BECOMING
CHAPTER 27
CHULUMANCO
Saturday morning I’m already cleaning. I start in the living room, dust the coffee table, straighten the cushions, pick up Kungawo’s toy cars from the floor.
Then the kitchen, I wipe the counters, scrub the sink, load the dishwasher with last night’s plates. I like cleaning on Saturdays. It keeps my hands busy and my mind quiet. The house smells like lemon cleaner and the cinnamon from breakfast.
Mesuli and Kungawo left an hour ago for golf. Mesuli carried Kungawo out on his shoulders, both of them laughing. He promised him ice cream if he behaved. I watched them drive off from the front door, waving until his BMW X6 xDrive 30d disappeared.
I’m in the hallway wiping the side table when the doorbell rings.
I pause. I know I have no deliveries today and Mesuli has keys so I wonder who it is. I set the cloth down, smooth my T-shirt, and open the door.
Zinzi stands there in sunglasses, yellow sundress, overnight bag on her shoulder, already grinning.
“Surprise!”
I freeze for half a second. Then I scream her name and throw my arms around her. She hugs me back tight, laughing into my hair. We rock side to side.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” I ask when we pull apart.
“Then it wouldn’t be a surprise, besides, I did tell Mesuli that I’d be coming” she says, pushing her sunglasses up. “I missed you. Where’s my nephew? And where’s my annoying big brother?”
“They went to play golf. Father-son time. They will be back later.”
Zinzi claps once. “Perfect then. That means we have time. Go get dressed. We’re going shopping.”
I blink. “Shopping?”
“Yes. Tonight we’re going out. Me and you. But first we need outfits. Come on.”
I don’t argue. I’m too happy she’s here.
“Give me ten minutes,” I say. “I’ll refresh and change.”
She nods. “I’ll also go and drop my bag in the guest room.”
I go to the bedroom, our bedroom and close the door. I text Mesuli:
Baby, Zinzi is here. We’re going shopping. We will be back later in case you don’t find us here when you come back.
His reply is instant: one thumbs-up emoji.
I smile, put the phone down, comb my hair into a high ponytail, splash water on my face, change into jeans and a white T-shirt, slip on sandals. When I come out Zinzi is waiting, keys in hand.
“Let’s go,” she says.
We drive to the Waterfront mall. The parking is busy but we fortunately find a spot. Inside it’s cool and bright, full of Saturday shoppers. Zinzi pulls me straight to the dress section in one of the big stores.
“Let’s go for short dresses,” she says, already grabbing things off the rack. “Sexy but classy. Something that shows leg but not too much cleavage. Mesuli will lose his mind.”
I laugh. “Zinzi, I’m not trying to kill him.”
“You should,” she says, holding up a red mini dress with thin straps. “Try this one.”
I take it. Then a black one. Then an emerald one she insists on. We end up with a pile of dresses, heels, and accessories. In the changing room I try them on. The red one hugs my waist in a sexy way but is short.The black one is tighter. The green one is elegant but short too.
Zinzi waits outside the curtain.
“Red—yes. That’s the one.”
I buy the red one. And black strappy heels. And new earrings. We pay and we walk out laughing and bags swinging.
Next stop is the salon. We choose to install weaves—waist-length.
By the time we leave it’s almost six. The sun is low, sky pink and gold over the ocean. We drive back with windows down, music loud, singing old high-school songs off-key.
When we pull into the driveway Mesuli’s car is there.
I feel a flutter—excitement, nerves, happiness tangled together.
We walk inside.
Kungawo spots us first. He’s on Mesuli’s lap on the couch, playing with a toy car. The moment his eyes land on Zinzi he squeals, slides off Mesuli and runs to her.
“Aunty Zinzi!” I’m so happy that his speech is improving.
She drops her bags and scoops him up, spinning him around until he giggles.
“My baby! Look at you! So big! So handsome! Did you miss Aunty?”
He nods. “Miss Aunty!”
She kisses his cheeks, forehead, nose. “I missed you more. Look at these curls. Look at these eyes. You’re too cute.”
Mesuli stands. He’s now in sweatpants and a white T-shirt. He’s so sexy. His eyes go straight to me.
He walks over. Slow and steady.
When he reaches me he cups my face with both hands, thumbs brushing my cheekbones, and kisses me—soft, lingering, right in front of Zinzi and Kungawo.
I melt into it. Hands on his waist. The kiss is gentle but deep.
When he pulls back his voice is low.
“I missed you.”
I smile against his mouth. “I missed you too.”
He kisses my forehead, quick and tender—then looks at the shopping bags.
“Come show me what you bought,” he says. “In our room.”
My stomach flips.
I nod.
Zinzi is still spinning Kungawo, laughing. She winks at me.
“Go,” she mouths. “We’ll be fine.”
I follow Mesuli to our bedroom.
He closes the door.
The room is quiet. Afternoon light slants through the curtains. My new purchases are in my hands.
I take out the shoe box first. Open it. Black strappy heels, four inches.
I hold them up.
“What do you think?”
Mesuli looks at the shoes. Then at me.
“They’re beautiful,” he says. “You’ll look incredible.”
I smile. Put the box down. Pull out the red mini dress—short, fitted, low-cut.
“And this?”
He takes a slow breath. Steps closer. Fingers brush the fabric, then my arm.
“It’s stunning,” he says. “But…”
“But?” I prompt.
He meets my eyes. “It’s very short. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you going out in something that short.”
Disappointment hits me fast. I fold the dress. Set it down.
“I’m going to wear it anyway,” I say quietly. “I’m not anyone’s wife yet, Mesuli. I get to choose what I wear. And I like this dress. It makes me feel good.”
He exhales. Looks away. Then back.
“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I’m trying to control you. I just… I see you in it and I see every other man looking at you the way I look at you. And I get jealous. I get protective. But you’re right. It’s your body. Your choice. Wear what makes you feel beautiful.”
I soften. Step closer.
“Thank you,” I say. “For saying that.”
He reaches out. Pulls me into his arms.
I go willingly.
He kisses the top of my head. Then my temple. Then tilts my chin up and kisses my mouth—slow, deep, full of apology and want.
I kiss him back. Hands sliding up his chest, around his neck.
He groans low. Backs me toward the mirror.
I feel the dressing table against my thighs.
His hands slide to my waist. Lift me onto the surface. I wrap my legs around him.
The gets kiss harder and hungrier.
We are disturbed by a knock at the door.
Zinzi’s voice, teasing. “Bhuti, leave Chulumanco alone. Chulu, start getting ready.”
I laugh against Mesuli’s mouth.
He groans—frustrated.
I peck him once more. Quick. Playful.
“Duty calls,” I whisper.
He lets me slide down. Kisses my forehead.
“Go shower,” he says. “I’ll watch Kungawo.”
I smile. Grab the red dress and heels.
“I’ll see you soon.”
He watches me leave.
I close the door behind me.
My heart is racing.
***********
Target: 300 likes and 25 comments