far, far, far, far away, I think) on a foolish quest to rescue his damsel in distress. As the hero and his band of loyal followers willingly went into what he knew had to be a trap, he mustered his courage and proceeded, despite the overwhelming odds.

That's how I felt as I pulled up next to the pavilion where Priye's family had gathered. Completely overwhelmed. I was walking openly, willingly into a trap. A very cleverly disguised trap, but a trap all the same. They were going to suck me in. Me, Jack Deneen, Lone Wolf, was about to willingly volunteer to become part of the pack.

I wasn't fooled by the pleasant surroundings. A huge awning was decorated with balloons, and streamers fluttered in the strong breeze. Music blared from four-foot high speakers.

I stood by my SUV for a minute, taking it all in. There were more relatives here today than there had been at the anniversary dinner the night before. I thought I recognized a few faces, but few of the names came to mind. Maybe it just seemed like more of them, now that they were all spread out - not restrained by the confines of the restaurant.

"Afternoon, Flakes picker!"

The thirteen-year-old who'd nearly busted a gut laughing at Ivie's predicament last night shouted at me from across the field. What was that kid's name? Baal? No, that wasn't it, as much as I'd like to believe that he was the spawn of Satan. His name was Jamaal. That was it.

His arm heaved forward and launched a football at me. He had amazing distance. One of these days, he was going to make some university football coach proud. If only he could have done something about that aim. The ball arched high over everyone's heads, then came plummeting down again. Its target: an invisible bull's eye in the middle of my wind-shield.

Instinct made me reach out. The ball slapped against my outstretched palm. I didn't give myself time to think or bobble the ball. I squeezed my fingers, palming the pigskin, not unlike a basketball player palms a basketball. I snapped my arm against my chest and counted myself lucky that the sun wasn't in my eyes.

I tossed the ball back to him. "Here you go, little man."

A spontaneous round of applause broke out. Playing to the crowd, I gave a mock bow. "Thank you. Thank you very much."

"Can anyone tell me where Priye Cole is?" I called out to the nearest relative.

"Priye? I think she's under the big tent, setting up the auction."

"Thanks."

I slung my bag filled with two signed jerseys, a football, and a stack of fresh-off-the-press program booklets over my shoulder. I shook a few more hands, then headed for the tent.

As I approached it, I saw Priye on the far side. Her back was to me - which was all right with me. I was rather enjoying the view.

She reached up high above her head, trying to catch a runway stack of paper plates sent airborne by the huge fan circulating under the tent. She wore a pair of lime-green hip-hugger shorts that clung to the curves of her round bottom so closely, it made me jealous of the material. Along with many of her relatives, she wore a purple T-shirt bearing the words JOHNSON FAMILY REUNION in script and circling a silhouette of a large oak tree. Her flair for making a fashion statement made her stand out from the rest of the crowd. A silk, floral scarf that picked up the color of her shirt, shorts, and the highlights of her hair added the perfect touch to her outfit.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder - her cousin Brenda, I think it was - and pointed her out to me.

"Hey!" Priye called out, waving to me. "You made it," she said breathlessly.

Secretly, I wished it was the sight of me that had caused the flush in her cheeks and not the virtual obstacle course she'd just traversed to make it to my side.

"I said I would," I reminded her.

"I know," she said, looking up at me. And in doing so, the scarf around her neck shifted a bit. Fashion and function, I resisted the urge to trace the purplish passion mark peeking out from the bottom of her scarf."

"Did I do that?" I whispered. My hand involuntary reached up to adjust the scarf.

"No, I was attacked by leeches," she retorted, then softened her tone. "But that's all right. It's making everyone curious about me. Thanks for coming out, Jack. I know this is a busy time of year for you, with your first game of the season coming up and all of your practices and stuff."

. . .Anything for you, Priye.
I wanted to tell her, but not under the watchful gaze of her relatives. I knew that she was being especially cordial, and equally as cool, for their sake.

I followed suit, keeping my hands firmly in plain sight.
"Not a problem, really. I'm glad I could help."

We stood for several seconds without speaking, letting our expressions tell each other what we were too cautious to say out loud. When the silence grew long enough to attract attention, I cleared my throat and coughed delicately to remind her we were about as unobserved as bugs under a magnifying glass.

"So." She drew out the word as she tucked her hands into her back pockets. "What did you bring?"

"Oh, a few things. Some T-shirts, a few program booklets. Stuff like that."

"Cool! Come on, you can lay them out over here."

I followed her to the auction table. The handmade, comforter was one of several retail-quality craft items that would be auctioned off to help raise money for Priye's family reunion.

"Wow." I whistled under my breath. Impressive. The craftsmanship of the collection of rag dolls, lace dolies, and pottery made me believe that there was plenty of creative energy and talent within Priye's family. A lot of time, effort, and love had gone into the making of those items.

For a moment, I felt uncomfortable. All I'd done was grab some things out of my closet, collect a few printer overruns, then scrawl my signature. In comparison to the devotion her family members had put into these craft items, where was the value in what I'd done?

I felt a little better when I saw a food processor, still in original packing, among all of the handmade items. As I continued down the table, a collection of hunting knives caught my eye. I lifted one of the blades, pulling it from its sheath, and admired its workmanship. Sunlight glinted off the blade as I moved it back and forth in the air.

