Tami was not in the mood.
She was even angry with herself for being in this mood.
She was tired of always being in this mood.
Can’t he see how much he disgusts me?
She looked at the clock hanging above the doorway.
In exactly thirteen minutes, he would walk through the door, with that silly smirk on his face. He would sit on the worn out sofa facing the television and rant and curse at the football players running around the TV screen.
And later, in the humid,dense darkness of the bedroom, his sweaty palms groping her all over would make her skin crawl as she fought back nausea.
Tonight, his favourite team would be playing. And she knew he’d be too engrossed to notice that the glass of insanely cold zobo drink she would be serving alongside his amala and ewedu tasted slightly different.

“He died in his sleep.” The neighbours whispered, during their condolence visit.
“Poor woman, she must be in shock. She hasn’t said a word.”
Tami lowered her lashes over her eyes, so they wouldn’t see her rueful smile.
Breathe, girl. Breathe.
She exhaled.

Note to readers:
This story was first published in a collection of prose and poetry titled Mashup, put together by the Mainland Book Café. Please visit http://www.mainlandbookcafe.com to download the entire collection and see more exciting pieces.


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