I Do Not Come to You by Chance by Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani Read Free Book Online Page B

you a ring for you to know I love you,’ I cooed back.
    ‘I know, but other people might not see it like that. They might think we’re just fooling around.’
    As usual, she had a point.
    My next pocket money had been swallowed up by an engagement ring. Ola wore it until late last year when the metal turned green. She did not seem too bothered about a ring these days, but I had promised that when I started working I would buy her one that sparkled so bright she would have to wear Christian Dior shades.
    Most times while we walked and talked, I would have my arm around her with my hand inside the back pocket of her jeans. I never held her openly in Umuahia, though; people would think she was promiscuous. Ola never wore trousers in the streets of Umuahia either; girls who wore them were seen as wayward. Men would toss lecherous comments, women would fling snide remarks, children would stop and stare. But in school, we could do whatever we wanted. There were several open fields and bushy gardens. Fortunately, the university budget did not include streetlights.
    At Ola’s house, I knocked. Ezinne peeped through the transparent glass door, unlocked it hurriedly, and hugged my waist.
    ‘Good afternoon, Brother Kings.’
    ‘My darling little sweetheart, how are you?’
    ‘I’m fine, thank you.’
    I pecked her two cheeks.
    Ezinne was the youngest of Ola’s five sisters. She was a miniature version of her elder sister, both in looks and in personality. And she had taken to me just as naturally, too. We had a special bond.
    ‘Didn’t you go to school today?’ I asked.
    ‘No, Brother. I ate too much pepper soup yesterday and my tummy was running throughout the night. My mummy said I should stay at home today so that I won’t be running to the toilet when I’m in school.’
    ‘So how’re you feeling now?’
    ‘I’m feeling better, thank you.’
    Ola’s mother was sitting on one of the wooden chairs in the meagrely furnished living room. The only chair with a cushion had belonged to the Man of the House. There were some brightly coloured plastic flowers standing in an aluminium vase on the centre table. The table legs were leaning at a 120-degree angle - an extra ten degrees from the last time I was here. I had heard of men who aspired to marry girls from rich homes, but there was something gratifying about having a fiancee whose family house was in a more deplorable state than mine.
    All my life, I had heard my mother say things like: ‘If not for your daddy, I would never have attended university’, ‘If not for your daddy, I would still be walking about barefoot in the village’. I dreamt of a wife who would say similarly enchanting things about me, a wife who saw me as Deliverer. ‘If not for your daddy, I would never have lived in a house where we didn’t have to pay rent’, ‘If not for your daddy, I would never have lived in a duplex with a high fence and large compound’, ‘If not for your daddy, I would never have been on a plane, I would never even have left the shores of Nigeria’.
    That last one was particularly essential, especially for my children. During my school days, the rest of us had been constantly oppressed by children whose parents could afford to take them away to England and America on holidays. They came back several shades lighter in complexion and never stopped yammering on about their exotic experiences, complete with nasal accents. They flaunted unusual stationery and attracted more than their fair share of friends. Teachers treated them with blatant favouritism. My children would have more than enough to attract the envy of their peers. I would show Ola the world.
    ‘Good morning, Mama,’ I greeted.
    ‘Ezinne, lock that door and go inside,’ she said without looking in my direction.
    Despite the burden of several excess kilograms of fat, Ola’s mother was usually as beautiful as her daughters. But today, she was sporting a livid frown. I sat in the chair beside her,