"Who are you supposed to be, Jackie Chan?" Priye teased.

"Say, how can a brother get in on this action?" I asked.

"It's an auction," she said slowly, as if pointing out the obvious. "Did you bring your wallet?"

I couldn't help teasing her in turn for that Jackie Chan crack. So I patted my back pocket. My meaning was perfectly clear. It had the effect I wanted. Priye colored quite nicely, then lowered her eyes.

"Do you take credit cards?" I asked.

"What do you think this is? Shoprite? All transactions are cash or cheque only. And we'll need two forms of identification for all cheques over 100,000."

"Boy, you Johnsons are tough."

"We have to be. We have a lot of expenses if we want to make the next reunion a success. We're raising money to cover reunion costs, set up a university scholarship, and leave enough money left over for the next reunion committee to have some seed money to start off with." She ticked off the items on each finger as if she were noting a shopping list. "We take our family reunions very seriously. So, if I seem a little difficult, don't take it personally. It's only business." She patted my cheek.

Contd. . .

Patting my cheek was the only physical contact that Priye would allow me while we were gathered in front of her relatives today - a considerable change in her behaviour since the party. She'd been very willing for me to demonstrate my affection for her then.

In fact, she'd seemed to welcome my less-than-casual touches during dinner. It had been as if she wore me on her arm like a charm, a prize to be displayed before all of her gawking relatives.

The mood certainly had changed. Now, she would barely allow me within a foot of her invisible boundary of personal hands or a casual, friendly hug. Anything more would reignite the passion she'd doused when she'd left me cooling in the shadows of her parents' house.

"You hungry?" She asked.

She must have read my mind. But it wasn't food that I wanted. My soul needed sustenance. I needed to take her in. All of her. I wondered if there was a way that I could convey those feelings without sending her running to the safety and security of her parents.

"Sure."

"We've got tons of food over there. Enough to feed a small nation."

"Did you cook any of it?"

"I'm on the fund-raising committee," she said.

"That means no," I translated. "Can you cook?"

"When I have to."

"And when is that?"

"When my credit card is maxed out, I've run out of cheques, and it's after hours for the restaurants that deliver," she said without one iota of shame.

"Pitiful." I shook my head and tsked-tsked. "I guess this means that a brother could starve to death waiting on a home-cooked meal from you, then."

"A brother had better learn how to dial for restaurants," Priye replied. She stopped and surveyed the spread laid out on the row of tables. "Or make frequent trips to my grandmother's house. You'll always have plenty to eat there."

The way she said it gave me a small ray of hope. I'd always have plenty to eat there. Always. She expected me to be there. She wanted me there. She wanted me. Maybe I was reaching, searching for a secret coded message in the seemingly innocent conversation. Let me stretch. I needed the exercise anyway.

She started at one end of the first food table and picked up a plate and plastic utensils prewrapped in a decorative napkin.

"Try some of this." She ladled a more-than-generous portion of potato salad onto my plate. From the weight of the salad as it hit my plate, I had a feeling that it was going to sit just as heavy at the bottom of my stomach. This wasn't a reconstituted mashed-potato-flake-made salad. This was the real deal. Huge chunks of potato, egg, onion, were held together with real mayonnaise, mustard, and a secret ingredient. On the recipe card in front of the dish, it actually stated, 'Secret ingredient to be taken to my grave.'

"My aunt Pam's recipe," Priye noted.

"Seems like you've sampled some of it."

"Not some - all. I personally sampled every last dish on this table. It was a tough job; but I take my duties as chairman of the fund-raising committee very seriously."

"What has the fund-raising committee got to do with food tasting?"

"Somebody has to make sure that the food is delectable, or, at least very edible. All of these recipes will go into a booklet that we'll sell at the family reunion. If the food's no good, people will remember that and won't buy the recipe book next time. There goes our revenue."

She ushered me further down the line. "Now, here is a grilled chicken dish. I think this is my Uncle Eddy's recipe. Tender, juicy. Careful when you pick it up. The meat just falls off the bone."

By the time we'd reached the end of the first table, my plate was nearly buckling under the weight.

"There's no way I'm going to eat all of this at one sitting, Priye," I warned her.

"Pace yourself," she said. "We haven't passed the desert table yet."

We had just found a seat on the outskirts of the pavilion when Priye's grandfather stood up at a makeshift podium.

"All right, everybody, quiet. May I have your attention, please?"

He banged a wooden spoon until it cranked. One piece flew off into the air. Yet the conversation continued around him until Mrs. Johnson stood up with a microphone.

She tapped it. "Is this thing on? Is this thing on?"

A squeal of feedback and a burst of static from the speakers got everyone's attention.

Mr. Johnson knelt downl to adjust the speakers' volume control.

"Oh, goodness. That's better," Mrs. Johnson said, pressing her finger to her ear. "I want to thank everyone for coming out here today. It's so good to see so many new faces. How are you doing, sweetheart?"

She waved and blew a kiss to a young mother with a cooing, waving child in her lap.

"George and I also want to thank you for all of the lovely presents last night."

