P for Perfect

Chapter 43- Yamíl

I've always loved complicated stories- Diane

       What's the first thing to do when you hear a life changing information? Say, your mum isn't actually your mum? If this was totally in a hypothetical situation, I would go right up and confront said mother. But you see, this isn't hypothetical. This is freaking real.

And so I walk right back outside.

I'm not sure what effect this is supposed to have on me, I pace the space outside for the next five minutes, trying to digest what I just heard.

So mum hates Aunt Diane... because she's my mum? But how's that even possible? If she's my mum then how's Dad my dad? How's Mercy my sister? My whole life's been a freaking lie!

"Yamíl?" My mum's voice sends my whole body jolting up.

"Gosh you scared me," I sigh. But then I remember why I was standing here in the first place. I remember that I'm supposed to be angry.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at school?" She asks tentatively. The worry is evident on her face. She hopes I didn't hear their conversation.

"I skipped," I reply simply. Do I really owe her an explanation? Whose sin is more in this situation?

"You skipped? Why would you do-"

"Where's Aunt Diane?" My question makes her face go pale but she quickly covers her act.

"Inside. Come on, what were you doing here?" She starts walking towards me slowly. How do I break it to her? How do I let her know that I know?

"I was thinking," I start, my eyes never looking away from hers. There's a look I've never really seen before in her eyes. Fear.

"About what?"

"About what you and Aunt Diane were talking about." There. I said it.

"W-what?"

"I heard you guys mum. You made it pretty easy." Mum's eyes go glossy.

"Come upstairs, let's talk."

••••

     Aunt Diane (mum?) is cooking when we get upstairs. I know that mum won't like this but she chooses to ignore it, bigger fish to fry I guess. Mum collapses on the nearest couch and stares at the wall.

"Jane who was- Yamíl?" Aunt Diane freezes once she sees me. She takes one good look at her sister and purses her lips, my aunt was always quick.

"Sit down Yamíl, Diane bring some cookies for us," Mum waves her hand dismissively at Aunt Diane. She does as she says and comes back out with our jar of cookies.

"Where to start?" Mum wonders aloud.

"Start from the beginning," I prompt.

"You know the story I told you and Jibril?" Aunt Diane begins when mum stays silent. "Well, that friend is me. But there was no California and no LA boy. I gave birth to you here in Lagos," she pauses. "Your mum and I, we never got along well. She was my parents' pride and joy while I was the cast away child-" mum snorts here.

"I grew up mostly detached from them, everyone of them. I was reckless, as you already know. That holiday I was especially reckless. My friends were influencing me a lot, I drank a lot and-"

"That night, Diane convinced us to go to this party. I only agreed because she was just nineteen and I wanted to watch over her," mum grabs the wheels of the story, interrupting Aunt Diane.

"Who's us?" I ask. They share wary glances.

"Me and your father."

Oh no.

"Like I said. I got drunk, we all did actually, except your mum..." Aunt Diane trails off.

"You slept with my father?" I can't keep the shock out of my words. The disappointment. I really wished they'd shake their heads and correct me but Aunt Diane just looks down at her feet. And mum looks right at me, feeling quite justified.

"It was my fault, I don't want this to affect the way you view your father because he's an honest person. If he wasn't a great guy your mum wouldn't have stayed with him you know? I was so drunk I couldn't think and I still regret my actions down to this very day." Tears roll down from her face, some part of me still aches from seeing her cry like this but another part is just...dead.

"So how did I end up here?"

"Diane was too young to take care of you and she definitely wasn't going to get support from our parents. Everyone cut her off the moment she successfully gave birth to you. I did the only reasonable thing I could. I took you, not just because you're my husband's son but because you're my sister's son as well. You're family." Now mum's crying as well.

"I only had you with me for the first six months so I could breast feed you. After that I gave you to her and I don't regret what I did, your life would have been so much sad if you stayed with me."

"So why are you telling me this now? What's the use?" I'm angry at her for shaking my world with this truth. Right now, she seems like the selfish person mum always said she was.

"I-I wanted you to know. I just wanted you to look at me once and know that I'm your mother," she pleads.

"I need a break," I look away from her. I grab a fistful of cookies from the jar and consider both of my mothers. "Don't knock on my door, please."

With that I get up and make my way to my room, not quite sure what to do with this information.