Happy in the Blue

When the doorbell rings, I am surprised to see Okoye, but more for what he is wearing than his actual presence. As a Colonel in the Nigerian Army, his days of camouflage and jungle boots were long past him. He and Kehinde had spent years climbing the military ranks and while my husband eventually exchanged his uniform for a suit as an international arms contractor for the army, Okoye exchanged his for the dress greens of a commissioned officer. 

“Okoye, how naw?” I give him a quick hug before turning to go back. “Come inside, let me make you some lunch while you wait for Kehinde. I’m sure he will be back sh—”

“Happiness,” he whispers.  

In our 10 years of friendship, I can count the number of times he’s called me by my full name. Just like Kehinde, he calls me Happy. 

“What is it?”

“There has been an accident.” 

My body knows something I don’t and I unconsciously take a step back from whatever it is that he is about to tell me. 

“Earlier this afternoon, someone threw a bomb…” He exhales slowly, calming the tremble in his voice. “Kehinde’s car was found burning with a body in it. It was burnt beyond recognition, but we assume it was him.”

“No,” I hiss, holding up a finger to silence his lies. “No!”

 I pull out my mobile phone. It’s a mistake; a simple mistake that will be cleared up as soon as I hear Kehinde’s voice. 

“Wait, p—”

As the phone rings, I hear a harsh grating sound behind me. Okoye is holding a misshapen clump of plastic that vibrates in unison with the ringing on my phone.

•••••••

“Happy?” Kehinde lies down next to me, “Will you love me forever?”

I startle awake and instinctively reach for Kehinde, but my arm slams hard against the closet wall. With the physical pain comes the rush of memory; it’s been thirty days without my husband. Thirty days as a widow. Thirty days lost in a maze of never-ending days and nights where I get to see him in my dreams. He always comes to me; his warm smile soothing as he explains his absence and in my dreams, unlike my life, it all makes sense. I’ve spent each of those thirty nights on the floor of his closet cocooned in his clothes; cocoons make caterpillars into beautiful butterflies, but what once gave my life beauty is gone.  

The blender goes off in the kitchen and for a second the old me, the dying me, the once-inquisitive editor for the Eko Times me, wonders who is in my house, but the new me, the widow me, doesn’t care. Bolu aside, if death so graciously came knocking, I would open the door myself.

 Bolu!

A vision of my daughter’s bloody, mangled fingers dancing in the blender jar jerks me upright and propels me into the kitchen where I find my giggling five year old daughter at the kitchen island watching my husband make pancakes. For a moment, I allow myself to embrace the delusion that the last days have been a nightmare, but as my “husband” turns to me and I see his bloodshot blue eyes and trembling hands, the bubble bursts.

“Taiye, what are you doing here?” I snap.

Bolu looks up with a smile, “Good morning, mommy.”

“She came to me.” My husband’s identical twin slides a slightly burnt pancake onto my daughter’s plate. “She was hungry.”

I rub a hand over my daughter’s untidy braids. “Bolu, you know you’re not supposed to go to Uncle Taiye’s by yourself. Why didn’t you come to me?”

“I tried,” she pouts, “but I couldn’t open Daddy’s closet door.”

I push my embarrassment aside. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay. Uncle TayTay makes the best pancakes.”

“No, he doesn’t.” I soften the edge in my voice with a smile. “Daddy does. Don’t ever forget that. ”

“Yes, Mommy.”

 I pick up the smoothie in front of her and smell it. 

 “Really?” Taiye frowns, “Are you serious?”

Ignoring him, I pass Bolu the cup. “Say thank you.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”

His frown morphs into a warm smile. “You’re welcome, baby.”

“Uncle?” She takes a sip of her smoothie. “When is Daddy coming home from his trip?”

Taiye turns wide eyes to me. “His trip?”

“Bolu.” I kiss her forehead. “Would you like to eat in front of the telly?”

“Yes, please.” She dances excitedly in her seat. 

Once she’s gone, I turn to Taiye. “You know the rules. She is not supposed to see you like this.”