"I don't know what we've done to deserve it, but the Lord has certainly blessed our family." Mr. Johnson also clasped his hand around the microphone and leaned to speak into it. "Let's take a moment now to join hands, bow our heads, while we thank Him for what he's brought to this family, and what, I know, He'll continue to bring us through."

Priye reached out and took my hand in hers without hesitation. She looked over her shoulder and took the hand of another relative.

The prayer lasted only a moment, but I could tell the relatives were starting to get restless. Many had come a long way to be here today and didn't relish the trip back. It was time to cram as much fun into the time remaining. They wanted to start the party. They wanted to get the auction going.

I originally had my eye on that collection of carving knives and was determined not to be outbid. But a four-foot woman with eyes of cold steel stared me down. Once the bidding started, she called my bluff.

"Sold! Come on up her, Ebere, and get your knives."

When she ran up to collect her merchandise, she practically gloated and stuck her tongue out at me in passing.

"Be nice, Auntie." Priye laughed. "Nobody likes a sore winner."

The auction went on for about an hour. Merchandise, money, and mayhem all exchanged hands. There was so much going on around me, I couldn't keep track of it all. Priye did what she could to keep me informed. But she had her own responsibilities, helping this fund-raiser run smoothly.

"And now," Mr. Johnson said dramatically. "The moment we've all been waiting for. . . Somebody give me a drumroll, please."

Tables rattled as Priye's relatives pounded on their tabletops and stomped their feet to give the effect he wanted.

"I want to welcome a special guest here today. Let's give a handclap of praise to - Jack The Flash Deneen! Come on up here, son."

I pointed to myself and mouthed, "Me?"

"Yes, you," Mr. Johnson insisted. "Don't be shy. Come on up here; let us see your goods."

Someone from the crowd whistled. I think it was Priye. When I looked back over my shoulder, she was standing at the rear of the tent with her thumb and middle finger poised above her lips.

As I approached the podium, I started to reach behind Mr. Johnson. My intention was to start the auction of my items with a T-shirt. But Priye's grandfather spun me around to face the crowd and patted my shoulder with wide, exaggerated motions. "Fine, fine, young man. All right, all of you unmarried ladies out there, who's going to start the bidding?"

Did I misunderstand him? Had I heard him correctly? It sounded like. . .no! I couldn't have heard what I thought I heard. It sounded as if he was going to put me on the auction block.

Panicked, I looked over at Priye. Her eyes had grown to the size of saucers. Her hands were clamped over her mouth - whether in shock or to stifle her laughter, I couldn't be sure.

"Did you know about this?" I mouthed to her.

She shook her head, lifting her hands in innocent protest, but she was laughing openly now, holding her stomach and hanging on to her cousin for support. If this was some sort of practical joke, I wasn't getting it. I wasn't getting it because I was it.

I turned to Mr. Johnson, reaching for the microphone.

"Wait. I think there's been a mistake. I'm not. . ."

"Getting any younger," Mr. Johnson glibly ad-libbed as he jerked the microphone out of my grasp. "I need a bid. What's it going to be for this Steeldog?"

"Thirty thousand!" A cry rose up from the corner of the room.

"Thirty thousand? Oh, please, don't insult our guest. Thirty thousand wouldn't buy you his shoe. I know you can do better than that."

"Fifty thousand," came the counterbid. It was Priye's cousin Joy enthusiastically waving in the air.

"Fifty? Now you're hurting my feelings. I'm not doing my job as a Pastor if I can't sell you on one of God's wonders of the world!"

He slapped me soundly on the back again. "But fifty is the bid. Who'll give me fifty-five? Fifty-five, anyone?"

"Fifty five thousand!" Priye stood up and tossed a couple of quarters to Joy.

"You're not helping me," I called out to Priye. She smiled sweetly and shrugged.

"Sixty thousand!" Another offer on the table.

"Sixty-five."

"Seventy!"

The bids flew back and forth across the room like volleys of ammunition.

"Hold on a minute, now. Let me make this official. The bid is seventy. Seventy. Seventy. Seventy. Do I hear eighty! Eighty? No? What about seventy-five?" Mr. Johnson's voice was rapid in its rhythm.

"Seventy three thousand."

"Chicken change," Mr. Johnson scoffed. "Lift up your arm, boy."

He grabbed my elbow. "These ladies obviously don't appreciate a real he-man when they see one. Why don't you flex a little for the ladies?"

There was no getting out of it. I was up there. I was for sale. If I didn't go down for an embarrassing seventy-three thousand and some change, I'd better do something to sweeten the pot.

Without giving myself time to talk myself out of it, I reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head.

The cry that went up in response brought a grin to Mr. Johnson's face. "Two hundred thousand!"

"Now, that's what I'm talking about, son." He congratulated me on my quick thinking. "For two hundred thousand naira, you can have the shirt," he said, tossing it toward the woman who'd made the last bid.

She reached up to snatch it out of the air, but was elbowed by the woman with the knives.

"Two hundred. Two hundred. Can I get a two-fifty? Lord, somebody give me two hundred and fifty thousand for this man."

"Two hundred fifty."

"Three hundred!"

"Three twenty-five."

"Three hundred and fifty thousand."

