The expression of my mom’s face was one I would not forget in a long time. This was the first time I talked to her about my marriage. Yemi had promised not to tell anyone, especially my parents, about our problems. I think at the time he did that because I felt there was hope for reconciliation, but so far he hasn’t given me any room to reconcile or even talk about what happened. There was nothing to talk about. What I didn’t want to talk about was the incident that led to the end of my marriage, as I should call it. I wasn’t ready for that conversation.
“Mom, let’s arrange the pictures and see the ones we need to use for the program,” I said, trying to distract her from asking me more questions.
One thing about my mom was, she was as persistent as a housefly.
“Can we talk about what happened to you?” my mom asked.
“Mom, if we keep pushing this marriage talk, I’m going to go home, because I didn’t come here to discuss my personal life with you. We are here to do Uncle Ali’s funeral program, and then I can go home. We can talk about this later.” I said firmly.
She sighed.
“All right if you say so,” she said finally.
“Great, so let’s proceed,” I told her and took the box from her.
