🎶Don't pretend that you need me ~ Becca

●Tara Afua Henrie●

"I can't believe you still drive this piece of junk."

Pam's small blue Kia Picanto sat in the clustered garage with a rusty grille, one cracked headlight, a broken door handle on the passenger side, worn-out leather seats, a couple of scratches on the bumper, the fender, and other parts of the car.

This vehicle should be rotting in a junkyard, not her garage.

"It's not a piece of junk," Pam remarked, shutting the trap door that led to the kitchen. "It's the first car I bought with money I earned." She gave the bonnet a little pat. "It's sentimental."

"It's old, Pam." I swung my bag onto my shoulder. "You need a new one."

"No, I don't. Even if I did, I can't purchase one right now cuz I invested all my savings in the restaurant." She moved to the driver's side and unlocked the door. When she sat in the driver's seat and opened the passenger door from the inside, I got in. The car's interior smelled like mould, slowly being overshadowed by the lavender air freshener Pam had just installed on the dashboard.

"You can ask Nando to get you one," I stated, returning to the new car topic.

Pam let out a frustrated groan. "No, I can't."

"Why not?" I strapped on my seatbelt.

"Because..." Her hands gripped the steering wheel. "There's nothing wrong with this one. It works perfectly fine. Now, can you please stop pestering me to get a new car?"

"Ok. I'll stop."

"Thank you."

She fished out the key and pushed it into the ignition with a turn. Instead of the engine roaring to life, it sputtered and let out a whirring sound, sending a ripple of vibrations throughout the small vehicle. It lasted for a minute, then the engine gave out with a loud 'paow.'

The expression on my sister's face was the very definition of mortified and I couldn't hide my smile.

"It works perfectly fine," I mimicked.

"Shut up."

I shook with laughter.

Pam tried the engine three more times before losing patience with her old car. She stomped out of the car, yanking the bonnet open to find the fault.

While enjoying the brief comedy show, I felt my phone vibrate in my bag and quickly pulled it out. I'd received two messages from Mama wishing me luck on my first day, a few messages from group chats, and another foreign number.

I sighed, letting my head hit the headrest. They just don't know when to give up.

This time, I made an effort to read the messages, which I soon realized were from Sheeda. Cudjoe must've given up.

Tara, pls! Look, I never meant to hurt you, ok. What happened between Cudjoe and me was an accident. I never meant for it to go this far, and now I completely regret everything.

Can't we just put everything behind us and continue being friends?

I really miss you

Ignoring that last bit, I typed out a reply.

No.

I hit send but didn't wait for a response. I blocked the number.

"Ok." Pam plopped down into the driver's seat, wiping her black stained fingers in a grey cloth. "I think I fixed the problem." She sparked the car again. Even though the whirring sound was still there, the engine came to life.

I threw her a quizzical look, which she returned with a broad smile. "We were just out of engine oil." She dumped the dirty cloth on a short stack of tyres, pulled out of the garage, and drove us down the street.

As we whizzed past the suburban homes, people left home for work, children ran to catch up with their school buses, and a few people took time to tend to the plants that decorated their homes. The sky appeared so blue today, with the sun setting on the east side, shedding light on the earth and promising a productive day.

Pam waved and occasionally yelled Spanish greetings to several friends before retracting her arm to tune the radio to some Spanish morning talk show. Since I didn't understand a single word, I stuffed my earphones into my ears, letting Becca's lilting voice fill my brain.

Becca was a Ghanaian Afro-pop singer-songwriter who inspired me to continue singing when I quit after Papa's death and our sudden move. I used to sing and write songs with Papa when he was alive. We'd spend hours in the backyard on weekends just working on music. I could still hear his deep baritone voice and guitar chords working together to create the most beautiful tunes that stirred up my emotions.

He was the most incredible musician I'd ever known, although it wasn't his profession. He simply enjoyed singing for Mama, me, and Pam, but mainly for Mama. They'd been married for fifteen years, and he was still madly in love with her, to the point where nearly every song he wrote was either for her or about her.

I smiled, remembering the last song he wrote before his sudden departure. He made me play the guitar and sing the song while he and Mama laughed and twirled around in the living room. My eyes were stinging from tears.