“And she wouldn’t if you had gotten her something to eat instead of making her have to come to me.”

It hurts to look at him, so I keep my gaze low. He is identical to my Kehinde from the mole on his left cheek to the gap in his front teeth. The only physical difference, due to genetics or an act of God, depending on who you ask, is that while Kehinde had the brown eyes typical for a Nigerian who could trace his roots back to a time before Europe carved up the African  continent like a goat, Taiye was born with pale blue eyes. 

“Fine. I’m up now. We don’t need you.”

“You told her Kehinde is on a trip?

I clear my throat. “We don’t know anything for certain.”

“They found his car with his b—”

“They found a body.” I stare into the blue. “We haven’t gotten the DNA results back.”

Sighing, he begins to clear the used utensils into the sink. “You’re a coward.”

“Yeah? And you’re a drunk,” I hiss. “You look a mess. When did you eat or shower last?”

Even though we’ve lost the person we love the most, despite the grief and the pain, we still have a hunger to tear into each other. 

Leaning against the sink, he eyes me from my untidy locs to Kehinde’s snot-stained pajamas. “You look a mess. When did you eat or shower last?”

I swallow hard. “I think you should leave.”

“I agree.” He casually drops the glass cup he’s holding and I flinch as it shatters in the sink. 

At the kitchen window, I watch him cross the backyard, pass the pool and into the Boys Quarter. It’s then I see the plate of pancakes, little chunks of banana peeking through the fluffiness. 

Aren’t you tired of Banana pancakes?” Kehinde laughs as he slices up a banana.

I wrap my arms around him. “Are you tired of making me happy?”

“Never, my love.”

The ache is raw and full and threatens to drown me. I sink to my knees and sob. 

•••••••

“Kehinde, I don’t know how I am going to do this,” I sob as I complete another lap around the pool. “I am not strong enough to do this life without you.”

The sound of glass shattering breaks the quiet of the night. It’s coming from Taiye’s place and in my mind’s eye I see a belligerent drunk stumbling around in the dark. 

Kehinde and I had been married for almost three years before I finally met Taiye. Until that day, all I knew about Taiye was that he lived in the US and I didn’t question when he was absent from our wedding, because not all families were close and no one knew that better than me. It wasn’t until much later, when I was holding a letter from the New York City Department of Corrections – Rikers Island that I learned that by “living,” Kehinde actually meant incarcerated. The letter from Taiye contained details of his release and gratitude for our offer of accommodation. I spent the evening reading a court transcript so vile it made me physically sick. That night, Kehinde and I had our first fight. 

“Why didn’t you tell me your brother was in prison?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you. You’re not exactly a…” His voice trailed off.

“I’m not exactly, what?”

He sighed, “You don’t forgive. A person has one strike with you and once they blow it, they are dead to you. I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

I couldn’t argue with the truth. “Fine, but now you’re bringing him to our home where our child lives?”

“He’s not a monster.”

“Tell that to that poor girl’s family!” I spat. “I saw the pictures, I read the court articles. I know what he did to her.” 

“He’s my brother. My flesh and blood; you don’t understand, I owe him my life.”

That was three years ago; three years of watching Taiye slowly drink himself to death. He had more than enough money for it; while in jail, he had submitted some writing under a pen name to a “jail to publication” program and got signed by a New York literary agency, resulting in a seven-figure deal from a top five publishing house. When drunk, he could hardly see straight, but oh, how it made the words flow. 

 Another scream brings me to his door. “Taiye?”

 I follow the screams through a dark living room to the bedroom where the smell of sick and sour hits me hard. As nausea overwhelms me, I am hurled back in time to a damp one-bedroom flat in the slums of Oshodi.

No! I pinch my thigh hard until I am back in my body.

In the bedroom, Taiye is curled up on the floor and I gently roll his sweat-slick body onto his back, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel well,” he mumbles.

