Missionary Position (28 page)

OVER THE NEXT three days, I lost track counting my orgasms.

I filed each one away for future alone time.

Who needed porn when I had memories of Kai to revisit?

After the sun set Wednesday night, we joined Ama and Ursula for dinner.

Another last dinner.

In a little over a month, it would be my turn for a last supper.

How depressing.

I rallied and smiled throughout the meal by focusing on my tender body after our three day love-fest. Crossing my legs brought out a new ache, reminding me of our session standing in his shower. I even had bruises on my hips where he’d pulled me against him.

Cataloging the physical evidence of our love distracted me from the painful bubble resting inside the middle of my chest.

When not eating, I held Kai’s hand. He rubbed his thumb along my palm in that soothing way of his. I concentrated on the touch and the energy warming my skin at the point of contact.

I didn’t count the hours or minutes until morning.

I listened to the conversation around me, adding a chuckle or an affirmation when appropriate. I had no idea what they discussed.

I pictured how pretty Amsterdam would be at Christmas with holiday decorations and lights reflecting along icy canals. I wondered if it snowed.

While I sat, dwelled, and imagined, dinner finished.

The last dinner ended.

The final good-byes were spoken.

It was over.

We’d run out of hours and tomorrows.

Kofi drove us to Kai’s place. With a promise to return in the morning, they wished each other well.

Inside the house, every sign of Kai had been packed away, returning the space to its neutral rental decor. On the bedroom floor, his luggage sat stacked in the corner—too few bags for the months he spent here—an entire life stuffed into suitcases.

Despite my best efforts to not cry in front of him, my eyes filled with tears. Over the past week, I’d moved my things back to Ama’s. Besides the linens, which smelled of sex, and a couple of towels, there remained no sign of us—no proof we’d lived and loved in these now empty rooms.

Nothing tangible existed to touch and memorialize our love.

No talisman for me to cling to instead of him.

I sat on the rumpled bed, the linens balled and tossed into heaps from tangled limbs.

I lay in the mess, inhaling and closing my eyes.

When I opened them, I spied him leaning against the dresser, watching me. He ran his thumb over the corner of his lower lip and stalked over to the bed.

“What’s going on inside of that big brain of yours?”

I blinked away the tears and sat up. “Memorizing things.”

“What sort of things?” His hand swept my hair away from my face.

“Everything.”

With a small, sad smile he reached for me, tugging me down with him to lay across his chest.

“Kofi will arrive before dawn tomorrow.”

“I know,” I whispered. Saying it out loud would make it true, but whispering meant it only existed as rumor.

“This isn’t the end, this isn’t forever,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

I cleared my throat. “It might be. We won’t know until it isn’t.”

“Selah,” his voice hitched. “You’re one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I never expected you, yet here you are.”

Hot, wet drops slid down my face. I tried to speak and tell him the same, but my voice stuck in my throat. My chest heaved while I attempted to hold it together.

He clutched me closer and let me cry. His own chest trembled. I couldn’t bear him crying, so I closed my eyes and sniffled my own tears.

“Damn you.”

A low sound rumbled through his chest. He was laughing.

“Damn you,” I whispered.

“You curse at me a lot, don’t you?”

“When you laugh at me, yes.” I wiped my cheeks and below my eyes with my hands. “I’m having a moment, and you’re laughing.”

“I’d rather laugh with you than cry. Always.” His kissed the top of my hair.

“Can we promise not to say good-bye? It feels permanent.”

“What should we say instead?”

“Nothing. Can I ask a favor?”

“For you? Anything.”

“Don’t wake me in the morning. Let me stay asleep. Please?” My voice shook. “I’ll wake up and think you’ve gone on one of your short trips to Volta. If I don’t witness you leaving, I can pretend you didn’t break my heart.”

“Oh, my love.” He tipped my face up to look into my eyes. My chin trembled, and I didn’t try to hide the tears streaming down my face, or my pink nose. “I would never break your heart. Not intentionally.”

I bobbed my head. If I opened my mouth, the ugly crying would begin. Instead, I kissed him.

“I love you,” I mumbled against his lips

“I love you,” he repeated, wiping my tears. “Don’t ever doubt it. Don’t ever regret loving me.”

I gulped a breath and shook my head. “Never.”

TRUE TO HIS promise, Kai slipped out of bed and into the dark morning. I woke at the sound of the front door clicking closed. My heart screamed at me to run out and say good-bye, and kiss him one last time. My mind kept me in bed, snuggled into the warmth, surrounded by his scent, eyes closed for as long as possible.

Finally, my bladder revolted and pushed me into the bathroom.

I love you. Always.

Written on the mirror with soap, his final words made me smile.

I ran to my bag in the living room to find my phone to take a picture.

A miniature wooden elephant sat atop my purse with a note:

Never forget.