"Tara!" Pam yanked the earbuds out of my ears, pulling me back to the present. "We're here."

I blinked. I was so lost in memories that I hadn't even realized that the car now stood beside two others in a parking lot. I opened the door and stepped out, joining Pam at the rear end of the Picanto.

"Welcome to Originally Afro-Mex," my sister said out loud.

Originally Afro-Mex sat on the ground floor of a three-story building with a white metallic board holding the restaurant's name in stylish penmanship. A red awning shielded a glass sliding door in the middle of the building, accompanied by two expansive rectangular windows on both sides, offering a view of the parking lot.

"Since we're new, we're starting small," Pam added when she caught me analyzing the building. "Originally Afro-Mex serves a variety of African and Mexican dishes. We also like experimenting with African and Mexican ingredients to create new flavour-filled dishes like our famous red beef broth. Customers order it aaa lot," she gushed out.

"I already know all that." I crossed my arms. "You sent Mama copies of your menu and everything, remember? Plus, beef broth is Mama's recipe, so it's not surprising that people like it."

Pam looked ready to shoot out a counterstatement, but she obviously couldn't deny the truth. "Touche." She twisted her lips. "Now, c'mon, I have to introduce you to the staff before work starts."

I followed my sister towards the building, watching her unlock the glass door. She held the beaded curtain aside for both of us to pass through. When Pam sent us pictures of this place when it first opened, I remember thinking it was fantastic. But standing here right now, I just had to conclude that the pictures didn't do any justice to the restaurant's beauty.

Whoever worked on the interior design did a marvellous job. That person had been able to capture pieces of Africa and Mexico into one room, organizing them in a way that one didn't dominate the other. An array of symbols and designs from both cultures littered the walls, and at each corner of the room sat black-coated wooden statues. Two of them were women, each securing a baby on their backs with a cloth. The other two statues were bare-chested men holding spears and standing at attention. My eyes darted around, absorbing the beauty of Pam's restaurant. The African and Mexican centrepieces sitting on the round tables, the star lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and the colourful patterned curtains.

My admiration stupor soon ended when a pale-skinned girl emerged from a set of swinging double doors. She was mumbling under her breath until her thin brow quirked up at the sight of me.

"Zeina," Pam called out to the girl with a smug smile. "It's wonderful to see you here early."

Zeina folded her arms and frowned. "You! I can't believe you told my dad that I've been skipping shifts!"

"I had to." Pam dumped her handbag on the counter. "Your dad brought you here to learn how to be responsible, and it's my job to ensure that it happens."

"Whatever." Zeina tossed her a disgusted eye roll before sending her attention to me. "Who's she?"

Pam put an arm around my shoulders. "This is Tara, my little sister. She will be joining us today as the new member of the Originally Afro-Mex family."

Zeina's mascara-rimmed eyes were beginning to make me uncomfortable. It was as if she was inspecting my soul.

"I thought you said pants weren't allowed." She frowned at Pam.

"These are just temporary," Pam replied. "Tara's skirt ripped."

"Huh." My sister's employee spared me a disapproving glance, then proceeded to wipe the counter with a rug she'd just pulled out.

Pam picked up her handbag. "Is Maria in?"

"Yeah." Zeina jabbed a thumb in the direction of the double doors. "In the kitchen."

"Let's go, T."

I followed Pam towards the kitchen entrance, still feeling Zeina's eyes on me. This girl is definitely going to be a problem.

Slipping past the doors, the heavenly aroma of food welcomed us to a simple gourmet kitchen with all the necessary equipment to cook up a feast. Pam wasn't kidding when she said she'd invested all her savings in this place.

A plump middle-aged woman with hair wrapped in a white hair net and an apron covering her uniform hovered around the stove. Pam greeted her, and the two began to chat in Spanish.

I just stood there, cluelessly watching them, until a gentle tap landed on my shoulder. When I turned around, a light-skinned brunette smiled at me, showing off a dimple on her right cheek.

"You must be Tara, Pam's younger sister." She held out a hand. "I'm Areli."

We indulged in a brief handshake. At least someone was being nice to me. "It's wonderful to meet you, Areli."