I have met many versions of Taiye: drunk Taiye, needs a drink Taiye, on his first drink Taiye, black out drunk Taiye. Tonight, I am meeting a new version; in-pain Taiye. 

“When was your last drink?”

He mumbles something as his eyes flutter close. 

Happy, get your father some water. Quickly!

I am in the kitchen before I am reminded that Taiye is not my father and I do not have to get him water, but I get it anyway, and instead of holding it to his lips, I dump it in his face and he wakes up with a gasp.

As I stare into the blue, rage rushes through me and I slap him hard across the face.

“When was your last drink?” I yell. 

“Yesterday.” he moans.

“Bastard,” I hiss, “Now, you do this to me? Now?”

Back in the house, I scour the stack of shoe boxes in my wardrobe until I find a small black toiletry bag. I grab it and rush back to Taiye, who is still in the face-down slump I’d left him in. 

“Get up.” I throw his arm around my shoulder and half drag, half stumble with him into the adjoining bathroom where I strip him down to his boxers in the tub and turn on the shower. 

When the water hits his chest, he starts to cry. “Please don’t.” His eyes are fixed somewhere behind me as he begs beings only he can see. “Please, don’t do it.”

I know the stages of this sickness well. How within hours of the last drink the sweats begin. How anxiety will have his heart beating so hard he will think he is having a heart attack. Then comes the nausea and vomiting and the tremors. How night brings nothing but insomnia and hallucinations. Then seizures. Then death. Then the screams and the torment and the guilt and the questions of what I could have done to stop this. 

I take a tablet from each bottle in the toiletry bag and feed him the three pills one after the other. “Swallow.” I cup my hands under the shower stream and hold it to his lips to drink.  

“Please don’t hurt me, I swear I told no one,”he sobs. “I’ve never told anyone.”

I roll my eyes with a sigh. “I know.” 

Suddenly, he grabs my hand. “I can’t breathe.” 

“Yes, you can.”

Like Kehinde, his fingers are long and skinny and for a breath, I want to hold them, but I pry them away. “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

As the medicine kicks in, his wails ease into a gentle sob and he calms. I am able to sweet talk him out of the tub and into the living room where, eyes closed, I pull off his boxers and toss a blanket over him. 

“I’ve done my best, Kehinde,” I whisper into the night. “The rest is between him and God.”

I head for the door, but as my hand touches the handle, I swear under my breath, turn around, and lie down on the bedroom floor.

I awake the next morning to find a shivering Taiye staring at me.

He is not your husband…

“I need a drink,” he whispers.

I get him a glass of water but he stares at it blankly until I realize the kind of drink he’s asking for. The words that rush to my lips are bitter and ugly but I swallow them. 

“I just need a little sip to help me.” His blue eyes shift and I follow his gaze to a bottle under a chair. 

“Oh poor baby, you couldn’t reach it?” I smirk. “No worries, let me help you.”

“You don’t understand,” he whispers.

“Really?” I free a half-empty bottle of vodka. “Let me tell you what I do understand. I just lost my husband and even though it hurts to even breathe and I have to somehow take care of a little girl who won’t stop asking for her daddy–” I crouch low in front of him and wait until I am staring into the blue. “–here I am babysitting a drunk who decided to go through withdrawal at the lowest point of my life.”

He closes his eyes and turns away. 

“But it’s not your problem, right?” I place the bottle at his feet. “Guess what? You’re no longer my problem, too. At the end of the week, I want you gone.”

•••••••

“I still haven’t told Bolu yet.”

On my phone screen, Okoye exhales softly, “It’s hard, I know.”

“When will we get the DNA results?”

“Hopefully later this week. I am pulling every string and calling in every favor to get this expedited.” He looks off screen at someone and nods. “Okay, I will be right there.” He turns back to me, “Happy, I have to go. If there is anything you need, anything at all, please call me.”

Signing off, I hear laughter and out back, I find Bolu in the pool floating, her short arms happily splashing water. 

“Bolu! You know the rules, you cannot go swimming unless an adult is watching you.”

