The One Who Holds Me (Sovereign Love #4)

8. Olanna

8

OLANNA

THEN

H er soft voice wakes me up from my slumber with the Igbo version of the famous Nigerian morning devotion song ‘Good morning, Jesus. Good morning, Lord.’ It’s the first of many Igbo songs she taught us as children to help with our pronunciations. Even if you placed me in the middle of Times Square, I would still recognize that beautiful voice of hers.

She pulls me in for a hug as I rub the sleep from my eyes and her vanilla scent takes over not just my nostrils, but my entire room. “Gloria, my darling.” Her voice whispers my name as the sleep clears from my eyes and I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight and refusing to let go.

“Mom? Where did you go? I’ve missed you so much.” A lump builds in my throat as she kisses my forehead and leans her head on mine. She’s wearing the same beautiful ankara blouse and matching fishtail skirt she wore the last time I saw her—the day she flew to Nigeria.

It’s the same outfit from the family photo a stranger took of us at the airport. The same photo I’ve had as my screensaver for the last two years.

“Oh, Gloria. I missed you, too. But I can’t stay any longer.” She starts pulling away, but I tighten my grip around her waist.

“But Mom, you just got here. Please don’t leave me here alone. I need you.” I shake my head as she holds the sides of my face, tears falling from her eyes.

“I can’t stay, my princess.” She sniffles. “But God is with you. You are never alone. I need to go.”

“No, Mom, please. You can’t leave me again. Mom!!!” I scream at the top of my lungs as her hands slip away from mine and then I jolt awake.

Sweat trickles down my forehead and chest, and soaks through my t-shirt. I take off my comforter and get out of my bed before rushing to the window. My chest heaves and my throat closes up as I open the window to get some fresh air.

When my breathing slows down, I turn around to meet my empty room. “Mom?” I’m already halfway to the door when realization dawns on me. It was just a dream—the same dream I’ve had so many times over the last two years. I haven’t had one in the last six months and this is the first time I’ve had it during the day.

I glance at my open books on my desk before lowering myself onto the edge of my bed. I was only two hours into my study session when a migraine hit me and I couldn’t concentrate anymore. It was meant to be a power nap, but I went into a deep sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. It’s only six PM, but it feels like midnight with the gloomy darkness that comes with February’s longer nights.

It was just a dream, but it felt so real, like she was really sitting on my bed, hugging me and kissing my forehead. It was just a dream, but I can still feel the warmth of her hug and her vanilla perfume teasing my nostrils. It was so vivid—as if she was actually right here in my room.

“Oh, Jesus. Please help me.” The lump in my throat returns and I sob into my pillow. After a few minutes pass, my phone vibrates on my bed and I lift my head to find several messages pinging in from Alex. I push the phone away, not wanting to engage in any conversation, but when the messages keep pinging in, I pull the gadget toward me.

Alex: Hey babe ?? I just came back from my shift at the library and I thought I’d check on you. How is your study session going? Have you had dinner yet?

I wipe the tears from my eyes and put the phone away. Alex and I have only been dating for a month, so the idea of opening up to someone who is not family feels strange. But he has been an amazing boyfriend and I love how he always makes time to see me between his classes, even if he has a busy schedule.

Sometimes we have lunch with India, Kwame, and Danielle, but most times, it’s just the two of us, talking about everything and anything. He has made it his life goal to make sure we cross off every activity on our A-Z list before graduation and I’m here for it.

I love how he notices the little things, how he’s always asking how I’m doing, whether I’ve eaten or if I’m okay. He never stops making me laugh, and being with him helps distract me from thinking about Mom. So maybe telling him about Mom will help because these feelings are eating me up.

I pick up my phone and dial Manny’s number twice. It rings both times with no response, so I send him a text to call me when he’s free. Then I try Dad’s number next and I can’t get through to him either.

Danielle and India are working on some important assignments, so it would be unfair to burden them with this. They wouldn’t understand. In moments like this, the only person who would’ve been the first to pick up my phone call would’ve been Mom.

