The day he took my number and promised to give me a call, I figured out what he wanted from me. Men are like that. They take your number when they have nothing but everything to say. I didn’t sit by my phone all day waiting for his call. I didn’t wonder what was keeping him from calling but that day when he didn’t call, I noticed it. Maybe I was eager to hear what he had to say or knew what he wanted to say and was anxious to hear it.

He called a day later. He said hello and I said hello back. After we exchanged the usual “How are you?” and “What have you been doing?” He told me he called to check up on me. In my mind, I asked, “Is that all? To check up on me?” But I remembered that some men take their time. They take their time because saying, “I love you” isn’t as easy as ABC.

We texted. We had video calls where it mattered. He smiled a lot. He called me beautiful. He said my nose reminded him of a girl he fell in love with in the primary school. “You fell in love with her because of her nose?” He nodded shyly. He was making a point and I got it. He would say all the nice things to me and take me to all the nice places but refused to propose.

A year later, we were still friends and he was still talking about my nose and how he loved it. One day I asked him, “Is it all about my nose or there’s more you’re not saying?” I needed an honest response but he only smiled and said something gibberish. I loved him. I wanted him to propose but he wasn’t doing it. One night on a video call I wanted to propose but it felt desperate in my heart so I stopped. Life went on. My nose kept shining in his dreams so he woke up to talk about it.

My aunt died. He came to the funeral in my hometown. I introduced him to my mom and dad. Dad asked, “Be specific. You mean he’s just a friend?” I told him, “Yeah he’s just a friend. A friend who’s in love with a nose and not the owner of the nose.”

I introduced Martin to my sisters; “He’s a friend and he came to mourn with us.” He shook hands with them and stayed close to us until he said goodbye in the evening.

One day my sister called. The one right after me, Regina. She’s the closest of the sisters. We talked about life and talked about our love lives. I’ve gone through shege but my sister has eaten shege when it comes to men. When we talked, we talked about those times when a man showed us shege. She told me a man was pursuing her. The man had all the qualities she needed but he was married. I exclaimed, “The good ones always come with attachment.”

That day she told me Martin called her. I was taken aback. “You mean my own Martin?” She said yes. “How did he get your number?” I asked her. She responded, “At the funeral. When he was about to leave, he took my number.”

I wasn’t happy. Maybe I was jealous or had a lot of questions but I knew for sure that I wasn’t happy. I didn’t ask what they talked about or why he called. All I said was, “That’s nice. Good to know you two talk.”

When Martin called, he also talked about talking to my sister. He said it so casually that I didn’t feel any of the things I felt when my sister called. He still didn’t propose. I gave him clues –the iron was hot. He only had to strike but he didn’t. I made it obvious through the way I talked to him and the way I acted around him. He didn’t propose. One day I told him about a man who was chasing me. It was a lie. I was only trying to give him a push. He told me, “Is he the type you want?” I answered, “I don’t really know.” His voice was frosty When he said, “Don’t just jump into him. Be very sure about him first.”

When he kept ignoring the signs, I gave up on him. I mean you can’t make a boyfriend out of a man who’s determined to be a friend.

My mom called. She asked, “That boy you brought home during the funeral, who is he?” “He’s a friend. Why do you ask?” Was my answer.

“Just a friend?”

I knew something was wrong. My mom won’t call just to ask questions about someone I introduced to them. I probed further. According to her, Martin was hitting on my younger sister. He had paid her fees. Helped her pay her hostel fees and even sends her money every now and then. She had seen them on a video call and had wondered what was going on.

I breathed heavily. I said, “If he likes her that much, then he can go ahead. He hasn’t told me anything and I don’t think he owes me any telling. He can go ahead.”

After the call, I called him. I told him what my mom told me and he denied being in love with my sister. He said he was helping her just because she was my sister. He asked if I was worried. He told me he was willing to stop if I didn’t see it as appropriate. I told him there was nothing wrong.

I didn’t speak to my sister about it. When she called and asked, I told her to keep him if she loves him.

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Months later, these two are inseparable. There are trips where they plaster the photos all over with nice captions. Martin goes home with gifts for my sister. Whenever she needs something, he provides. I’m not angry. I’m not jealous. I liked him for myself but he didn’t like me when he had the chance. He met my sister and he’s head over heels in love with her. I can only wish them well.

The problem now is my parents. They believe it’s not right for my sister to date someone I brought into the picture. They are having thoughts about the way I feel about their relationship. I’m still fine with Martin. I talk to my sister just the way we used to be. That should be enough to show I’m OK with what’s going on but my parents have refused to take my word for it. They insist I might be bitter and not say it or jealous but pretend it doesn’t hurt. They’ve warned my junior sister to stay away from Martin. She doesn’t listen so it has become a family fight.

Martin came with my sister to tell me to do something. I’ve done my part and there’s nothing else to do. I’ve begged my parents on their behalf. I’ve opened my heart and worn it over my sleeves so they’d know my heart is empty. Yet they are determined to break them apart.

What can I do to prove my innocence? That in future when they marry, I won’t spin a story against them but embrace them as one of my own.

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—Rebecca 

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