“Uncle is watching.” She points to Taiye, who is lying on a lawn chair, his eyes covered by sunshades and for a breath, for the time it takes for my heart to skip a beat, it is Kehinde. 

I tear my eyes away and focus on Bolu, “Be careful and no d—”

“No diving,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “I know.”

“Did you just roll your eyes at Mommy?”

“Me?” She gives me a smile that almost stops my heart. “Of course not.”

I laugh and the sound shocks me. When was the last time I laughed? I am a widow, what right do I have to laughter? 

“Stay where I can see you.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

I make my way to Taiye. “Are you up to watching her?”

He slowly angles his head towards me. “Of course.” His voice is hoarse. 

“How do you feel?”

“Like death, but my eyes still work.”

I eye the glass of clear fluid on the table beside him.

“It’s water,” he says softly. “You can smell it if you want.”

“I’m not your mother,” I say curtly.

 I lean in and place a hand on his chest. His heartbeat is a little faster than normal but strong and steady. Suddenly, I am overwhelmed with the desire to slide my hand under his shirt, but before I sink deeper into my delusion, I pull back,  

“Please.” I swallow hard. “Take off your sunshades.”

He slips them off and grimaces in the bright sun, but as I stare into the blue, reality washes over me. 

He is not your husband… 

“You can put them back on.” I hand him a pill. “Besides the cravings, the anxiety can be brutal. The lorazepam will help with that.”

“Is that what you’ve been giving me?”

I nod. “Also, Diazepam and Librium. Besides God’s mercy, it’s the only reason you are still here.”

“Thank you.” 

“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Kehinde and the fact that I don’t have the bandwidth to plan two funerals.” 

“Why do you have this kind of medicine on you?” 

“When I found out I was going to be living with an alcoholic, I thought it was the ethical thing to do.”

“You were hoping I might stop drinking some day?”

“No, I just know alcoholics tend to be selfish bastards.”

He nodded, “But how did you know about this particular cocktail?”

I shrugged. “I’m a journalist. I probably researched it for an article or something.”

“So you researched it and decided to have some on hand just in case.”

“Have you ever lost someone you love? It eats at you, you sit there with all these questions about what you could or should have done differently. I couldn’t let you take Kehinde along with you on your path to destruction.”

“But you have, abi?”

“What?”

“You’ve lost someone you loved.”

“Are you really asking me that question?”

“We are not talking about Kehinde; if we were, you wouldn’t ask me if I have ever lost someone. You’re talking about someone else.”

I roll my eyes. “You put the bottle down and become a genius?”

“Who was it?” His voice is soft but his words hit me hard. “Who was the alcoholic that you lost?”

I glance at Bolu to collect myself. “My father.”

“So he’s why you hate me so much?” He nods slowly. “I understand.”

“I don’t think you do. For three years I have watched you do nothing but stay absolutely smashed night and day. And Kehinde.” Tears rush to my eyes. “Poor sweet Kehinde, the saint that he is, he kept giving and giving and you kept taking and taking. I told him, people like you…people like my father, you have no boundaries. Your whole life is about getting that next drink, no matter who you hurt in the process.” 

Like lava, the words are hot and frothing and I can’t hold them back. I don’t want to hold them back. 

“My father would sweet talk, manipulate and even beat my mother to get money from her, and every time she found the courage to leave, do you know what he would do? He would stop drinking to punish her and she would go from caring for an alcoholic to caring for an alcoholic in withdrawal. Two sides of the same cursed coin. I clawed my way out of the ghetto only to go from living with an alcoholic father to living with an alcoholic brother-in-law.” I laugh dryly. “The irony.”  

“I am sorry you were hurt like that.” His words hold no anger and this steals some of mine.

“Let me ask you a question; why now? Why did you choose to get sober now?”

“Because I believe you and Bolu need me.”

“What we need is your brother and you couldn’t fill his shoes on your best day.” I stand up. “But do me a favor; the next time you want to play reckless and end your life, do it far away from my family.”

“Mama,” Bolu calls, “Look at me floating.”

