***
I walked home, bracing myself for an episode with my stepmother. The open gate told me I had no cause for worry. At least, not until later. My paranoid stepmother never left the gate open, so I figured out Cynthia was alone at home. She obviously wanted to save herself the humiliation of opening the gate when I knocked.
I stepped into the house and headed for my room when smoke from the kitchen wafted to my nostrils. I shrugged off my backpack and sprinted to the kitchen. Coughing and sneezing, I pushed through the smoke and found a burning pan atop our gas cooker. Turning off the gas cooker, I tossed the pan in the sink and assaulted it with cold water from the faucet.
Cynthia brushed past me to open the backyard door. She coughed hysterically. I turned off the faucet and joined her in the backyard, where we coughed our chests out and sneezed our noses out as though in a fierce competition.
I paused for a breather. Cynthia had come to help me? Sure, she'd almost burnt the house and I'd come just in time to help her. But still ...
Shaking her head, she burst into laughter. A laughter I couldn't understand. A laughter so transmissible, it conquered my initial shock and stole me over. For the first time in years, I laughed with my sister.
Her cough returned, bringing our awkwardly perfect moment to a sighable end.
"You should return to your room now," I said. "Stay away from the smoke and all. Look how you're coughing."
"I get it," she said. "I'm coughing like an idiot."
Did she just talk to me? I had to speak again. To make sure this was for real. "Sorry."
"How do you make omelets? I just wanted something I could eat along with my indomie."
"You made indomie?" I asked.
Unbelievable. I dashed into to the kitchen to see for myself. She really had cooked today. All thanks to Alex. And we were getting along, thanks to the burnt omelet. So, for good developments to occur, bad things had to happen first? I wished I'd known this from the start.
"You probably think it's horrible," she said. "The taste, I mean. Considering that I've never cooked. You're welcome to try it."
"No," I said. "I'm sure it's fine."
"No," she insisted. "Try it. Maybe then you can go tell that idiot I'm not entirely useless."
Oversized onions and tomatoes blocked the indomie from my sight. But still, I could tell the noodles had spent eternity in the pot. Not wanting to let her down, I grabbed the fork she offered me and dug into the pot. Only after I'd moved the extravagant vegetables out of the way was I able to get food on my fork.
Cynthia stared expectantly. Impatience fought to take the best of her. She nodded, wordlessly ordering me to get on with it. And I did. The most horrible food on planet earth spread its saltiness over my tongue.
I spat out the defilement from my mouth. "You were not to add salt!"
Seething, Cynthia folded her arms. "What do you know? Salt is the primary seasoning."
"Salt is essential when cooking other meals. But not indomie. Did you not see the packaged seasoning it came with?" Spotting the seasoning on the floor, I picked it up and waved it in front of her wide open eyes. "Here. It's called seasoning. One part seasoning, other part, chili! With this you don't need salt. How can you not know this?"
Tears pooled around her eyes. If I could, I would take back my words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"
"You have five minutes to make lunch," she said. I watched her storm out of the kitchen.
I had just ruined a once in a lifetime chance of getting along with my sister. Grunting, I slammed my palm into my face. "Seriously, Victoria, you are an idiot sometimes."
Grabbing two super packs from the carton, I set to work. Moments later, I smiled at the beautifully garnished dish I'd made. I set Cynthia's on the dining table and headed for her room, hoping for a chance to apologize.
The scene in the passageway caused me to halt. My schoolbag had been emptied of its contents, which included my books and the package Sir Aaron had given me. The package had also been emptied. Two books laid on the floor. Though unfamiliar, I recognized them to be the books Stella had written. 'A Robber's Heart' and 'By Candlelight'.
An empty phone pack stood beside the books. A few naira notes took up a few inches of the floor. And in the midst of them all, Cynthia crouched, brandishing an Infinix Hot 4.
"Precious told me she saw you with Sir Aaron after school," she said. "I told her you would not ruin our family name that way. With a man old enough to be our father."
"He didn't buy me the phone," I said. "If that's what you're thinking."
"Your fairy godmother did," she said, gesturing to a letter lying across the floor. "But why? What do they see in you? First, Amarachi. Then, Stella. And then Raheem. Raheem who won't even look at anyone else. How is it possible he has eyes for you? And now, Sir Aaron? He too has become your friend? What do they see in you?"
"I...I don't know."
"Mum was right," she said. "You are a witch. You've cast a spell on them. That's why they're all crazy about you. Because it's out of the ordinary that anyone would actually want to be your friend."
"If I were a witch and knew how to cast a spell, you'd be the very first person I'd bind to myself. Anyway, your food is ready."
I outstretched my hand for the phone, but she stepped back. "Don't even think for a moment that we will allow charity in this house."
"Let me tell you a story of two men," I said. "One is rich, and the other, poor. The rich owns many sheep and cattle, but the poor has nothing but one small female lamb. He feeds it and cares for it with the little he has. This small female lamb becomes as a daughter to him. One day, the rich man has a visitor. But he refuses to slaughter any of his numerous sheep and cattle to prepare a meal for the visitor. Rather, he takes the poor man's lamb and prepares a meal for his visitor."
She rolled her eyes. "Your point is?"
"You are blessed with a mother who loves you, and lets you get away with your extravagance. You have everything you could ever need. This phone doesn't even compare to the ones you use. And yet you want to take it away to spite me? Okay. If that's what you want, keep it. Keep everything. But know that you are no different from that rich man who showed no compassion."
Seething, she tossed the phone at me. I caught it with a smile. A smile flitted across her face, and then she stormed off. Someday, she would call me 'sister', and I could feel that day fast approaching.