All is true

I wake up to my mum shouting my name from the hallway.

“Ayomi, Ayomi, Ayomi.”

I roll over to the other side of my bed, my hand desperately trying to find my phone. I exhale when my fingers finally fall on it. Turning on the phone, I realize it is already six in the morning. That explains my mum’s repeated shouts.

My dad rushes into my room to drag me out of bed. “Mimi, my love—stand up and get dressed for school. Your mum is getting annoyed.” At this point, I think it is safe to say I have different versions of my name, all born from one AYOMITIDE: Ayomi to my mum, Mimi to my dad, Mikun to my sister, Tinder to my community. I murmur while getting up, watching my dad’s face go from anxiety to relief. “Good morning, Dad.”

Sounds of heavy footsteps getting louder by the second jolt my father and me at the realization that my mother is coming in. I rush out of my room and run into the bathroom at the end of the hallway while my father attempts to block my mum from following me. I breathe a sigh of relief as I lock the door and listen as my mum’s loud shouts reduce to laughter from my dad’s inside joke. Opening the door a little to be sure my mum has calmed down, I find my dad hugging her tightly as his way of comforting her. Smiling as I close the door. Oh—to be loved by someone like my father.

Walking into the living room, I find my breakfast—buttered bread and tea—on the center table, with my mum furiously looking at me.

“Good morning to the best mum in the world,” I greet, as my way of softening her mood.

“A time is coming when I will lock you inside, and make you miss class,” she replies, failing to hide a smile. I look around and realize my sister is still in her room. “At least I am still better than Ayoola. She is not even ready yet,” I say while walking to my sister’s room.

Opening the door, a pile of books crashes down.

“Why are there so many books here?” I ask while bending down to clean up the mess I caused.

“Oh, emm, oh,” she replies, startled.

“They belong to my friends. I offered to help them with their assignment.”

“You? Assignment?” I ask, surprised.

“Was that meant to mean something?” she asks while packing her bags and walking toward the door.

“Nothing oooo,” I reply, following her out of the room.

“Why are you still not dressed?” my dad shouts at us, his eyes fixated on Ayoola.

I look at my mum, who is on the verge of bursting out.

“I would be going late to school today. I feel a bit unwell,” my sister replies like she has rehearsed her answer for days.

“If you feel unwell, why go to school at all?” I ask, sincerely confused.

“Your sister is right. Stay back and rest,” my mum says, her eyes turning to me. “Get your bag and let’s go.”

“Okay, okay.” I pick up my breakfast and bag and rush out of the house, with my mum ahead of me.

“Bye, Dad—and you,” I give my sister a smirk.

“Bye…you too,” she replies, smiling. But something in her smile sends a shiver down my spine. Why does it feel like she is hiding something from me?