Maame(56)

Late afternoon, I wave goodbye to Nia at the door.

“You know I’m—”

“Only a phone call away,” I finish. “I know. I’ll be fine.”

I wave and watch her walk down the path and turn the corner. When I close the door behind me, I take a deep breath. The hallway, narrow to begin with, seems to stretch forever. The weighted pressure of silence builds in my ears.

I put on the TV and select a slapstick comedy with a laugh track. I turn the volume up. I pick up my phone and scroll. When I check the time, only an hour has gone by when I’d hoped for at least several. The afternoon feels endless and I can only fill it with TV.

When my eyes can’t stand the screen any longer, I pick up my book, but despite trying, and I swear to God I am trying, either I can’t focus or this page is made up of first lines. The evening eventually approaches and my heart twitches in anticipation.

My phone flashes with a birthday reminder for Ben’s CEO. Ben. My finger hovers over the delete button. But you could go. No one there, except for Ben, will know what happened. It’ll be like going to a different city where the only impression anyone has of you is the one you choose to give them. I can be fun and free tonight. I call Ben, but he doesn’t answer. That’s fine because he saved the address in the calendar invite.

I get off the floor.



* * *



The celebration is being held in one of the many high-rise glass buildings on Liverpool Street. Outside, it’s guarded by decorative stone pillars, and inside, I’m confronted with an expansive waiting area made up of flowers, sofas and cushions, ID scanners, and a reception desk with a wall aquarium full of live fish behind it.

“Wow,” I breathe.

The receptionist smiles; she’s very pretty and I wonder if I could pull off that lipstick shade with my skin tone. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she says. “Seventy thousand liters and almost a thousand fish.”

“Maintenance must be a nightmare.”

She laughs and the end of it lingers. “Are you here for the party, Miss…?”

“Oh, Miss Wright—Madeleine Wright? Maybe just Maddie?”

She focuses on her screen. “I’m afraid I can’t see— Ah, yes, here you are. Please use the last turnstile on the right, just push through, very good. Down the hall and to the left. You should be able to hear them.”

“Thank you.”

“Enjoy your evening, miss.”

I follow her instructions and walk into a large room not that full of people. Trying to find Ben is very much like the suit-and-tie version of Where’s Wally?, only Wally is also wearing a suit, so maybe it’s nothing like Where’s Wally? I’m the only Black person bar a few waitstaff. I’m not the only non-white person but … I crane my neck around the room … yep, definitely the only Black one. At first, I think, Still? In this day and age? Then I think, Well, it’s not my first time. I did this at CGT. I do this nine to five at work. I know what to do, how not to bring attention to myself. I’m skilled in assimilation, though my subconscious is quick to remind me that it’s nothing to be proud of. I have spent the entirety of my professional life in predominantly white spaces. As a bookseller, a receptionist, at the theater, and now a publishing house. Over the years, my instinct has been to shrink myself, to make sure I’m not too loud, to talk only about subjects I feel well versed in. Being a big reader has helped. Having been to university has helped too.

There’s so much wrong with that thinking, Maddie.

Everyone talks about the importance of standing out but never the benefits of fitting in.

But you don’t fit in.

I spot Ben and my fingers tingle; I have missed him. When he meets my eyes, his face drops; he looks at the woman standing beside him and then hurries over.

“Maddie, what are you doing here?”

“You invited me, remember?” I nod until he does. “Sorry I’m so late.”

“Maddie, I didn’t think you’d come. Your dad—”

There’s a clinking sound and someone calls for Ben: a man standing atop a podium at the far end of the room.

“Ben,” he hollers. “Speech!”

Ben’s eyes are frantic when he looks back at me. “Okay, Maddie, stay here, promise me. Just stay here.”

He walks onto the stage and straightens his suit jacket. I was supposed to tell him how handsome he looked and then he was meant to say I looked beautiful. He was meant to be happy to see me. My brain is working slower than usual, and I can tell there’s something I’m not quite grasping despite it being right in front of me; I suddenly think of my dad’s fingers … trying.

“What can I say about the man that is Eric Harrold?” Ben gestures to a gray-haired man who turns to the crowd and smiles. People cheer, which seems a bit much for a birthday party. From what I understood from Ben, not many people actually like him.

“I remember first meeting Eric when I was only eight,” Ben continues. “He and my father…”

As his speech continues and Ben takes his eyes off me, the woman who previously stood beside him slides closer. Her brunette hair is down to her waist and her eyes are a disconcerting blue under a dark cluster of eyelashes. She has lip fillers; you can tell by the shape of them.