“𝐶𝒉𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝒉𝑎𝑛 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠. 𝐼𝑡’𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝒉𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝒉𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒.”

• • •

I take in a deep breath, stealing the moment to calm my racing heart before bringing my knuckles to the door of the Afam Mansion. It’s been years since I last saw my parents—not to talk of my entire extended family. I spent the entire time on the flight from Asaba to Abuja preventing my thoughts from straying.

But now, they come in full force. What would daddy think of me now? Would he understand why I left or still think I am a prodigal daughter? What would the rest of my family think? What about—

Okay, relax, Melody. You have prayed about this.

When I finally knock on the door, it only takes five seconds before it swings open and I come face to face with…Desmond, is it? If this is my cousin, Desmond, he is all grown up now. All traces of what I remember as scrawny are gone and now replaced with a ripped and handsome giant.

“Desmond Junior?” I ask, breaking the momentary silence, just to be sure I am not mistaken.

He nods, a smile lighting up his face. “Live and in the flesh.”

“Wow.” I grin. “For a second, I thought you were someone else. See as you don tall pass me. Come here, abeg,” I say, throwing my arms open for an embrace. He obliges. “Merry Christmas. It’s so good to see you.”

“Same here. It’s good to see you, too, Mel—Just Cous,” he says, catching himself last minute. I’m an only child, so my parents were never really big on me adding “titles” to older people, except the elderly. But Desmond’s dad is Yoruba, and according to their customs, titles are important. Since I’m only a year older, he decided, back when we were kids, that he preferred to call me “Just Cous” instead of adding the usual “auntie” or “sister”. And still remembered it after all those years.

When he pulls away, he says, “I’ll help with your bags,” and picks up, with ease, the huge box I had been struggling to lift.

“Thank you.”

When I step into the mansion, the sight I meet astounds me. First off, there’s a towering Christmas tree right in the middle of the massive sitting room, decorated with several ornaments (when I move closer, I think I see something akin to a seashell or a seahorse?) and a huge star at the top. Wrapped gift boxes of different shapes and sizes, like Father Christmas had visited, surround the tree’s bottom. A kaleidoscope of colours enhanced by the lights and other ornaments beautify the walls and windows of the house. And on top of that, an aroma blend of spicy and sweet foods fills my nostrils, causing my mouth to water, and reminding me that I'm hungry. It also gives me a tiny spark of hope that maybe this won't go so bad, after all.

“Where’s everyone?” I ask, snapping back into reality and after realizing no one is in the living room and dining.

“In the backyard,” Desmond answers. “That’s where everything is happening. Why don’t you go and meet them, yeah? I’ll join you as soon as I drop this.” He taps my box.

I want to disagree because I’m so nervous about walking in on everybody on my own, in spite of the spark of home I felt some minutes ago, but I nod, anyway, and head to the backyard through the kitchen.  “Dear God, please help me,” I mumble as I push the door open.

As expected, all conversations stop, and then, loud gasps follow. Nobody hides their surprise. I share eye contact with my parents from where they are seated. Daddy doesn't regard me for long as he looks away after two seconds. But mommy runs to where I am and encloses me in her embrace. As I wrap my hands around her slowly, it dawns on me how much I have missed her. Without meaning to, tears prick my eyes as caged memories escape and begin to swirl in my mind.

“You came,” she whispers, her voice breaking slightly.

I don't say anything; I nod instead.

Mumblings fly about when we release each other. Mommy pays them deaf ears as she holds my hands, taking me to my seat. Since my grandparents are no more, daddy, being the first born, sits at the head of the table with mommy in the chair next to him.

The table is already set with different dishes containing all kinds of rice and beef and salad. Sweating bottles and cans of drinks sit gracefully in a stainless bowl beside the dishes. As I take my seat, my mom beside me on my right, already on a call, I get this feeling of being watched.
So, I turn. And to my right, two seats from me, I catch the person staring: Aunty Ogechi, Desmond’s mom, and daddy’s immediate younger sister. I swallow the urge to sigh. Instead, I turn fully towards her. After I bow my head in greeting to her husband, Uncle Desmond (senior) and he responds, I say, “You look lovely, ma. Merry Christmas.”

She regards me for a moment, before flicking her bone-straight wig and saying, “Thanks. And fortunately for you, you look better off than most would expect.” 

