RESOLVE

Chapter Twelve.

~Kene's POV~

"So, Ken, what's your fetish?" Elsie was at the feet of the vast bed, my laptop resting on her white thighs. A tray containing cranberry juice sat beside her.

I was leaning on the bed-stead, typing away on my iPad, AirPods blocking my ears. The voice note I was listening to wasn't very loud, so I could make out her words.

She'd insisted I stay at her house during the Program that brought me here to Abuja rather than lodge in a hotel like I usually did.

"I'm talking to you, mister Aniekwe!" She threw the closest black cotton-cased pillow at me, bringing my attention fully to her.

"You've known me half of your life, and you still didn't figure out my Fetish?" I feigned a hurt look.

"No," she chuckled.

"It's just...I've not seen you in nearly two years," her voice came out sad at that part, "some things should've changed, I guess." She stared at my face.

I looked away from her, fixing my gaze on the iPad and responding with a shrug.

"It's still the same."

"So you still love inhaling the smell of cigarettes," she grimaced at me, trying to loosen up the tension crawling into the atmosphere.

I nodded in affirmation.

"Do you still hate milk?" She quizzed, squinting her eyes at me.

"Nah."

She opened her mouth to talk, but my ringtone beat her to it.

I picked up my phone from the ottoman beside the bed.

Adaeze.

I'd forgotten to call her and knew she would have my ears for dinner with her annoying robotic and prim voice.

It seemed pretty normal for journalists to enjoy talking. Maybe I'm wrong, but my sister Adaeze hasn't proved I was for a second.

I removed the AirPods, smiling into the call. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry," I began speaking immediately after I picked the call.

"You need to apologise to me with a huge treat Jide-Kene, Since Yesterday I called you," her soft voice failed to look stern.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry I was going to call back, but I got very much submerged with work, juggling activities everywhere. I'm not even in Lagos at the moment," I pleaded.

She gave a resigned sigh. "You're quite lucky I'm in a good mood. How are you, jare?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I'm fine, just work." The ache at the back of my neck said much about how stressed I felt.

"Take it easy on yourself o," she replied.

"How's my boy?" I was referring to her teenage son.

"Joshua is fine. Apart from his usual stubbornness, he still thinks he's a kid. I'll soon disown him, I don tire," she jokingly replied.

I smiled.

"He's always asking about you, though. It's been months already."

During her teens, Joshua was the child Adaeze had due to some painful circumstances. He'd come when we were still young. I was 13 at that time, and Adaeze was 15. It had been one of the sad moments in our childhood as she'd significantly suffered from complications like Vesico vaginal fistula. Painful memories that were embittering when re-lived.