“No. Please don’t come.”

“But I have to see you tonight.”

“I said don’t come. Can you not hear me?”

“But I need to see you. And I know you also want to see me. You want this.”

Silence.

She was quiet because what he said was the truth. But how could she admit it?

Maybe if she kept quiet it will all go away. The feeling will disappear. He will disappear.

“Sweetim, are you there?”

“I am here.”

“Please let me come.”

“I said no. Stop repeating it.”

“Is Mama around? Has Papa returned from his journey?”

Silence.

“Hello, hello, hello. Sweetim are you there?”

She had ended the call. If she stayed a second longer, she will let him come.

And if he came, the story will not be good.

How will she face herself in the morning when she wakes up with a guilty smile on her face?

How will she tell Tobi why she was humming under her breath all day long at the market square?

How will she lift up her hands and sing during mass with a clean heart?

She closed her eyes and forced sleep to come.

She had done the right thing. She did not let him come.

Morning always came with a song.

It was new, fresh, like the smell of soap she loved when she scrubbed her face.

Sleep always helped her forget. And morning was a new slate for a new beginning.

As she stepped out of the bathroom, she heard it again.

It was her door. Somebody was knocking. She was running late for the market square.

But the knock continued. She quickly tied her towel across her waist and stepped towards the door.

It was him. He stood there.

“Why are you here? It is too early.”

He smiled. That smile that she did not agree to come in the night.

“I am sorry. I was on my way to the city. I forgot to rub cream, and your house was on the way. My legs are white. I thought I could manage it. But I can’t. I only came to rub cream.”

“Cream, as in pomade. You came to my house to rub pomade.”

“Yes, or don’t you have pomade?”

She turned quietly and he followed her in. She gave him the pomade. He opened it.

Silence.

“Is Mama at home?”

“No, she went to see Aunty last night and decided to spend the night.”

“So you are alone.”

He said it as a statement. Not a question. A statement. He knew. He had felt she was alone last night. How did he know? Why did he not come last night if he knew?

“Sweetim, why did you not tell me yesterday?”

“Don’t come near me. I told you not to come. Why are you here?”

“I need you. I had to come and see you..”

His voice trailed as he moved closer and wrapped her in his arms.

She was afraid. It was him. She could not walk away.

How do you tell a man you will not give him pomade?

He held her closely and breathed her in. She smelled so good. The smell of her soap. Like morning.

They held unto each other, like holding on for life.

It was not fair. Why could this not be her reality? Her every morning story?

She held unto him tightly, but it was not only him in her arms.

She held unto his wife. His three children. His mother in-law. His father in-law.

She held unto the kisses he had shared with them, the stories he had told them.

She held unto the laughter he had shared with them, the vows he had made to them.

She held tightly, but deep within she knew she held unto nothing.

He was not for her. He will never be.

“You have to leave.”

She did not recognize her voice.

“Sweetim…..”

“You have to leave. Why did you come? You should not have come. It is not fair.”

How could she begin to explain to him the pain in her chest?

If he did not go, she will die. Her chest was full of pain. And she did not want to cry. Not in front of him. Maybe later. Maybe next month, or next year she will cry.

But not now.

“I am sorry I’m causing you pain. But I am not sorry I came. I had to see you.”

She ran into the room and quickly dressed up. She was going to be late for the market square. She ran out and carried her basket.

“Let us go.”

“Can I give you a lift? Let me drop you at the market square.”

“No, I will walk.”

“Okay. I will be travelling next week. I may not see you. They are coming for the holidays.

I will be taking them back after the holidays.”

Silence.

And in the silence, she understood what she had become.

His mistress.

She had become his mistress. Those women she had read about in school. Always dressed in red and scarlet. Novels she had hid under the blanket to read with a torch light.

That was what she had become.

His mistress.

And in the silence, he could see it in her eyes that she now understood what she had become.

And he knew, that he will never see her again. Not as a mistress. Or weak in his arms.

As they stood in the silence, Mama approached with a smile on her face.

And she began to worry.

How will she tell Mama he came that early in the morning only to rub pomade?