I try not to frown as I reply with, “Thanks.”

The door opens immediately after that and Desmond walks in, getting smiles and handshakes as he walks to the seat beside me. I scoot my chair closer to my mom so he has enough space to sit.

“Thanks for helping me with my bags,” I say, patting his shoulder as he takes his seat.

He pats my hand and says, “Anytime, Just Cous.”

When I turn away from him, my eyes settle on daddy. Surprisingly, he’s already looking at me. And he doesn’t look away this time. I try to mirror his expression, while also trying to decipher what’s on his mind, but I falter and it ends up being something in between a grimace and a smile. Just as I am about to say something, someone else calls his attention. I let out a deep breath I didn’t know I was holding. Well, so much for maintaining steeze in front of daddy.

The table breaks off into chatter, and that’s when I really take note of everyone at the table. Farther down my row, a seat after Uncle Desmond, is Uncle Jidenna, daddy’s youngest brother. I remember he stayed at our home back in Lekki when I was still a kid, and he was a teenager who had just finished his secondary school education. He’s talking to a little girl who is seated in the middle of him and a fair-skinned woman holding another child in her arms. That must be Aunty Anna, his wife. It’s a bummer I was not able to attend his wedding. Or maybe I was able, but just chose not to go.

The tail of the table has Diane, Desmond’s adopted younger sister. Technically, she’s his cousin from his dad’s side who lost her entire family to an accident. So, Aunty Ogechi and Uncle Desmond became her legal guardians. Her head is buried in her phone, for one, and she's isolated herself as usual. The other side of the table has the middle children of the Afam family, the twins, Aunty Buchi Kachi. They sit side by side with their husbands and kids.

I am surprised at how much I remember about all my family members even after a long time.

The table creaks, and daddy rises. “Settle down, please,” he says, an edge to his voice as he claps his hands. The chattering at the table stops immediately and he has everyone’s attention. “We are gathered here today for a reason: to celebrate love, life, and family, and I—”

“Are we not going to talk about the elephant in the room?” Aunty Ogechi says, interrupting him.

“The only elephant in the room is you, Ogechi,” mommy snaps, making me flinch. “Have you checked your weight recently?” Well, mommy still has quite the temper.

“Nneka, please,” daddy says, the edge to the voice hardening.

“Talk to your bloody sister, Uchenna!”

Beside me, Desmond lets out a deep sigh and mutters, “Here we go.” 

I look over at Diane and she does not flinch a bit. Aunty Buchi and Kachi seem to be enjoying whatever’s going on. Uncle Jidenna and his wife are both quiet. Uncle Desmond, much like his son, lets out another sigh and massages his temples, muttering something that I don’t hear. 

This is what I wanted to avoid: an argument that would start because of me. I know the elephant Aunty Ogechi referred to was me. She’s always had a problem with me since I was a kid and when I used to play in their house. Till today, I can’t think of a reason why.

“You have no right to talk to me that way, Uche. Absolutely no right,” Aunty Ogechi is saying. “I’m not the one who can’t control his spoiled brat of a child.”

I flinch when she says the last part.

Daddy wags a finger at her. “You will respect me in my own house, Ogechi.”

A loud gasp follows his statement, and I look over to see it’s from Aunty Buchi. “What do you mean your own house? Last I checked, this mansion belonged to our parents, and we are supposed to all own it.”

“Which money do you have, ehn, Buchi?” My head swivels to the direction of the voice, and I see it belongs to Aunty Anna. Her voice, contrary to the current situation, is so calm. “How much have you contributed to this family since you were born?”  

I see Uncle Jidenna put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs it off, saying, “Leave me and let me talk, biko.”  She faces Aunty Buchi. “You are all talk and no action. Maybe I’m supposed to choose my words because I’m the youngest here, but with all due respect, you don't try enough.” She holds her sleeping baby tighter and rests back on the chair.

Aunty Buchi is too stunned to speak, so her twin speaks up to support her. “You have some nerve to talk like that, Anna. You think I don’t know of all the things you do behind this family’s back? Money laundering and whatnot?”

Aunty Anna’s eyes go wide, but she quickly comports herself and says, “My husband is aware of everything I do, Kachi. Everything. Even Bro Uche sef. You’re the only one in the dark.”

