Delia & A Trail Of Broken Hearts

2.

"You're wearing that, Delia?"

I looked down at my very tasteful biker shorts and t-shirt combo, all black, even my ankle socks and Nike Air Max's. "It's a dress fitting, mom." She huffed, placing a cup of her rejuvenating tea in front of me, it smelled like fresh mangos and guava. "Thank you."

She lifted my chin, turning my face to look at hers, and it was like looking in the mirror. People often mistook us for sisters, she was forty-two years vegan and honestly looked like she was in her mid-thirties. We had the same full, bow shaped lips, round nose and wide eyes. She was a couple shades darker than me, and I definitely got my dad's looser curl pattern, but I was most definitely my mother's child.

"You look tired, have you been taking your vitamins?" She wanted to know, her brown eyes drilling into mine.

I swallowed, no question in my mind about how she got my military father to bend to her will. "Of course," Which wasn't a lie. "I've been drinking tons of water, exercising and getting eight hours of sleep." The last one was a lie, she knew it too, but probably assumed it was because of work and not a broken heart.

"Drink your tea," She instructed, going to pour herself her own cup.

We sipped in silence, her respecting my need to just be after getting into Nevada late last night. It wasn't until we were both finished and the oven dinged that she decided time was up and she wanted to chat.

"Tell me, how's my Raven? Patrice is bouncing off the walls trying to make sure everything is together by next month."

I pushed my empty cup away, waiting patiently for mom to plate the baked plantains, my mouth started salivating. "She's happy as can be and just wants to be married already. I know she'd be more than okay with heading to Vegas and eloping." I said, watching mom scoop the delicious, golden fruit onto a saucer.

She gasped, "Don't say that! There must be ceremony." She demanded like it was me getting married, "Eloping is for pregnant white people trying to cover a scandal. She's not pregnant is she?"

I sat back in my seat, waiting for her to calm down a bit, I forgot how against eloping she was. It's because she believes that special milestones in life deserve to be exploited to show off how rich and happy you are. The bigger the better, in her book.

"No mom, she just really loves Jorge and wants to be a union."

Mom finished plating and grabbed two forks before bringing it to the island counter. She handed me a utensil, the smile on her face nothing less than pleased, "That is beautiful, my flower. What about you and Austin? Have you decided wether you want to do the dowry?"

My hands started to shake, it was subtle but since I was trying to cut a piece of the plantain off, I noticed. Forgoing my plan, I stabbed the whole bit and popped it into my mouth. It was hot and sweet, but I forced myself not to play hot potato with my tongue and suck it up. The tears that sprung to my eyes were because of the heat, not the heartache.

I licked my lips, "Um, we decided against it." I muttered, reaching for my tea cup and realizing it was empty. "How's Bentley?"

I could feel mom's eyes on my back, she didn't like the idea of me not following Nigerian tradition but she also understood why I wouldn't want to follow every custom. When her and my dad got married, they had a simple ceremony in a church, nothing customary about it. She would honestly be more upset about the fact that I wasn't getting married, so I will happily continue to not plan a wedding if it means avoiding that conversation.

"He's doing well, such a bright little boy, only four months and already trying to crawl." Mom bragged, I poured myself some more tea, glancing at the time.