Read Online Like a Mule Bringing Ice Cream to the Sun by Sarah Ladipo Manyika - Free Book Online

stating that she’s single and doesn’t have children. She’s told me how much she once wanted children. I imagine that was painful.
    ‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough for her already?’ Ashok asks, looking up from his laptop.
    ‘Not compared to what she’s done for us. Think of all the stuff she’s done for the boys.’
    ‘I know,’ he sighs, ‘and I’m grateful, sweetie, but she must have other friends that can help, doesn’t she?’
    ‘Not close friends that she’d trust with her bills. Not anyone else that lives here.’
    ‘Then why doesn’t she get a conservator or something?’
    ‘A conservator, are you kidding?’
    ‘I’m just saying.’
    ‘Saying what? That I should abandon her? Is that what you’re saying?’
    ‘You know that’s not what I’m saying.’
    ‘Then what are you saying?’
    ‘I’m just saying that you can’t keep doing everything for her. I know you’ve got the biggest heart Sunny, but youjust can’t do everything for everybody. That’s why you get so tired.’
    ‘Well if you don’t want me to be so tired then maybe you can help. Like, maybe do the laundry sometimes? Take the kids to school. Pick them up. Even just pick up your socks. That would be nice.’
    Ashok closes his eyes and wearily shakes his head so that even before he says, ‘Look honey, I’m sorry you think I’m a really bad husband,’ I can guess what he’s thinking. He’s thinking, so this is where we go from chocolate and kisses. This is what I get when I tell you to hire a cleaner; tell you to get a babysitter. Is there nothing I can suggest that makes you happy? And do you ever stop to consider what it feels like to be me? What it’s like to be the sole breadwinner in this house? To be the one person everyone relies on.
    ‘I never said you were a terrible husband,’ I snap, ‘you know that’s not what I was saying. I’m just saying, there’s nobody else to help Morayo. Certainly nobody who would know about her stuff in Nigeria.’

11
    I must have told the houseboy at least a thousand times not to disturb me with telephone calls at mealtimes. And yet here he is, hovering by the table, telling me that someone called Sunshine is on the line.
    ‘Just take a message,’ I shout. ‘How many times must I remind you not to interrupt me when I’m eating? And especially not when I’m dining with my honourable good friend.’
    ‘But, sah …’ Solomon stalls.
    ‘What?’ I snap, glancing in annoyance at the ball of eba still held between my fingers – too cold now to swallow. This wasn’t the first time my houseboy was annoying me today. In the morning he’d been late with breakfast and his fruit salad had tasted of onions, suggesting that he hadn’t properly washed the kitchen knives. What was goingon? Had he found another job? The thought of this now disturbs me. As annoying as Solomon can sometimes be, a trustworthy houseboy is hard to come by in Lagos. So I soften my tone and tell him that unless it’s the American president, this Sunshine person can wait. What kind of name is that anyway? Sunshine!
    ‘Yes sah, I can take a message.’
    ‘Honestly,’ I sigh, shaking my head as my friend laughs at the sight of Solomon scurrying away. ‘Sometimes you really have to wonder at the intelligence of these people. Now where were we?’ And just as I’m dipping my eba into the sauce, Solomon returns.
    ‘Excuse me, sah, but the person it’s concerning is Mrs.’
    ‘Then take a message. For Mrs!’
    ‘But…’
    ‘But what?’
    ‘This one na for Mrs Da Silva. E no be for Madam.’
    ‘Oh for goodness sake!’ I struggle to release my napkin, wound too tightly around my neck. I keep tugging at it, brushing aside my friend’s attempt to assist me. The last thing I want is for him to notice my fumbling. ‘Just take the phone to the office,’ I shout at Solomon, still battling to untie my napkin while trying to hide the shaking in my right hand. Once in the office, I snatch the