I stop halfway from opening a bottle of water. What? Daddy is involved in shady business ke?

“What?” Mommy echoes the word out of my mind. “What is she talking about?”

“Nneka, please calm down. It’s not what you people think,” Daddy says, dismissing her.

“Excuse you!” Mom flares up, slamming the table. “What do you mean it’s not what I think, ehn? Don’t tell me…Uchenna”—she wags a finger at him— “don’t tell me you bought this stupid big house with shady money.”

Daddy opens his mouth but nothing comes out, and my heart drops. A sour feeling creeps into me. Daddy taught me never to lie. He said not to be fraudulent or dishonest. He was the most disappointed when I left five years ago, even though my reasons were valid to me back then. I remembered his words, his voice on the phone when we finally spoke after I left and was ready to talk to him, my mom’s sobs, her message to me, begging me to please come home this Christmas at least. All reasons why I returned.

When I emerge from my thoughts, the sight before me is chaos. Everyone is flat out yelling at each other now, even Uncle Jidenna who is usually the quietest. Desmond and Diane both have their air pods plugged in now. The little kids choose this moment to be very active. Aunty Anna’s baby is wailing with no one paying attention to him. The rest of the kids are having a full-on food fight at the table. Everything is a mess.

But dear God, this wasn’t the plan. How am I supposed to fix this?

I have given you the strength to fix it.

Taking in a deep breath for the umpteenth time today, I massage my temples before heading to where the hired caterers are still cooking. With a polite smile plastered on my face, I ask for a wooden spatula and stainless tray. They are hesitant to give me, but they do anyway. When I get back to the table, I jam the spatula and the tray together. About five or six times.

“I demand your attention, everyone!” I yell. I feel the strain in my voice when the chaos calms and everyone has turned to look at me. Sighing, I massage my neck—something I do when I’m nervous—and say, “Have your seat, please. Everyone.”

“Is it this rebel that should be telling us—”

“Aunty Ogechi,” I say with a tone that surprises even me, causing her to flinch, “sit down. Please.”

She stares at me, eyes wide, before slowly taking her seat, and crossing her legs over. Surprisingly, the others, even daddy and mommy, follow suit. Desmond and Diane take off their air pods. With everyone’s eyes on me, my palms become sweaty and I almost bail while I have the chance. But no, God has not given me the spirit of fear. So, I stay put. Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I clear my throat before saying, “It’s Christmas, guys.”
Mild muttering fills the air, but I ignore it and continue speaking. “I came home because I learned something.”

“How to be a good and obedient child?” asks Aunty Ogechi. 

“As a matter of fact, yes.” I place the tray and spatula on the table. “Yes, I did learn to be an obedient child.” I look over at mommy and daddy. “I didn’t leave home to become a wayward child. I had dreams I thought both of you wouldn’t support. You both wanted the best for me, but seriously, I did not want to be a medical doctor. I just wanted to write.” My eyes drift to my hands fondling the hem of my cardigan. “And I did. My debut novel is a bestseller now. And Masobe Books is interested in publishing my next book.”

“I’m sorry o, but what does that have to do with anything, Aunty Melody?” Diane asks.

I ignore her and continue my unplanned speech. “Aunty Ogechi,”—I face her—“please stop blaming my dad for my mistake. I ran away on my own. My parents had nothing to do with it.” I turn to them as tears prick my eyes. “Mommy and daddy, please forgive me.” A tear slips down my eye. “I’m sorry that every family gathering puts you in a tough spot because of my rebellion. I promise that it won't happen again.”

Diane begins an applause. “Beautiful speech.”

“Diane, stop,” Desmond says firmly, interrupting her clap. Diane rolls her eyes and rests back in her seat, chin in her palm like she’s bored out of her mind.

“Back to my first statement: it’s Christmas, and we are gathered here because someone loved us enough to send His only Son to save us.” I move to the head of the table where daddy is. “We didn’t come here to point fingers or stir trouble. Being with family during this season should be more than cherished. Life is short, you know. I trust that God will keep us all, but no one knows tomorrow. So, you want to ensure you hold things close and value them while they are still here.” 