I turn to her with a big smile. “Lunch time.”

•••••••

“Kehinde, promise me you’ll never leave me again”

 With a soft smile, he leans in to kiss me.

I wake up with his taste on my tongue and before I allow myself a moment of thought, I am standing at Taiye’s bed. My mind conjures up a story; Kehinde and I had a silly fight and in anger, he decides to sleep in the Boys Quarters. I have realized our foolishness and have come to welcome him back into our bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I run my hand gently down Taiye’s arm but when his eyes flicker open and I’m in the blue, my fugue shatters. 

I snatch my hand away and rush to my feet. “I am sorry. I…” I shake my head. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

I wait for him to yell, for his face to convulse with anger while he reminds me I am his brother’s wife, but instead, he reaches out his hand. “Come lie down.”

His voice is so soft and tender that it cracks something open within me and I am crying.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, taking my hand. “It’s okay.”

I let him pull me into his bed and, facing me, he wraps his strong arms around me. Like a switch flicked, my insomnia of the last month crashes over me and I can’t keep my eyes open even if I tried. 

When I wake up, I am all alone in his bed and as I take in my surroundings, the night rushes back to me. Two truths wrestle in my heart: this was the first time I had slept through the night ever since Kehinde died and I can never let this happen again. 

I find Bolu and Taiye in the kitchen. 

I kiss Bolu on the head. “What are you eating?”

“Pancakes.”

“Smells delicious.” It takes all I have to look Taiye in the eyes. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” His voice is calm and casual. “Coffee?”

“I don’t think we have any.”

He handed me a large, steaming cup. “Bolu was up early, so we went to the market together.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Uncle also bought me some puff puff,” Bolu adds giggling. 

“You weren’t supposed to tell!” Kehinde says in mock anger, tickling her.

“Mommy says we don’t keep secrets from each other.”

Bolu’s words remind me that I need to tell her about Kehinde soon. I had lied that I’d kept it a secret for her benefit, but it was truly for mine. She needs to know the truth so she could start the grieving process, but how could I walk her through that when I could barely manage mine? 

I sip my coffee. “This is good. Thank you.”

After breakfast, Bolu runs off to watch TV, leaving Taiye and me alone. 

I exhale softly. “I need to apologize about last night.”

He places Bolu’s plate into the sink. “Why?” 

“It was inappropriate being in your bed and putting you in that position.”

He glances at me over his shoulder. “You know nothing happened, right? You cried a little and fell asleep. All I did was hold you. That’s it.”

“I know but, you’re my brother-in-law.”

He turns to me. “Happiness, are you attracted to me?”

I laugh dryly. “You’re my husband’s identical twin brother.” 

“You know what I mean. We are…were… twins, but are you attracted to me?”

The truth is easy. I’ve not loved or wanted another man since I met my Kehinde. “No, I’m not.”

He shrugged. “And I’m not attracted to you, either, so it’s not like there’s some simmering chemistry that might tempt us to take things further.”

“Anyone who saw us would say differently.” 

“Do you want to know what I saw? I saw a woman drowning in grief asking for help.”

 “Thanks for the understanding but still…” I shake my head. 

“So what are you going to do, go back to walking laps around the pool all night while you cry, hoping you can exhaust yourself to sleep?”

His words hold no accusation, I know they are not to shame me.

“If that’s what it takes. I may be grieving, but I still need to be able to look my child in the face knowing I honored her father’s memory.”

“Okay.” 

•••••••

“Happiness.” Kehinde is standing at my bedside. “It’s time to get up.”

“They said you were dead.”

“Get up,” He screams, “NOW!” 

The scream isn’t just in my dreams, it’s real and loud and fills the house. I stumble into the kitchen to find Bolu holding a bloody knife with blood seeping from her palm. 

“Mommy!” she screams.

“What happened?” I grab a dish towel and wrap it around her palm.

“I was trying to cut up the banana to make you breakfast.” She sobs.

The towel is soaked through, “We need to get you to the doctor.” 