"Come on now, this man is an international celebrity. I bet if he said he could arrange a date with Denzel Washington that you'd get off the naira."

"Ooh, Denzel! Make it five hundred thousand naira!"

The bidding went on for several more minutes between a group at Priye's table and another group of women across the room - all ranging in age from teen to twilight years.

By the time Mr. Johnson banged his makeshift gavel and yelled, "Sold!" My bidding price had practically doubled the amount they'd gotten for the previously auctioned items.

"Come up here and claim your prize."

I looked questioningly at Mr. Johnson. Just what was it exactly they were supposed to get? Not one word was spoken of T-shirts, program booklets, or autographed footballs. As far as getting them a date with Denzel Washington, I'd probably have better luck getting one with George Washington.

I made a mental note to Mr. Johnson's church. He must be quite a persuasive pastor. If he devoted as much passion to selling his congregation on the benefits of heavenly treasure as he did to convincing this crowd to part with their money for momentary, earthly pleasure, I imagined that his entire flock would be heaven-bound.

"Claim their prize? And just what would that be, sir?" I asked. What had he planned on delivering for his enthusiastic auctioning abilities?

"Just give each of the girls a hug and a smooch on the cheek," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

I looked over at Priye, but Mr. Johnson grabbed my chin and turned my attention back to the women rushing up to the podium.

"Don't worry about Priye, son. It's all for a good cause. She'll understand."

Understanding was one thing, since it was for a good cause and all. But liking was a different matter altogether. Things were still too new between Priye and me to assume that her fledgling feelings could withstand competition. Even worse, competition from her relatives.

I know that I'd be concerned if a group of men surrounded her, ogled her - expected her to give something up to each of them. As well-intentioned as Mr. Johnson was, I wasn't going to risk alienating Priye. Not even for the sake of the money.

As the first young lady stepped up to me, I reached for a T-shirt and cordially shook her hand.

Wow!!!! praise be to God! omolola is back wth her wonderful update. welcom back. so sorry abt ur crashed P.C

Thanks for the update Omolola. I'm so in love with your stories.

Angel_777: Wow!!!! praise be to God! omolola is back wth her wonderful update. welcom back. so sorry abt ur crashed P.C

*dancing*
Sweet Angel is still following!
Its aii dear, its been resolved.

akejujoe: Thanks for the update Omolola. I'm so in love with your stories.

Thanks love, am so in love with you too.. *wink*

Cokastic as usual. Now in my very oliver twist attitude please wen is the next update? r

tijehi: Cokastic as usual. Now in my very oliver twist attitude please wen is the next update? r

Tuesday, God-willing *smile*

good job

I love this story... Well done!

It is 'wa' for that priye family sha, very funny family...

Clear waters: It is 'wa' for that priye family sha, very funny family...

Lol!

Interesting Omolola. kia kia give us more. Thanks for hearing our request and honouring us with updates.
N
Notes to other readers, pls always pause a second to ''''CLICK''' the like botton at the end of the story as it is written. It shows you appreciate the writer's narrative/ story.

Just saying cause i have observed lots of commenting but just 1 or 2 liking the koko . Pls let us show some love as we read by clicking the like b4 we pass on thanks peeps.

aka Omo-sexy 'wink' as for me oooo am hungry for more and will hound you till you conclude the story. God bless you and increase your writing skill till you drop to say hello to baba God . Amen

Grabs a comfortable chair and sits...enjoying this story.

oleku baby: Interesting Omolola. kia kia give us more. Thanks for hearing our request and honouring us with updates.
N
Notes to other readers, pls always pause a second to ''''CLICK''' the like botton at the end of the story as it is written. It shows you appreciate the writer's narrative/ story.

Just saying cause i have observed lots of commenting but just 1 or 2 liking the koko . Pls let us show some love as we read by clicking the like b4 we pass on thanks peeps.

aka Omo-sexy 'wink' as for me oooo am hungry for more and will hound you till you conclude the story. God bless you and increase your writing skill till you drop to say hello to baba God . Amen

Awww! Thanks dear..

Next update - tomorrow

Wow sensational wryt up...i luv d accent,d teasing,d romance n d switch btw charactas...its lyk am readin a world klass novel thumbs up dearie

Aliyeous: Wow sensational wryt up...i luv d accent,d teasing,d romance n d switch btw charactas...its lyk am readin a world klass novel thumbs up dearie

Thanks love

Omolola,I hope u remember u promised to update today. I'm seriously waiting for that update.May God give u d strenght.

akejujoe: Omolola,I hope u remember u promised to update today. I'm seriously waiting for that update.May God give u d strenght.

Yes I remember dear. I will

Chapter Fourteen

“Stop that!” Mother slapped my hand away as I reached to pinch off one of the cakes that she’d left cooling. “Those are for the meeting.”

“I can’t help it, Mother. They smell sooo good.”

With my elbows on the counter, I stuck my face over the pan. The light steam rose, swirled around my face, and tickled my nostrils. Those cakes had my name all over them.

I cupped my hand to my ear. “What did you say, little cake? You say that you’re all alone? I’ll save you. I’ve got a special home for you right in the middle of my stomach. Plenty of room for you.” My fingers reached for a golden, sticky-sweet corner.

