I bend my fingers to get a better view, watch as the rock catches the light and I think, my mother would be so proud. A sigh forces itself out of my mouth into his, and as he grunts in response his doughy fingers dig deeper into my back. Ouch.
I was expected not to sweat over the steaming yam nor to wipe my sweat with anything I was wearing while at this pounding. My mum was that scrupulous. And now she was comparing love to my most annoying kitchen chore.
The first time she said that, I stared blankly at her, as she went on and on, and my mind wandered to the ‘soup’ I’d have to adjust my taste buds to.
What if it wasn’t so tasty? What if your taste buds didn’t agree even over time? And what if the soup didn’t like your mouth? Soups have feelings you know…His lips bring me back.
That was not the first time my mother had spoken to me like that. Almost every week since our families had chosen a wedding date – Valentine’s Day at my insistence – my mother has tried to convince me that this is not as bad an idea as all my friends made it seem.