C9: Matchmaker

“I will be in the study if you need me for anything.”

The two, Derek and Ysabelle, were ascending the outside floating concrete stairs from the garden to the house.

Ysabelle turned to look at the man whose hand was casually thrust into the depths of his trouser pocket, and nodded.

So with the help of the workers from the moving company, the last few hours of the afternoon were spent arranging the furniture and accessories.

“Ma’am, where do you want these?”

Seated on the first stair, Ysabelle looked up from what she was doing.

The young man who had just spoken held a large painting in his hands.

“Over there,” she replied.

The man nodded and turned to go place the painting above the fireplace in the lounge.

Turning back to the task at hand, she gently lifted the ceramic ornaments from the box and placed them on the console table.

By the time she was done, she was proud of herself.

Later…

“Mrs. Miti,” Derek called out to Ysabelle as he came out of the study. He followed the spicy aroma of whatever she was cooking to the kitchen.

He found her in the kitchen at the counter, spoon in hand, as she pressed the end into the phone with so much concentration.

He stood in the doorway, leaned against the doorframe, and watched her. He was still trying to come to terms with old man Bowa’s revelation that she was married.

As if sensing his presence, she looked up and quickly put the phone down. “Sir, Lupasha. Did you want something?”

“Auntie Arm just called,” he said as he pushed himself away from the doorframe and walked into the kitchen. “She says she couldn’t get through to you on your phone.”

“Oh,” she said quietly and looked at her damaged phone on the white granite counter. She had salvaged it one too many times; this time around, she knew it was the end of it. “I will call her once I get it going.”

Derek looked at the phone that had seen better days. He reached for it, flipped it back and forth, and made a mental note to have his secretary get her a new phone.

“No need to,” he said. “She wanted to ask if you could pass by her place this afternoon.”

Arm Bowa was the wife of Shawn Bowa. The woman was warm and friendly, just like Old Man Bowa himself.

Ysabelle had a special place in her heart for these two. Ever since her falling out with her family, the two were the closest she had to family.

Arm was a nurse at the local clinic and also owned a kiosk at the market.

Once, Ysabelle had worked at her shop as her assistant, but due to her mother-in-law’s constant meddling, she had later stopped.

Her mother-in-law had accused her of using work as a pretext to fool around, and accused Arm of aiding her. It was amazing how some people could be so shameless. Despite her son being the one who was the cheater, she blatantly accused her instead.

Despite the embarrassing situations that she had found herself in, due to her mother-in-law’s unreasonable thinking, Arm had never stopped caring for the girl.

She would occasionally bring her groceries in the evenings on her way home.

It had been embarrassing at first, and she would turn her down. But she had later begun to accept it, because hunger has no pride.

“Great. Am sure she will be happy to hear that. I will pass by when I knock off.”

“I will give her a call and let her know we will be there later.”

“Ok.”

“She also wants to know if you will be free on Sunday.”

“Sunday?”

“Mmmmm.”

“She asked me to ask on her behalf if you could attend a function with her.”

“Is that so? Sure, no problem.”

“Great. One more thing — what are you doing on Saturday?”

Ysabelle pointed at herself. “Me? Nothing.”

Apart from work, she had nothing else to do.

Derek reached into the back pocket of his trousers and pulled out an invitation card and placed it on the granite counter.

“Peter was one of the men from the moving company who had been helping her arrange the furniture.

“His fiancée is having a kitchen party this weekend. I hope you don’t mind attending in my stead.”

“This weekend,” he said.

Ysabelle mulled over it.

She had no money to buy a present; surely, she couldn’t ask for an advance barely a week after starting, and there was no way she could turn him down.

Ysabelle nodded as relief washed over her. She worried her hands behind the counter and waited for him to say more. Derek tapped his fingers on the counter and then stood up.

“It’s twenty minutes enough for you to get ready?” he said. “I will help you do the grocery shopping for next week; thereafter you are on your own. First, we will pass through Uncle Shawn’s place. Is that okay with you?”

“It’s fine, sir,” she answered, not getting why he was asking for her opinion.

❧ ❧ ❧ ❧

As the sun set on the horizon, Shawn Bowa sat under the shade of the mango in his humble home in the compound, reading the Bible. His wife, a plump and voluminous woman, came out of their house carrying a container of munkoyo and a glass.

“Did you speak to Ysabelle?”

“No. But I managed to get through to Derek. They are on their way.”

“I’m glad Ysabelle accepted the invite. At least this way Grace won’t say I failed to attend her ceremony,” she said, as she poured him a glass and sat next to him on the reed mat.

She picked up a shirt that lay on top of the heaped clothes in the laundry basket and started to sew.