“Don’t even think about it,” Mother warned. Her back was turned to me, so it was a mystery how she knew what I was doing. One day, I was going to pull her hair back, search for the eyes in the back of her head, and poke them out. You’d think that after all these years; those eyes in the back of her head would need bifocals. But not today. They were as sharp as ever.

“But Mum. They’re calling my name. You always told me that it was rude not to answer when someone called.”

“You’d better stop snacking between meals, Priye. Here, this should hold you until Pamela and Ebere get here.” She tossed a cake to me.

“It’s not the same,” I grumbled as I peeled off the produce sticker before biting into it.

“Maybe not. But it’s better for you.”

“Yummy.” I sighed and leaned on the counter again. “When are they supposed to be here?”

“Soon.”

I waited a full minute before asking, “Are they here yet?”

“No.”

Another minute ticked by. “Are they here yet?”

“No, Priye.”

This time, less than a minute before asking, “Are they here yet?”

Laughing as hard as I was at her expression, I barely missed the wooden spoon she swung at my head.

I ducked, but she swung again.

“Girl, are you trying to work on my last nerve?”

“I have a lot of time to make up for,” I said. “Being away so much, I don’t get these rare opportunities to remind you why you and Daddy worked so hard to get me through school and out of the house.” I planted a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek.

Mother made a grand display of wiping it off with a dish towel.

“You were just here last weekend for your grandparents’ anniversary. If I’d known you’d come back so soon, we would have worked triple jobs to get you into a school further away from home.”

“You know you miss me, Mum,” I said, wrapping my arms around her ample waist, rocking back and forth until she squawked.

“Of course I miss you. That’s why I asked you to help with the reunion planning. If me and your father couldn’t get you to come back on your own, maybe the power of the whole family behind us could get you to come back. So, why don’t you make sure that everything is set up in the family room before Pamela and Ebere get here?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” I asked in mock hurt.

“Now, whatever gave you that idea?” she asked as she shoved me toward the door.

“If you wanted to get rid of me, all you had to do was start talking about the weather.” I raised my eyebrows at her. I wanted her to know that I wasn’t fooled by their little tete-a-tete in the restaurant bathroom with Aunt Ebere, Aunt Pam, and Grandma.

Mother opened her mouth as if to protest. She knew better than to try to deny it since it was obvious that I was on to her. She didn’t get the chance to. The doorbell rang, saving her from trying to deny that they’d been talking about us cousins.

“Are they here yet?” I asked, barely managing to keep a straight face.

“No. It’s my great-grand mother. Of course it’s them.”

“It sure took them long enough. It isn’t as if you ladies don’t all live within a stone’s throw of Grandma’s.”

As I headed for the door, I asked, “Did you ever think about moving out of Lagos, Mum?”

“What for?” she asked, trailing behind me. “Everything I needed, ever wanted is right here.”

Shrugging, I tried to make her understand. “I don’t know, Travel, see the world, find out what life’s like outside the city limits. You and Aunt Ebere and Aunt Pamela were raised here. I’m sure you’ve seen everything there is to see. When you were old enough to be on your own, why didn’t you move away like me, Brenda and Joy?”

“When our wandering foot gets to itchin’, we pick up and go,” Mother said defensively. Me and your aunts and sometimes your grandparents get in the car and drive until the itch is satisfied.”

“There’s so much more out there,” I protested. “Places you cant get to in a day or a weekend drive.”

“Yes, there’s more out there,” Mother echoed. “And they’re standing on the front porch waiting to be let in. Don’t keep your aunts waiting, Priye. Besides, didn’t you ever see that movie The Wizard of Oz?”

“Ooh, I’m telling Aunt Ebere and Aunt Pamela that you’ve called them wicked witches!” I said, deliberately misunderstanding her.

“I did not! You stop playing around and open that door.” I flung the door open and welcomed my aunts’ warm greeting with open arms and kisses of affection. Brenda stood behind them, grinning at me and waving one of Jack’s autographed T-shirts in my face. I reached for it, but she held it high out of my reach.

“Where’s Joy?” I asked, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice. I was hoping to see her before taking off again for Ghana.

“She couldn’t make it for this meeting.” Brenda told me. “She said that she’d try to be here for the next one. She didn’t say much, you know how Joy is, but I think she’s not doing well.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I murmured.

“Come on in, ladies.” Mother said, ushering Brenda and my aunts inside. “Let’s not put Joy’s business out in the street. Priye, make sure that you call Joy and see if she needs anything, or if there’s anything we can do to help out.”

“Yes, Mum. But you know how she is. So independent. Miss Carry-the-world-on-her-shoulders.”

“Just like your mother,” Aunt Ebere remarked. “She’d work herself to death before accepting charity.”

“It’s a crying shame that she had to work herself sick.” Aunt Pam added. “She wouldn’t have to work so hard if Joy’s no-good father would lift a finger to help.”

“How do you know he is no good?” Brenda asked, breaking the cardinal rule of interrupting their conversation. You never did that. Not only was it considered rude, but you didn’t find out any good gossip that way.

“Had to be a no-good.” Aunt Pam went on, “Otherwise, he’d be there to help out.”

