Simbongile Princess Ntabeni: The Called (S2)

Chapter Nine

-Kamva Ngqotyana-

He waited for me to respond, I didn't. I just acted like I didn't hear him.
I was in good terms with my mother, but she didn't have to follow me to Cape Town. She knew I was leaving, she should gone home, help me pack and drop me off at the airport. Why was she now coming here to act like she cared? Like, she didn't even call to check up on me, find out how I traveled, what I needed... those kinds of stuff.

Dad: Kamva?
Me: Mh?
Dad: Umamakho wants to come and see you.
Me: Nini?
Dad: They are here for the week... anytime is fine.

Now here's the thing... I know my mom.
She didn't just decide to be in Cape Town ngenxa yam. It was highly possible that her husband was on some business trip or something, she tagged along and then I popped up kube sebelapha. She had proven from time to time that I wasn't as important in her life. Eversince she got involved with that dude. I became less important, from her visiting home every fortnight to only visiting every month end and even that became a struggle that she came only once every three months.
Eventually, she just stopped coming home.

When she took me in, I thought we were going to go back to how we were, but we never. She was never home, if he was traveling, she would go with him. I felt like she just didn't care. How does a mother choose a man over her own child? But kuyo yonke lonto I ended up going back to my grandparents because life was better there. She thought I was joking. I packed my bags kungo December and when January came, I told her I wasn't going back to her and I never did.

Me: She can come ngomso ke.
Dad: Okay, I won't be here ke. But I will send her the address.
Me: Okay.

His phone rang, he walked out and answered it on the patio.
My phone rang, it was Qhamani...

Me: Que, hey unjani?
Qhamani: You sound excited, I'm good mfondini unjani wena?
Me: I'm great, what's up?
Qhamani: How's Cape Town? Have you settled in?
Me: I have, but I'm lonely here. Dad's always at work, and I have nowhere to go really.
Qhamani: Well today is your lucky day, send me your address I'm taking you for a mini tour around town.

I screamed!
Dad turned back and frowned, I waved my hand at him and ran to my room. Qhamani laughed and for a second I think I blushed. I didn't mean to scream so loud.

Me: I'll send you my address in a minute.
Qhamani: Won't your dad mind?
Me: Ah, dad. Lemme go and ask him, if he agrees uzobona nge address.
Qhamani: Sure.

We hung up.
I quickly changed into denim shorts, tucked in a vest and wore sneakers. A spritz of perfume and then I grabbed my jacket. As I was about to leave my room, dad knocked and walked in before I could answer. That familiar frown said a whole lot, I ended up explaining before hearing the questions he had.

Me: A friend of mine is on the way to fetch me, we're going out for lunch... well, uthe ufuna ukundibonisa around. Ndimxelele ba I haven't gone out since I got here. So uyeza ke, if you don't mind phofu.
Dad: A friend? Une friends eKapa ngoku?
Me: We met some time ago dad, uhlala e Durban nomakhulu wakhe but ukhona ngoku uze kumamakhe.
Dad: Kutheni engu "it" lo friend wakho kanene?
Me: It's a boy.
Dad: He is a boy, not "it is" haibo!

I wanted to roll my eyes at him, but I grinned instead.

Dad: I don't trust Cape Town boys Kamva and I wouldn't want you to be naïve. Awunamali for lunch, siqale nje apho, that means nguye ozakubhatalela ukutya and what does he get in return?
Me: I have about R700 in my card dad, relax. And he won't want anything in return.
Dad: Does he have a girlfriend?
Me: I don't know, I have never asked.
Dad: But he's your friend?
Me: Tata I don't ask izinto endingangeni ndawo kuzo mna, if he has a girlfriend, yeyakhe ayoyethu.

He didn't respond.

Me: He is not my boyfriend ke futhi. I don't have a boyfriend.
Dad: Uzotsho xa unayo?
Me: If ufuna nditsho then ndizotsho.
Dad: Mmh, okay. Please be home by 7pm.
Me: Danko means thank you!

I ran out and left him there, I wanted to make a smoothie before Qhamani got there but as I was putting my fruit in the blender, a motorbike stopped at the front-gate and I laughed, leaving everything on the kitchen counter. I ran out to him, he got off the bike and we hugged then he passed me my own helmet. I turned back and saw dad emnyango, waved at him and held Qhamani as he drove away into the sunset.

Well, not really.
He just drove me to the beach, it was too early for sunsets so we got ice cream and went to sit by the sea.

Qhamani: So, how are you, really?
Me: I'm okay... I just... mxm, never mind. I'm okay.
Qhamani: Kamva.

I sighed...

Me: My mom is coming to see me tomorrow, I just... I don't know how to feel about that. Well, I know how I feel, I just don't know how I will react. I haven't heard from her in a while, akathethi naku WhatsApp.
Qhamani: I thought girls were closer with their mothers. Ninza njani kanti nina?
Me: That's sexist.
Qhamani: Ah, feminist. Okay, sorry ke.
Me: Femi-what? Dude, you cant just assume that because I'm a girl I would have a functional relationship with my mother, that is sexist.

He looked at me, and just laughed. What did I say that was funny?
Do men/boys even understand what the word means?

Qhamani: I apologized, no need to be passionate about it. So, how's your relationship with your father then?

I breathed.

Me: It's getting there.
Qhamani: Mh...

He had this frown on his face, like he was concerned or something.