"Same here." Her smile grew wider. "Apart from Pam, I've never met anyone from Africa before. What's it like?"

Surprised by her bluntness, I quickly opened my mouth to speak. "Oh, erm, it's beautiful. Most people think Africa is a village filled with poor people, but trust me, it's far from that. There's even-"

Before I could complete my sentence, the back door burst open, making way for a light-skinned guy wearing an Avengers backpack. "Buenos días, fellow work colleagues!" He saluted. "How y'all doing today?"

No response.

Areli just rolled her eyes. Pam and the plump lady were still engrossed in their chit-chat.

"Oh, you're still ignoring me?" Avengers backpack guy asked, eyes fixed on Areli. She, in turn, shot him a nasty glare before walking away. Oh boy, workplace drama.

The guy muttered something as he dumped his backpack on the floor.

"Ok, everyone!" Pam clapped her hands. "Staff meeting!" Then her eyes fell on the guy Areli snubbed. "Roberto, didn't I tell you to get rid of that silly thing on your head?"

Taking a second look, I could barely hold back a laugh at his haircut. The back of his head and the sides had been shaved off, leaving just the hair on top, which he'd tied into a short tuft.

"Oh, this?" Roberto replied with a smug smile. "I did have plans to shave it off, but Zazu said it makes me look like a Japanese samurai, so... I'm keeping it."

"Well, Zazu isn't your boss; I am. So you better get rid of that haircut if you want to keep your job." Pam warned with a firm hand on her hip.

"Really, Pam?" Roberto gaped at my sister in disbelief. "You're going to fire me because of my hair?"

She didn't answer his question, just shouted, "I'm waiting, guys. Get your butts over here!" Then turned back to the plump lady, who had resumed stirring the aromatic contents of the pot on the stove.

Roberto let out an audible sigh. As he came closer, I noticed four fingers sticking out of a green cast on his left hand. Curiosity got the best of me, and I found myself asking, "What happened to your hand?"

He looked at me and blinked a couple of times before a sly smirk appeared on his face. "Some... dumbass robbers. They jumped me in a dark alley, and I fought them off with some cool moves..." he punched the air as a demonstration. "But one of them had a gun an-"

"Really, Roberto?" Areli stood next to me, holding two transparent containers. She set them on the nearest table.

"Go away, Areli." He frowned. "You were giving me the silent treatment, remember?"

She shook her head before turning to me. "He takes karate lessons."

"Don't you-" Roberto attempted to warn, but Areli didn't give him a chance to finish.

"Last week, there was a tournament, and one of the guys he fought broke his hand."

"That's it, Nosy Josy! This is your last warning," Roberto growled, pointing an accusing finger at Areli. "You better stop sticking your long nose into my biz, or you're gonna regret it someday."

Areli shot a comeback, and I stood there watching their little back-and-forth. Working here will be so much fun, I smiled to myself.

All too soon, Pam ended the Roberto and Areli show. Zeina joined us in the kitchen for the staff meeting, and just when I thought that was everyone, a short Asian guy emerged from the pantry, wiping his hands in a kitchen napkin. "Morning, guys."

I mumbled a reply along with everyone else, and Pam started the meeting with introductions.

Maria, the plump middle-aged woman Pam was talking to earlier, was an executive chef like Pam. She mostly handled Mexican dishes, while my sister took care of African dishes. Zeina worked at the counter, in charge of food delivery, alongside Areli. Zazu, the Asian guy, was a chef under training, helping Pam and Maria in the kitchen.

They all welcomed me with smiles and hugs. Zeina was an exception, though. For some reason, she wouldn't stop shooting me weird looks. So I joined Roberto in waiting tables.

"Ok, that's it for introductions and today's schedule!" Pam announced, signalling the end of the meeting. "We have a busy day ahead of us, guys, and I expect nothing but perfection. Zeina, I want that counter spotless before we open in the next hour. Zazu, I need those vegetables prepped in the next ten minutes; you're helping me with the chakalaka today. Roberto, and Areli, I'm leaving Tara in your capable hands. Give her a tour of the restaurant and take her through the nitty-gritty of waiting tables. Is everyone crystal clear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Great." Pam beamed. "Then let's get to work."