“If help comes from you and Brenda, it won’t be so hard for her to accept,” Mother said, quickly changing the subject.

“Come on in, ladies,” Mother said. “We’re meeting in the family living room soon.”

Aunt Pam sniffed the air. “Doris, I know that isn’t your world-famous, pound-adding, make-you-want-to-reach-around-and-slap-your-mother cake I smell baking in there.”

“It sure is.” Mother laughed. “You’d better be glad that you showed up when you did, Pammie. Priye was just about to eat it all.”

“Not all,” I contradicted. “Just most of it.”

“Go into the family room. I’ll be back in a minute with the cake and tea.”

“Need some help in the kitchen. Aunt Doris?” Brenda called out.

“Suck-up,” I muttered out of the corner of my mouth. She smirked at me as she took a seat.

“No, I’ve got it, honey. But thanks for offering.”

Mother returned, setting down a silver platter with a carafe of tea and the plates and cups, silver server, cream, and sugar bowls.

“Why don’t you give me that cake recipe, Doris?” Aunt Ebere asked, reaching for the wedge-shaped dessert server.
“I thought I gave you the recipe already.”

“You must have left out an ingredient or instruction or something. It didn’t come out quite right.” Aunt Ebere complained.

“Tell the truth and shame the devil, Ebere. It came out like a brick. I broke a cap biting into it.” Aunt Pam insisted.

“Sat in the dentist’s office for thirty minutes in agony while I waited to be treated.”

Mother glared at Aunt Pam. “Be nice, Pammie. Not in front of the girls.”

“Oh, don’t mind us,” Brenda said, scooting to the edge of her seat and leaning forward into the conversation. “This is just getting good.”

“You certainly are getting mean in your old age, Pammie,” Aunt Ebere said, pouring herself a cup of tea.

“I am not getting mean. Doris was always the mean one. It wouldn’t surprise me if she made a switch in the recipe on purpose to keep the secret. Something like two cups of plaster instead of flour. Yes, that would be just like her.”

“I was not the mean one,” Mother protested, stirring cream into her tea and taking a sip.

“Yes, you were. You were the mean one. I was the gifted one. Pam was the smart one,” Aunt Ebere insisted.

“I thought I was the gifted one,” Aunt Pam sounded wounded.

“You’re both wrong. I was the smart one and the gifted one,” Mother corrected them all.

“Nooo,” Aunt Pam said adamantly. “I was. And I was Aunt Rosa’s favorite, too. She told me so.”

I bit into my cake to keep from laughing out loud. Aunt Rosa had a pretty good scam working. As long as we were all her favorites, we would all bend over backward trying to please her.

“Are we ready to start?” Mother asked. “Let’s join hands and bow our heads. Ebere, would you lead us in prayer?”

I clasped hands with Brenda on one side and Aunt Pam on the other. We all had our heads bowed dutifully, but not before I sneaked a peek at everyone’s solemn expressions. All kidding was aside now. As soon as the last echoes faded from the “amen” in unison, I knew the banter would return – the rapid-fire jabs and sibling one-upmanship. If ever I’d wondered where I’d gotten my acerbic tongue, the doubts were erased in the presence of my aunts. My wit had been carefully honed by these three Johnson sisters.

But for now, there was no sarcasm, no silliness. Giving thanks was serious business. And this sprawling family had much to be thankful for. We had all gone our separate ways – some paths keeping us closer to home than others. But one thing was certain. My aunts and uncles had done their share to make certain that my path was always a secure one,

Contd. . .

As I grew older and ventured out on my own, I experimented. I tried their collective patience. But when I fell, someone was always there to help set me on my feet again. Sometimes with a gentle nudge in the right direction; sometimes with a figurative kick to the seat of the pants to get me going.

As Aunt Ebere continued to pray, punctuated with a fervent “yes, Lord,” or “help us, Lord” from Mother and Aunt Pam, I felt a shiver run through me. Brenda squeezed my hand. She must have felt it, too. She turned her head toward me and smiled. I could have sworn that there were tears in her eyes.

I wouldn’t be surprised. A lump that had nothing to do with the cake formed in my throat as well. Something about my aunt’s voice brought to mind a flood of memories. And I wondered. . .how many times had my family prayed that same prayer of guidance over us?

Late at night, when we were all tucked safely in our beds or going about our day-to-day business, how many times had their prayers gone up to cover us? How many disasters had we averted due to their diligence?

The love that spanned generations was evident in my aunt’s plea for continued strength and guidance. I used to wonder where it all came from – the patience, the wisdom, the humour it took to raise us.

This third generation of the Johnson children certainly did our best to try to use it all up. If we’d truly known that their strength was divinely derived, I don’t think we would have tried so hard to irk them. Backed by legions of warrior angels, our mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, cousins and extended family kept us on the straight and narrow – sometimes dragging us kicking and screaming, but inching along just the same.

“Amen.” I echoed at the close of Aunt Ebere’s prayer.

“Priye.” Mother’s voice was oddly subdued and a little trembly. “Read back the minutes from the last meeting.”

I nodded, because I didn’t trust my own voice yet. Placed my laptop on my lap.

