Chapter 45 - Chapter 44

In the kitchen alone, I assemble the ingredients for Anti Nyoni's macaroni cheese. The uneven scrawl of her handwriting on the page of her old notebook blurs through the scrim of tears over my eyes. I don't think I've gone ten minutes without crying since Siyabonga walked out the door a few hours ago.

"Dinner," I say, swiping my cheeks with an impatient hand. "I'm going to make a meal for my children that they probably won't eat, because that's just the kind of masochist I am."

Haven't I had my share of humiliation for one day? Ijoo. Or do I think I might top throwing myself at my ex-husband, begging him to move back in, declaring my undying love for him ... and watching him storm out of the room without a word? Because I suspect that will take the prize.

"Macaroni, cheese, milk, eggs, salt and pepper to taste."

I mutter the ingredients under my breath over and over like an incantation I wish could summon Anti Nyoni here. Or at least call on her wisdom, because I've messed things up so badly I don't know what to do. If the ingredients are the prayer, the steam rising from the boiling pot of macaroni is the incense and this kitchen a temple where I would sacrifice just about anything to have her here with me right now. It's how my mother has always spoken to the ones who went ahead — out loud, over a pot, as if they've only stepped into the next room.

"I miss you so much, Anti Nyoni," I say, licking the tears from my lips. "Still."

On my wedding day she said, "I love you like a daughter, Naledi, but if you hurt my boy, ngizokushaya — I'll give you a hiding."