Her Indigenous Surrender

CHAPTER 9 THE TALK

"We need to talk," was all she said, and Kitchi couldn't stop thinking about it. They went to this quiet outdoor French restaurant by the riverside, Le Restaurant de Rivière, for dinner, and he was constantly reflecting on it. It was hard for him to join the enthusiastic discussion on the movie and its old-school animation with the triple As.

Charlene noticed his absent-mindedness, but she refrained from commenting on it. He was glad she did so. Kitchi didn't know what he would have done had she called him out. He was more nervous while driving back home, but he quelled it to concentrate on navigating traffic. He had to, though, considering Amaziah and Ashhur were with him. He wouldn't score any points with Charlene by endangering her children's lives.

These two helped him to relax by distracting his thoughts. But now that he is back home, Kitchi can't help but pace the small open-plan living area of the apartment, wondering what prompted Charlene to issue that command. Because that's what it was, a command. What does she want?

"Is this even normal?" he questions the empty room. "I can't believe this. I'm starting to act like an agitated chick," he continues on a sigh, running his hands through his hair, "I need a haircut."

Then, as if a light bulb went off in his head, Kitchi pauses mid-stride and stares unseeingly out the window near the sofa.

"No, nope. That can't be the reason. Uh-uh."

Why can't it be? You said you wanted to make amends with her. Yet, like a quintessential man, you have not actually apologised. Thinking your actions would absolve you from your past actions. She probably wants to get rid of you. You're getting too close for comfort.

"I refuse to believe that," Kitchi says to the dark feminine voice in his head.

You're not of her world. You're just passing through. Why would she want her family to form an attachment to you? Do you know how disappointed they will feel when you can't uphold your side of the "friendship" because you are too busy?

"Just shut up," Kitchi whispers harshly, pacing again furiously towards the kitchenette, then abruptly changes direction and goes to his bedroom. Looking out his bedroom window, infuriated with where his thoughts were going, he picks up his phone on the bedside table and calls Charlene.

"Hey, Kitchi. I was just texting you..." Charlene answers.

"Now, you can tell me yourself," he cuts in.

"I am coming over right now so we can have that talk. Is that okay with you?"

"Sure. I actually called to request the same thing."

"Great. I am walking out the door. See you in five minutes."

"See you then," he says, then hangs up.

"In five minutes, you will know the truth. Don't say I didn't prep you."

Ignoring the sinister voice in his head that suspiciously sounds like Chelsea, Kitchi goes back into the living area. Putting on the flat-screen television, he channel-surfs until he comes across a radio station playing Calypso music whilst displaying local advertisements. Moving into the kitchenette, he puts on the light there to brighten up the space.

"Don't want to have her thinking I'm over here trying to put the moves on her," he mutters to himself, opening the refrigerator.

Selecting an orange juice made by a local company, he closes the door and looks for glasses. Then he sets everything on the miniature dining table. He is just about to rearrange the glasses when there is a knock on the door.

"Just a sec," he calls out as he makes his way to the door. As soon as he opens it, Charlene breezes in while simultaneously taking note of his apartment. Closing the door behind her, Kitchi walks towards her and gestures to the dining table.