“Okay, let me see. Old business meeting notes. We settled on how many committees we’re going to create to help with the planning. Seven committees in all including budget and finance, correspondence, family history, food, programs, reunion site hospitality, and transportation.”

“You missed one,” Mother noted. “Remember, Uncle Eddie suggested we create a first-aid committee.”

“I might have know that Scrape-a-day would suggest something like that.” Aunt Pam said, reaching for another slice of cake.

"Scrape-a-day?" Brenda and I questioned in unison.

"That's what we used to call your Uncle Eddie from the time he was about seven years old. He couldn't get through the day without falling down, bumping into something, or otherwise injuring himself."

"Okay, adding first-aid committee to the list." My fingers flew over the keyboard. "We also roughed out a budget and mailed out reunion questionnaire surveys."

"I've already started to receive some responses back." Aunt Ebere pulled out an expanding file folder. "Out of three hundred surveys that we sent out, we've gotten sixty or so back."

"Sixty responses back already. That's not bad. Up from last year. Remember how we had to beg and plead to get those surveys back?" Mother reminded them.

"Almost everyone is up on e-mail now," Brenda said. "When we put pictures from our last reunion out on that Web page that Uncle Boma created, that generated a lot of excitement."

"I'll send out another e-mail in a week or so to remind everyone to get those surveys back so we can really make some headway in the planning." Aunt Pam made a note to herself and I added that information to the action items section of the meeting notes.

"Last but certainly not least of old business, Aunt Pam, Aunt Ebere, and Mother opened the checking account at First Bank so we can start to deposit funds. We can add N2,500,000 raised at the auction last week."

That drew a round of applause from all of us.

"Thanks to a certain Mr. Deneen." Brenda said, holding up the shirt she'd bought. "That was very nice of him to volunteer his . . .uh. . .services."

"Yes. Yes, it was," I said stiffly.

"I hope you thanked the nice man for his effort, Priye."

Aunt Pam teased. "Because of him, we have enough to start this reunion planning off right. You know how our parents hate for us to beg for money. Now, we don't have to beg as long or for as much."

I cleared my throat delicately. "If I run into him again, I'll be sure to pass along your sentiments."

"If?" Brenda picked up on my uncertainty. "What do you mean, if?"

"It means if. As in maybe. As in I don't know."

"You're joking, right, Priye? You must have plans to see him again." Brenda grabbed my hand and squeezed.

"Why are you making such a big deal out of this? I didn't have plans to meet him the first time. Or the second time. That was all your doing," I said, pinning each aunt with a stare. "You are the ones who set me up."

"Are you complaining?" Aunt Ebere wanted to know. "Because if you are, I know a couple of your cousins who'd jump at the chance at being set up with such a fine figure of a man."

"She's not complaining," Brenda said, throwing the T-shirt at me. "She's just mad because she didn't think of the idea herself."

"Stop teasing Priye." Mother came to my defense. "She has a lot on her mind these days, without us meddling."

"Meddling?" Aunt Ebere and Aunt Pam protested. They looked at her as if she'd turned traitor.

"Hmmmph. Nobody mentioned meddling when a certain someone introduced that sweet little girl from the hospital to Dad's brother's wife's youngest cousin. I won't mention any names." Aunt Pam pursed her lips and stared directly at Mother.

"Her name was Linda," Mother said cooly. "Did you know that she's already expecting? They say it's going to be twins."

"I should have known. I've been dreaming about schools of fish lately." Aunt Ebere insisted.

I covered my eyes with my hands. My family. Had to love them.

That's how it went for the entire meeting - the back-and-forth teasing. And somehow, in the midst of it all, we moved the family reunion planning just a bit further along.

By the end of the meeting, I was exhausted. My typing fingers had blisters on top of blisters. When I remarked on that to Brenda, she huffed, then rolled her eyes to me. I recognized that look. She wasn't teasing anymore. There was something on her mind.

"What?" I mouthed to her, shrugging.

"Nothing," she replied in a tone that I knew meant anything but that. Something in her voice caught my mother's attention. She looked questioningly at us.

"Let me take care of these for you, Aunt Doris," Brenda said quickly and gathered up the desert dishes.

"Thank you, sweetie," Mother said. She glanced over at me, not-so-subtly tilting her head to indicate that I should follow Brenda. I gathered the tea cups.

"All right, Bren," I challenged as soon as we were out of hearing. "What's up?"

"I told you. Nothing's the matter."

"I don't believe you."

She whirled around to face me. Her mouth was a tight line. "And I don't believe you, Priye!"

"What did I do?" I exclaimed. My mind raced back over the events of the meeting, trying to figure out what I could have said or done to make her angry with me. I know that I'd grabbed the last piece of cake, but she'd insisted that I take it.

"Nothing," she repeated.

"I swear, Bren, if you say that one more time, you're going to be wearing the last of this tea." I warned.

She shook her head, her face an odd mixture of humour and disapproval. Carefully, she set the dishes into the sink. I moved next to her, wrapping my arm around her shoulder.

"No, don't try to make up with me," she said, hitching her shoulder to move me aside. "I'm mad at you."

"Why?"

"Because of what you're doing to Jack?"

"And that is?" I prompted.