KAI TEXTED ME when he arrived in Nairobi.

I replied with a picture of his message on the mirror.

That was almost a week ago.

He warned me his communication would be infrequent during this part of his trip. There was something else about Jeeps, the UN, and radio silence.

I didn’t worry.

At first.

To distract me, Ursula invited me to the women’s cooperative every afternoon. My beading still sucked, but I enjoyed their company and stories. It was easier to listen and not have to talk. The silence allowed me to wallow.

“You’re worse than a lovesick teenager,” Ama chastised me over dinner one night.

“I feel like a teenager,” I said, pushing my
jollof
around my plate, but not eating. The spicy aroma I’d come to love repelled my appetite.

“You need to eat.”

“I’m hoping one of the side effects of lovesickness is weight loss.”

“You’ll see him again. Kai always returns.”

“I haven’t heard from him in a week.”

“He’ll come back. Trust me.”

Unable to stand my own company, I invited Emmanuela to join me on a short trip to Aburi to visit the woodcarvers.

While Kofi’s car climbed the steep hill up to the little village, I stared out the window at the hazy gray sky and thought of Kai. Emmanuela offered me a Kingsbite chocolate bar; my sadness apparent even to her. Chocolate was the emo girl’s friend no matter the country or location.

The chocolate helped and I smiled my thanks for her kind gesture.

When we arrived at the woodcarvers, sawdust and wood shavings lined both sides of the narrow road. Each carver had a compact booth with workspace in the rear and their wares out front. We walked amongst the booths, chatting with men and women, taking pictures and making notes on the contemporary versions of the sculptures at the museum.

Emmanuela held up a fertility figure with large breasts, wide hips, and a very round bottom. “Look, Dr. Elmore.”

I chuckled. It was a mini-me. I immediately wanted to buy it for Kai. I held it up and negotiated with the carver. Although I could easily afford his initial offer of the equivalent of ten dollars, negotiating was most of the fun of buying in Ghana. We settled on eight dollars, and I tucked the doll inside my bag next to my elephant.

I showed it to Ama at dinner.

“It’s the spitting image of you,” she exclaimed.

“My head isn’t that big, but isn’t it odd?” I laughed. “I’ll give it to Kai for Christmas.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Are you joining him in Amsterdam?”

“No, he’s spending it with Cibele.”

“And?”

“And I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Intrude? The man loves you. He’s invited you into his life.”

“It’s too soon.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

I furrowed my brow. “It isn’t?”

“She’s his daughter, if he’s ready, then you should be ready.”

“But what if she hates me?”

“She might. She’s a teenager. They dislike everyone.”

“Ugh. Sounds delightful.”

“Don’t give up until you meet her. She might surprise you. Hell, you might surprise yourself.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time this year I’ve surprised myself.”

Her smile was warm and motherly. “Bless you.”

“For what?”

“Look at you. You glow with love.”

I blushed.

“When you arrived, you were shut off, compartmentalized, like your objects. Now, you’re open and full of love.”

I smiled at her.

“Many people come to Ghana, to Africa, to change things, to right perceived injustices, but Africa is ancient, mother earth, and she will change you even more.”

“I didn’t come here to volunteer or fix things.”

“Probably the reason you’ve been affected so strongly. No one is the same after they visit Africa.”

Her words were truth.

I would never be the same.

Nor did I want to be.

ON DAY SEVEN, I received a garbled voicemail from Kai.

There were issues with the project. He’d borrowed a satellite phone from a UN worker passing through the same village.

In hindsight, I wished I knew the details of his work and where exactly he was. Other than flying into Nairobi, I didn’t know many details.

I asked Ama. She was unclear as well, again reassuring me he would be fine.

I forced myself to focus on wrapping up my project at the museum. Each day I encouraged Emmanuela’s chatter to keep my mind occupied. Every evening I watched CNN for news of Kenya and random missing Dutch men. There was never any mention of violence or kidnappings, but would there be? People were kidnapped every day and it never made the local news, let alone international.

With no word the weekend prior to Thanksgiving, I broke down and dug through my bag to find Anita’s business card. Twelve days was a long time, and apparently, my breaking point. I emailed her for news of Kai. Whatever pride and misconceptions of strength I had left disappeared when I hit send. Yes, I was
that
woman—desperate, frantic, and needy enough to reach out to my lover’s former wife—I had sunk lower than I ever imagined. Yet, it didn’t matter, because I needed information to stop myself from tipping over the edge and falling into crazy.

At dinner, I told my kidnapping theory to Ama who frowned and rolled her eyes at me.

“He’s fine.”

“You don’t know that. You can’t know that.”

“This is what he does. He goes to places where he’s out of touch. And then he returns.”

“You keep saying that. What if this time is different?”

“If it’s different, then when we know, we’ll deal with it.”

Kai’s word about forever good-byes haunted me.