Too Many Chances

Chapter Thirty Two

"I...I..." How could I tell him how bad I had thought of him?
"I already know how lowly you thought of me."
What? So he knew and there he was acting all ignorant. Was that his way of punishing me?
"Do you have any idea how bad I felt when you couldn't join my family for dinner? I had to lie about your absence."
A lump rose in my throat. "If it's any consolation, I felt miserable without you."
"You ought to because I felt even worse not knowing how I had wronged you. I kept wondering how I could make you talk to me only to find out that it was all a misunderstanding and painfully, your mistrust."
"I'm sorry. I really am." I bit my lower lip. My eyes were teary. "How can I make it up to you? What do you want me to do so that you can forgive me?"
"Nothing for now. I'll tell you when the time comes."
I apologized again and thought of something that would cheer him up and maybe score some points back, if not earning his forgiveness.
"I've learned a few Taita words," I told him.
"Really?" He sat up straight, and winced in the process. "Let me hear them." His excitement filled me with happiness.
I cleared my throat. "Here I go. Mao means mother. Chawucha means thanks therefore chawucha mao means-"
"It's not chawucha," Mubarak interrupted. "It's chawucha."
"That's what I said."
"No, it's not," he objected. "You pronounced w as w. Repeat after me. Chawucha."
I did. This time he said I had pronounced the w as v and that's not how it should sound. He said before pronouncing the w I should think of blowing air through my mouth, like when trying to cool hot porridge. He repeated the word for me. I got it wrong again.
"I give up," I said eventually. "It's not as easy as I thought."
"That's not the Sofia I know. You're not one to give up easily. You like a challenge."
I sighed. "I wish I had a sister-in-law to teach me the language."
"Unfortunately, you don't. But don't worry, you have me. I'm the best teacher there is."
I slapped his shoulder. "You're so full of yourself. I take my words back. You're not modest."
"Oh, come on. A man is allowed to blow his trumpet once in a while."
"Who said that?"
"I did."
"Of course, you did." I laughed and he joined in the laughter.
He told me that he had fired the two employees who had brought about the misunderstanding between us. I felt sorry for them but he said it was for the best. Office romance was prohibited. Then to make it up to him, he asked if I could recommend someone to be his assistant. I wished Anita had taken secretarial studies. Well, if my friend couldn't do it, her sister could, I mused. I recommended Alicia for the job. She was having a difficult time securing one. Mubarak asked me to let her know that he would be expecting her for an interview when he returned to work. I thanked him and made a mental note to call Alicia. She would be elated for sure.
***
Mrs Mwandawiro, who was on her way to the office, let me in when I visited Mubarak at his home the following day. We had first met when Mubarak was being discharged. He had asked me to accompany him home so that he could introduce me to his mother. I smiled at the memory and told Mrs Mwandawiro not to worry about her son because I was going to be there for him.

Mubarak had done a lot for me so I felt the need to repay him for his kindness by taking care of him. It was my duty to look after him. His mother told me that she had left him in the sitting room talking over the phone.

"Yeah, sure," I heard him say as I knocked.

"Alright. Goodbye, love," a female voice said cheerfully.

I froze at the door.

I can't do this, I thought turning around.

I had barely walked down the steps when the door opened. I turned to face the handsome man wearing a warm smile, a white T-shirt and a pair of black shorts.

"Hey." Mubarak took me in his arms and I gritted my teeth.

How could he pretend to love me when he had someone else? I told him I had to leave suddenly but he insisted that I get in and have a glass of water or something before leaving.

I followed him inside and was wowed by the spacious room with four grey couches surrounding a round glass table on the carpeted floor and walls that were painted cream.

There was a show running on the big television screen. I sat as he left for the kitchen and returned carrying a tray which he placed on the table. He filled two glasses with juice and offered me one.

I took it and debated on whether to drink or return it, but having nothing better to do, I took a sip. It was a mixture of beetroot and melon.

"Why were you leaving?" He asked before sipping on his drink.

"I thought you might need some privacy talking to the girl on the phone."

"Oh, that." He waved his hand absentmindedly. "I was done talking when I heard you knocking. We were just saying goodbye."

"Yeah, right." I forced a smile and did an imitation of the girl's sound. "Goodbye, love."

Mubarak laughed then stopped to study me. "Are you jealous?"

"Why would I be? Is there any reason for me to be?"

"No. There's none. Tabitha is just an old friend."

"Oh, and she gets to call you love?"

He exhaled. "Tabby and I are super close, you know, like you and Jamila. You call your best friend sweetheart."

"Yes, I do, but I guess you mean to say you two are close like Will and I. I don't use sweet names with Will."

"Are we really fighting over this?"

I got up. "No. We're done."

He blocked my way preventing me from getting to the door.

"Am sorry." He gave me a sincere look that made my heart ache.

I was becoming a doubting thomas, day by day.

"Am sorry too. I don't like feeling the things I feel but-"

He put his hand over my mouth. "It's okay. Don't apologise for being human. There are several things we disagree on, like social media. You haven't posted any of our photos and you asked me not to post too."

"That's because I don't want to advertise our relationship. Social media could destroy what we have."

"I already accepted your decision. I just want you to promise me that you would not hesitate to point out something you don't like or voice your opinion."

It was easier for me to keep quiet about stuff than talk about them and that was bad for our relationship. If Mubarak had not insisted that I get in when I arrived, I would have left without talking to him about his phone conversation. I was always second guessing things and sabotaging my relationship.

Mubarak was so good that I couldn't help but wonder if I deserved him. He looked at me, patiently waiting for my response. I gave him my word and embraced him tightly. Could we ever make our relationship work? I wondered as I sat next to him.

"Everything will be alright," he said as if reading my mind.

I smiled in response and watched him stretch himself on the sofa and lie his head on my lap. I wished we could stay that way for a very long time. It was a lovely moment.