Phone calls to her mother, Effia, had to be scheduled ahead of time because of the four-hour difference between Miami and southern Ghana. Plus, the village of Kagogo did not have a cell tower nearby or Internet service. Her mother had to catch a taxi or hitch a ride with a family member to a nearby town, where she used a cousin’s phone or Skype.

Nana had already gone upstairs to put her kids to bed, and Kwei had also excused himself, phone glued to his ear. Abena sat cross-legged on the sofa, waiting for the Skype call to connect. Her aunt shifted on the floral print sofa beside her.

As Abena saw her mother’s bright brown eyes and heard her excited greeting, she smiled. Despite her hesitation, she was happy to see her mother and hear her voice.

“Have you been taking care of yourself?” Effia asked, in Twi.

Abena lapsed into her native tongue. “Of course, Mommy. You worry too much. I’m twenty-eight years old now and no longer a little girl. I have a good job and my own home.” Her mother behaved as if Abena was still the fourteen-year-old girl she put on the plane with tears in her eyes.

“You’re my only child. Of course I’m going to worry about you. That will never change.” She smiled. “How are things with you and Marc?”

“Everything is fine. We’ve both been very busy, but things are going well with us.”

Effia nodded with satisfaction. “And you’re being good? Keeping yourself chaste and pure for your future husband?”

At times she wondered if her mother suspected what she had allowed Santiago to do to her on his desk two years ago. If Effia knew the types of thoughts that flashed through her mind after that sexual awakening, she’d be mortified.

“Of course,” she replied, hoping her lackluster response didn’t translate well via the computer.

No such luck. Her mother’s voice took on a scolding tone. “He is a good man, Abena. You’re lucky to have him as a future husband.”

“And he is lucky to have her for a future wife,” Baaba chimed in.

She’d been so quiet, Abena had forgotten she was sitting next to her.

Effia’s attention shifted to her sister, and she frowned. “I know what a prize my daughter is. She is a gift. Of course he is very lucky to have such a smart and sweet young woman for his bride.”

“Sometimes I think you forget.”

“I don’t forget. She is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“As I said. Sometimes I think you forget.” Baaba huffed and went into the kitchen.

Abena’s heart clenched painfully as she watched her aunt’s back. Had the sisters been close before Effia moved away? She couldn’t recall them communicating much before she arrived to stay with her aunt. Once, maybe twice a year at the most.

It was strange observing the animosity between the two most important women in her life. If they hadn’t been close before, had the rift in their relationship widened because of her? She wondered if her mother’s jealousy at Abena’s close relationship with Baaba caused the hostility between them. Effia never addressed the situation directly, but there had been instances over the years when she’d declared her regret at allowing Abena to move to the States and spend half her life in close proximity to Baaba, a woman she considered a less-than-positive influence for some reason.

The only kind words she’d ever overtly expressed for her younger sister had been a begrudging thanks for introducing Abena to Marc. Effia had talked to him once via Skype, and said he seemed like an honorable man.

Abena spoke to her mother for a few more minutes, and before hanging up, they set the next Skype call for a Saturday afternoon—a much more convenient hour.

Walking into the kitchen, Abena found her aunt packing up leftovers.

“I told Nana to get the cream for you, so don’t leave without it. She’ll bring it down when she’s finished upstairs with the children.”

Baaba imported a moisturizing cream, purchased from a women’s co-op in Ghana, which she sold from a small booth at the flea market as a side gig on the weekends. Because Abena’s skin was sensitive to the fragrances in commercial cosmetics, her aunt always set aside a few jars for her in every shipment. The shea butter mixture was extremely moisturizing, with a lemony fragrance.

Baaba continued to work without looking up, snapping lids over the plastic containers. “These are for you to take, so you can eat a good meal instead of that fast-food nonsense.”

“I hardly ever eat fast food,” Abena said.

“People don’t cook anymore,” Baaba mumbled, as if Abena hadn’t spoken. “I can’t even get Nana to help me in the kitchen. You don’t have time to cook, but you were my best student.”

“I had a good teacher,” Abena said softly.

The corner of Baaba’s mouth tilted up, but she continued to work, keeping her eyes downcast as she placed the containers for Abena into a canvas tote. By the looks of it, she’d set aside enough food for lunch and dinner for four days.