My phone rings and I immediately pick it up without looking at the number. “Hello?”

“Hey, babe.” Alex’s voice comes through from the other end of the line.

“Hey.” I sniffle and wipe my nose.

“Are you…are you okay?”

I bite my lip to fight back the tears, but they betray me when they come pouring out of my eyes. “No...no, I’m not okay.”

“Do you want me to come pick you up? Take you somewhere, so we can talk about it?”

I pause for a moment, thinking about his question. Alex has been nothing but kind to me. So maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, honesty is important in a relationship. “Yes, babe. I’d really like that.”

Twenty minutes later, Alex arrives outside my apartment like he promised and he drives us to Chicken Nugget Palace — our new favorite place. “What do you want me to get for you?” he asks as we walk into the fast-food restaurant, the smell of fried chicken hanging thick in the air.

“Just a peanut butter and banana milkshake, please.” It’s my comfort flavor, and it always puts me in a good mood. While Alex goes to place our order, I take off my jacket and take a seat at the table.

Ten minutes later, Alex arrives with two large peanut butter and banana milkshakes and their special box of spicy chicken nuggets. I never said I wanted chicken, but he knew I would change my mind, so he bought it anyway. He just gets me.

“Olanna, what’s wrong?” Alex holds my hand and pulls his chair closer, narrowing the space between us. “You know I hate to see you like this. Please talk to me.”

A sigh escapes my lips as I prepare to recount the story without crying. But even the thought of talking about it blurs my vision with tears. “Can you promise me that whatever I tell you will remain between us?”

He nods. “Of course, babe. I’d like you to trust me, please.”

I exhale deeply and start talking. “Since my mom died two years ago in that car accident, I’ve been struggling. She was my best friend and I still miss her so much.” I sniffle. “I keep getting these dreams where she comes into my room, sings to me, and sometimes she even prays for me. She always hugs me tight and gives me temporary comfort. Her hugs feel so real, as if she’s really there with me, but then she tells me she can’t stay and she leaves me alone despite my pleading and crying.

“The last time I spoke to her was the night before she died. That morning, she was traveling from our village called Bende to Lagos. It was a few days before the annual campaign event of the women’s charity she set up, which is called A Widow’s Comfort. She promised to call me that morning before she traveled, but I missed her call because I had already left for class. She left me a voice message to say that she was leaving for Lagos, that she missed me and that she would call me again when she was in Lagos. That was the last time I heard from her.

“I still go back and listen to her voice messages, praying that it’s all a dream, that she’ll tell me she is on her way home. Sometimes, when I miss her, I send her number a text message to tell her how much I miss her. I know it won’t happen, but I keep hoping that one day she’ll respond and tell me this was all a prank, and she’s coming back home.” The sobs come out of me, my shoulders shaking and my nose all bunged up.

Alex wraps his arms around my shoulder and hands me some tissue paper to blow my nose.

“Some days I blame myself for letting her go to Nigeria. I should have convinced her to stay. That’s why I can’t relate when you say you’re looking forward to going back home to Ghana. To me, whenever I think of Nigeria, I think of the place that took my mom from me. That, to me, can never be home.”

I bury my head on Alex’s shoulders, grateful for the music playing from the overhead speakers and also the empty restaurant, so I don’t have to worry about other people watching me.

Alex kisses my forehead and thumbs a tear away from my eyes. “I’m so sorry that you’ve been going through this alone. Thank you for being honest with me. Have you spoken to Emmanuel or your dad about how you feel?”

I shake my head. “No, I tried to call them today, but they’re busy. Manny is still trying to adjust to his new role as the managing director at Madu Health, and my dad is busy trying to make sure he hands everything over to Manny before he retires. They are both so busy with their own lives and I don’t want them worrying about me.”

“Hmm.” Alex squeezes my hands. “One thing I’ve learned recently is that the devil loves to make us believe that we’re alone when we face challenges. That can make us withdraw from others to deal with everything alone. But you’re not alone, babe.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what Mom always says in the dream before she leaves.”

