Rootless by Krystle Zara Appiah

Author:Krystle Zara Appiah [Appiah, Krystle Zara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2023-03-07T00:00:00+00:00

SEPTEMBER 2012

Four Years Before

Efe has memories in this kitchen. Even after all these years, the walls are still sunflower yellow and the cabinets the same walnut-brown color; the stove still takes at least two tries to light; and when Efe closes her eyes and focuses, she can smell popcorn in the air, as if years of movie nights have soaked the scent into the walls. It’s all the same, only Efe’s older now, Sam is nowhere to be seen, their daughter is napping in the living room, and Efe’s father-in-law is sleeping upstairs. This isn’t so bad, she tells herself, just as a wail lets her know Olivia is no longer dozing. Efe abandons the vegetables she’s chopping. Cautiously, she nudges open the door and peers in through the gap, but Liv, still rubbing her tired eyes, spots her immediately and cries louder until Efe gives in and plucks her from the travel cot.

Each time she tries to place Liv on the floor she cries, her pudgy fists clutching handfuls of Efe’s clothes.

“Liv,” she says, reaching for Liv’s teddy bear and waving it in front of her face, but her daughter, whimpering now, turns away. “Really? You don’t want Bear-Bear?” Efe places her hand on Liv’s forehead.

“You don’t feel warm,” she murmurs, but Liv’s been fussy all day so Efe pulls her close and makes her way back to the kitchen. The whimpering quiets.

“I really don’t have time for this,” Efe mutters to herself. The countertop is cluttered with vegetables for Ken’s soup. She has to organize his pills, make sure he does his daily exercise as they’ve skipped it twice this week. She’s waiting on a call back from the pharmacy and would like at least five minutes for herself today.

When the soup is simmering, Efe settles down on the sofa with Liv pressed to her chest and her laptop beside her. She pulls up one of the usual Mummy blogs she rotates through, searching for advice. In the comments section, strangers fight about the right age to introduce sugar, proclaim the benefits of all-organic breakfast options and baby-led weaning. Before having Liv, she didn’t know there was so much to argue about. After a few minutes of trawling through snarky and cutting comments, Efe switches to the Launi Gallery’s Facebook page. She scrolls through photo after photo of her colleagues at the launch of the Art After Dark event, an event she spearheaded.

She snaps the computer shut, shifts Liv to her hip, and makes her way upstairs carrying Ken’s lunch.

“Are you awake?” Efe asks, the tray with Ken’s lunch and pills wobbling.

“Rebecca?”

Most of Ken’s speech is hard to decipher, his left side still weak and partially paralyzed, but Efe can make out Sam’s mum’s name and hear the hopeful rise in Ken’s voice as he says it.

“No, it’s me, Ken.” She places the tray on the bedside table and opens the curtains so he can see her clearly. “Efe,” she adds.

The functioning side of Ken’s mouth curves down. He stirs deeper into his sheets.

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