Taiye appears at the door. “What’s going on?” His wide eyes sweep over Bolu. “What happened?” 

“She’s cut her hand badly. I need to get her to the clinic.” With Bolu in my arms, I pick up my keys from the counter and toss them to him. “Let’s go.”

He catches the keys and stares at them, “I…”

“What?”

“I can’t drive you.”

“What?”

“I can’t drive you, Happiness. I–” He swallows hard. “I’m sorry.”

Something hard drops in my belly. “You’ve been drinking…”

“No!” He takes a step closer, “I swear on my life I have not had a drop since that day.”

“So what is it?”

“I don’t know how to drive. I never learned.”

I don’t have time for this. “Baby, your Uncle Taiye will carry you, okay?” I pass her to him and grab the keys. “Let’s go.”

Two hours, nine stitches, ten puff puff, and a ton of tears later, we are back home. In my bed, I hold Bolu until she falls asleep and then, back in Kehinde’s closet, I search the internet for a video I have only allowed myself to watch once. The video is dark and shaky but clear; a McDonald’s drive through in Secaucus, New Jersey, where an obvious Taiye is in the driver’s seat placing an order. The video jumps to where he picks up his food and passes it to the young white girl beside him. 

I don’t know how to drive…

Taiye seems to be waiting for me and immediately holds up a hand when I walk in. “Please, just go back.”

In an elitist community like Lagos, only two types of people drive: those too poor to have a driver and actual drivers. All these years, I’d thought Taiye’s one good contribution to society was staying away from the driver’s seat, but it never crossed my mind that he couldn’t actually drive. 

Kehinde’s voice floats back to me, You don’t understand, I owe him my life…

“It wasn’t you, that night.” I whisper, “It was Kehinde?”

“I can’t talk about this.” He goes into his bedroom. “Don’t do this.”

 I follow. “I need you to tell me what happened. If I didn’t know my husband while he was alive, the least you can do for me is tell me who he was now that he is dead. It was him that night, right?”

“Happ—”

“Please.” I step into the blue. “Taiye, please.”

He is quiet so long I don’t think he is going to tell me, but with one long exhale, he begins. “Kehinde had a full scholarship to Harvard; he had everything going right for him. My parents told me once they got him out of the country and he couldn’t be extradited back, they would send a confession to the police and have me released.”

“Did they?”

“They tried, but they wouldn’t give me a new trial.”

“But your eyes? How could anyone miss your blue eyes?”

He shrugged. “They thought I was wearing contacts.”

I didn’t tell anyone… I swear. 

“You’ve held this secret for all these years.”

“Even Kehinde and I didn’t speak of it. I spent 10 years in a maximum security prison with men twice my age and size. The guards hated the prisoners, the prisoners hated the guards, but they both hated anyone who,” he swallowed hard, “hurt children. That’s when things became worse.” He tapped his temple. “In here.”

“That’s when you started drinking.”

“It was either that, or–” His face crumbles and a sob breaks free. “Or killing myself.”

Kehinde had kept this all away from me. He knew I hated his brother for a crime he’d committed and had said nothing.

You don’t forgive. A person has one strike with you…

 I crouch low in front of Taiye and wrap an arm around his trembling shoulder. “I am sorry.”

The words feel hollow and empty; woefully inadequate for both the years my husband had stolen from him and the ones I’d spent hating him. They are not enough, they will never be enough. 

“How can I make this right?”

He exhales slowly. “You can’t.”

“Mommy?” Bolu is standing at the door, her face swollen from sleep. “I couldn’t find you.”

“I’m sorry, I was here talking to Uncle Taiye.”

“Why is uncle crying?”

I pick her up and sit her in my lap. “I have to tell you something.” 

“What is it, Mommy?”

I take in her face, the version of her that has only seconds more to live and try to keep it in my heart. “It is about Daddy and I am so sorry because it is going to make you sad, but I will be here to help you through it.” I reach out a hand to Taiye and I’m grateful when he takes it. “We both will.”