“And it’s true. God is trying to remind you that you’re not alone. You weren’t meant to process these feelings alone. God has placed you in a community that loves you. But He’s also able to help you through it. You believe that, right?” He places his palm on my jaw, his warmth providing a comfort my heart craves for.

“Yes, I do.” I lift my head to look at him. “I want to work through these feelings, so they don’t consume me.”

“Have you considered a bereavement counselor?”

I hold his gaze for a few seconds before shaking my head. “No, I don’t think I’m comfortable speaking to a stranger about my feelings. Plus, I already feel better talking to you about it, so it’s all good.”

“I’m glad you feel better now.” He kisses my hand. “But I’m not a counselor and I don’t have the professional skills to help you deal with all these emotions. It’s something you’ll be able to process with time, but you need the strategies to help you do so. We’ll be praying about it, but will you promise you’ll at least think about speaking to a bereavement counselor?” He tilts his head and pleads with his eyes. He looks even cuter when he does that.

I finally smile. “Okay, fine. I promise I’ll think about it.” That’s the best I can do for now.

“That’s my girl. I’m glad your smile has returned,” he says as his phone vibrates. He taps on the screen to read a text message pop up and I catch a glimpse of his screensaver.

“Aww, are those your parents?” I point to the older couple in the photo with him.

He nods and opens the photo from his gallery. “Yes. The photo was taken last year.”

“You kinda look like your mom, you know?”

Alex snorts. “Really? You’re the first person who has ever said that. I don’t think I look like any of them.”

“You have the same dark complexion as your mom and the shape of your noses are also the same, see?” I bring the phone closer, but he still gives me an unconvincing nod.

“Okay, then. If you say so.”

“I also love the matching Kente outfits. You could pass for a royal family.”

“Thanks. My mom bought the Kente clothes when she traveled back home to Ghana two years ago and…” His voice trails off and he purses his lips, as if he’s physically trying to hold the words in his mouth.

“What?” I ask as he scratches the back of his head.

“I’m sorry I brought up traveling to Ghana when you literally just unburdened your trauma about visiting Nigeria. That was a bit insensitive of me.”

“Oh, no please, don’t apologize for loving the place you call home. I’m the one with the trauma, not you.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. I want to hear the backstory for this beautiful photo.”

“Okay.” He clears his throat before continuing. “That Sunday was cultural day at church, so it seemed fitting for us to wear the outfits.”

“Aww, that’s so cute. What about that necklace your mom is wearing?”

“Erm…” Alex zooms in on the photo. “I remember her saying she bought it from a local market in Accra. It’s an African map with a cross in the middle. She says it reminds her of her identity as a child of God.”

“Aww, that’s really nice. Your parents sound like amazing people. They’ve raised you into an amazing young man.”

“You’re not just saying that because I’m your boyfriend, right?”

“Of course not. Look how you took time out of your busy day to get me out of my sour mood. Alex, you’re amazing and I mean it.” I reach out and touch his beard. He only started growing it out a few months ago, but it already looks so good.

“Well, I’m glad you think so, because I wouldn’t want to be anything but kind to you.” He presses my hand to his face. “When I visit Ghana next summer after graduation, I’ll buy you that same necklace,” he says before quickly adding, “ Ugh , I’m sorry. I can’t believe I did it again. I promise, I’ll shut up about Ghana starting now.”

I chuckle as my cheeks warm up. “It’s okay, babe. I’d really like that actually.”

“Great,” he says before his gaze drops to my milkshake on the table. “Are you going to have any of that? You know I have space for two in my belly, right?” He smirks.

“Oh, you think you’re smart, don’t you? Let’s see if you’re still smiling when I finish my milkshake before you.”

“Aww, man. That’s not fair. You know I get brain freeze when I drink too quickly.”

“Loser,” I say, but the wide grin on his face only lets me know he has a cheesy comeback brewing.

“I’ll be a loser for you any day, baby girl.” We both laugh before drinking our milkshakes and eating the spicy chicken nuggets in between.