I move from where I’m standing and stop beside Aunty Buchi. She jumps when I place a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you try investing more in yourself instead of magnifying the inconsistencies of others?” I turn to her twin who’s currently nursing one of her children. “Same as you, Aunty Kachi. Nobody’s perfect.”

I let those words settle before I say to Aunty Anna whose baby is now sucking his finger peacefully in her arms, “I think you need to start seeing everyone here as family and not competition.” To Diane, I say, “Stop being so bitter about life and spreading the bitterness to everyone, and—”

“I’m not—”

“And learn to be a good listener, for the love of God! Stop interrupting people. Healing comes with admitting, first, that you need it.”

Crossing her arms, she leans back in her seat and mumbles, “Fine.”

“And Aunty Ogechi,” I continue, turning to her, “I love you, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.” I might never know why she’s always had it out for me since the day I was born, but for God so loved the world, yeah? “And maybe deep down, you love me too.”

We share eye contact before she scoffs and turns away. Desmond smiles and gives me a thumbs up from his end. Silence hangs in the air for a few seconds before I walk back to where my parents are seated. “This is Christmas, mommy and daddy. And this Christmas, we will forgive, we will tolerate and accept each other, we will give, and we will love. That’s what Christmas is about, isn’t it?” 

Daddy, who has not so much as looked at me since I got here, whispers, “I’m sorry too, my daughter.”

His apology surprises me, because I thought it would take longer. “Apology accepted,” I whisper back, a tender smile on my face. 

• • •

Much better than when I arrived, the atmosphere exudes a different, warmer energy. We have all eaten to our fill, and while the adults converse, the little children are running around playing catcher-catcher or something. I silently thank God for this miracle and ask him to please let it be like this every year.

“Melody.”

On hearing my name from behind, I turn and come face to face with daddy. I notice he has his hands behind him. When did he get up and go inside? He

“Yes, daddy?”

“Come with me.”

I nod and follow him out of the backyard and to the sitting room inside the house, where we take our seats on the same couch. Comfortable silence settles between us for about two minutes, before he finally speaks.

“Now that you’re here,” he begins, “it’s time to give you this.” He unwraps his fist and brings out a tiny, but shiny box. “It was the Christmas present I got you the year you left. I hoped you would come back. Even though I’d chosen not to call you, I’d hoped you would show up and my baby would be back to me, to us.” He hands me the box.

I open the box and what I see in it is unexpected. To be honest, I’m a bit disappointed. “Thank you, daddy,” I say in spite of it.

He nods. “Do you know what these weird stone birds are?”

I shake my head. “Honestly, I don’t.”

“I thought as much.” He smiles, shaking his head as if to say ‘children these days’. “They are turtle doves, and they signify eternal love. I wanted you to have it so that you are always reminded of how God loves you, and of how we—mommy and I—love you.”

“So, the whole time I was gone, you didn’t hate me?”

He shakes his head. “Not one bit.”

“Then why were you so angry?”

“Because I love you, was scared for you, and I wanted the best for you. But now, I realize that sometimes, parents’ best is not always what’s best. Your speech reminded me of that. And besides, you are old enough to take care of yourself now.” 

I stare down at the stone creatures now in my hands and caress their smooth surface. They are not much, but indeed a sight to behold.

He continues, “I’ve also been…what do you young people call it again sef? Stalking you? Yes, that should be the word. So, I know all about your achievements. I’m very proud of you.”

I’m beaming with tears in my eyes as it is. “Thank you so much daddy,” I say and move to wrap him in a hug. I’ve missed being daddy’s girl. And even though I’m twenty-five now, I will seize every opportunity I have to be one. “I love you.”

“I love you too, my daughter.”

I silently thank God for this miracle again.

We stay like that for a few seconds before something pops in my head. “Daddy, what about that shady business thing Aunty Kachi was saying?”

He takes few seconds to say, “Er…don’t worry about that one. It’s not much of a big deal.”

I pull away from him a bit and narrow my eyes at him. “Daddy…”

“I promise you it’s not what everyone is thinking. Trust me?”

“Okay o. I trust you,” I say and lean back into the hug.

He chuckles before saying, “Merry Christmas, Nwa m nwanyi oma.”

“Merry Christmas, Nnukwu nna m.”

Written by Ifeoluwa Bode-Ajayi.