Before Nana came downstairs, Abena pulled an envelope containing cash from her purse. The small gift was her way of giving back a little bit of what her aunt had given to her. She placed it on the counter in front of her aunt.

Baaba stared at the white envelope. “What is this?”

They went through the same ritual every time. Abena offered money and her aunt tried to refuse it.

“You know what this is. For once, accept the money without complaint.”

Baaba pursed her lips.

“Please.”

Baaba heaved a defeated sigh and, shaking her head, picked up the cash and stuck it inside the bodice of her blouse. “You don’t have to give me money. I’ve told you so a thousand times.”

“Why do you make it so difficult for me to do anything for you?” Abena asked.

“Because you don’t have to do anything for me.” Baaba looked directly into her eyes. “You do not owe me. We’re family. We take care of each other.”

“I know.” Abena covered her aunt’s hand. “But I want to.”

Baaba’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. She clasped Abena’s face in her hands. “You are a good girl, and you’ve made us all very proud. Understand?”

Abena nodded, unable to speak because tears clogged the back of her throat. There were times when she didn’t feel good, as if she’d somehow fallen short and disappointed her mother. There was always so much disapproval in Effia’s tone.

When Abena chose to study business management instead of law or medicine, her mother’s disappointment had been palpable, slithering through the phone line like ugly, black slime. When a family friend sent a letter back home and mentioned seeing Abena partying beachside with a drink in hand, the next time she spoke to her mother, she had quietly quoted Proverbs 20:1: Wine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler, and whoever is intoxicated by it is not wise.

The one thing she seemed to have done right was get engaged to Marc. He was a doctor, tall, good-looking, and Ghanaian on his father’s side. Her mother couldn’t have been happier if she herself were his fiancée.

Nana entered the kitchen, and Abena blinked rapidly to clear her tear-filled eyes.

“Here you go.” Nana handed her a paper sack containing two jars of cream.

“Thank you.” Abena gently patted her cousin’s belly. “Only a few more months and he’ll be here.”

Nana bestowed an indulgent smile on her protruding belly. “I hope Jack will be back before the baby is born. He’s extra excited because this one is a boy.”

“If he’s not, you know we’re here for you.” Abena slung the tote bag of food over her shoulder. “It’s late now, so I will leave you two ladies alone.”

“Drive carefully,” her aunt said.

At the concern in her aunt’s eyes, Abena smiled reassuringly and headed out.

Nana followed. They paused at the front door, and Nana rested a hand on her hip. “How did it go with Auntie Effia?”

“Not too bad.”

“No questions about the wedding?”

Abena shook her head.

Nana studied Abena as she rolled her tongue along the inside of her cheek. “You know, of course, I think Auntie Effia can be overbearing sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Abena huffed.

“Yes, sometimes.” Nana stepped closer and her voice lowered. “Because every now and again, I think we’re more excited about your marriage than you are.”

“What a ridiculous thing to say!”

Nana shrugged. “He is a good man, but Mommy thinks maybe…” She shrugged again. “I’m sure she’s wrong.” Her eyes searched Abena’s face.

“Whatever she’s thinking, she’s incorrect. And let’s be honest, the only reason you’re excited is because you didn’t have a chance to have your own wedding ceremony.”

Nana sighed dramatically. “And Mommy has never forgiven me for going down to the courthouse and not allowing her to have a traditional wedding.”

“That’s what you get for marrying an akata,” Abena said, using the slang word for African-American.

“And you are about to do the same.” Nana gave her a shove.

“But he’s half-Ghanaian, so he knows better.”

“And he can afford to give you the wedding of your dreams,” Nana said wistfully.

Abena nodded.

They both fell quiet.

“You’re sure, aren’t you?” Nana asked softly.

Abena’s chest tightened, with what she didn’t know. She only knew she needed to reassure her cousin, and perhaps also reassure herself. There were too many people vested in her marriage at this point. Her aunt, her mother, who proudly bragged to everyone in the village, Marc, and his family.

“Of course I’m sure. My and Marc’s schedules are so crazy right now, but I promise you’ll get the wedding you want.” She grinned.

Nana grinned back. “Okay, but pick a date soon, or I’ll pick one for you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They both laughed, and Abena left, leaving her cousin—and the guilt—behind.