Brenda formed her lips to say "nothing" but changed her mind. "What did he do to make you want to blow him off?"

Now it was my turn to say the favourite word for the afternoon. "Nothing," I murmured.

Brenda stifled a giggle. "Then what you're doing doesn't make any sense. You should count your blessings, girl. Without even trying, you've managed to find a man like Jack. A man any girl would kill for. Why are you passing up on a perfectly good man?"

"Of course you would say that. You've only seen what you've wanted to see. You've only seen him at his best - charming, handsome, and generous."

"Have you seen him any other way?" Brenda asked. "Has he ever been anything but the perfect gentleman to you?"

"No. . ." I admitted slowly.

"So, what's the problem?"

She had a point. The longer that I thought about it, the more I realized that's all he'd ever shown me, as well. He wanted me, was giving me his best. And until he showed me otherwise, I should take it. Take a chance.

"I should call him," I murmured.

"You've got that right," Brenda urged. She reached for the wall phone and extended the phone to me. "What's the number? I'll dial it myself before you chicken out." Her finger was poised over the buttons.

"He's probably not home," I said, making up an excuse.

"Then leave a message. I'll bet you he'll call back."

"I can't call him. What if Mum or the aunts walk in?"

"I'll keep watch on the door. You're running out of excuses, Priye. Keep jacking around and you'll lose that man. No pun intended."

"All right, all right." I gave in.

So, even though I had misgivings I called him - with Brenda standing right there, staring me dead in my mouth.

I kept it vague, loose, giving him an out if he wanted one. When he'd told me that he couldn't meet this weekend, I had the sinking fear that maybe Brenda was right. Maybe I'd played it too cool and lost my opportunity.

Then again, maybe not.

He had other commitments this weekend that he couldn't get out of. But he'd sounded so pleased that I'd called.

"What about next weekend, Priye?"

"Can't," I said. "I won't be in town then. Work stuff. You know how it is."

I was spending an awful lot of time and money flying home every other weekend to help my family plan this reunion. I suppose I could have handled it over the phone to try to save money. But this was an opportunity that wouldn't come my way again for a while. Next year, someone else would be picked to serve on the reunion committee.

Though this opportunity was costing me. My work was starting to suffer, not to mention my bank account - even though reunion funds took care of half the tab for my travel expenses. One of the perks of being the chairperson of the fund-raising committee.

I'd used my share of reunion funds, but I was also spending a lot of time helping to generate funds, too - organizing familly fund-raisers, soliciting donations from private companies, stuff like that. If I wanted to hit my own company up, I'd better show my face around there. I hadn't spent the extra time in the office like I needed in order to stay ahead of the pack.

"What about the week after that?" Brenda suggested excitedly, not ready to give up on us just yet. I clamped my hand over the phone, but Jack had heard her and started laughing.

"Is that Brenda?" He asked.

"Yes," I admitted. "She's here."

"I'll tell you what, Priye. I've got a game in a couple of weeks. I can get you some tickets. As many as you want for you and your family. We can hook up after the game. How does that sound?"

"Works for me," I told him. A stadium full of screaming fans wasn't exactly what I had in mind; but if that was the best he could do on short notice, I wouldn't turn it down. Besides, a lot could happen in a couple of weeks. Maybe something else would come up before then. We could still meet and I wouldn't have to go to the game.

"All right. See you in a couple of weeks."

"Bye, Jack."

"And, Priye?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you called."

"So am I, Jack. So am I."

An awkward silence filled the line, as if he wasn't quite ready to hang up; but I could hear my mum and aunts stirring, their voices growing louder.

"Bye," I said quickly. Then hung up the phone. "Happy now?" I addressed Brenda.

She squeezed me tight. "Now that's the Priye that I know and love! And it's not about my being happy. Not this time. This is about your love and your happiness!"

My wonderful fam

I won't be updating the next chapter till Next week Monday because am leaving for the Redemption Camp tomorrow for the annual convention..and I won't be back till Sunday.
My apologies plz...

And yea, if there's anyone here who would also be at the camp or who is already there and wants to meet me , a PM would be appreciated, as I would love to meet my readers *wink*

Loads of love

Ouch! u re making me miss not going for d convention dis year. I would have really loved to meet u Lola .Remember us in ur prayers o. Thanks for d update. Love u sooooooooooo much

akejujoe: Ouch! u re making me miss not going for d convention dis year. I would have really loved to meet u Lola .Remember us in ur prayers o. Thanks for d update. Love u sooooooooooo much

*crying*
Why aint you going nah *sad face*
Loooooooooooove youuuuuu toooooo

Ohhhh noooooo....so not fair lolipop gonna miss my daily dosage,anyway we styl dy here waitin 4 u...we luv u lolipop

Aliyeous: Ohhhh noooooo....so not fair lolipop gonna miss my daily dosage,anyway we styl dy here waitin 4 u...we luv u lolipop

Looove u too muchos! MwaAah

Kiss ,kiss kiss, and plenty hugs. you are one of a kind. Lovely all throu. Thanks Omolola> till monday. Catch u

hey! Its almost past monday. Welcome back sha.

hey! Its almost past monday. Welcome back sha.
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