Saffron and Salt

“New York, eh?” my father said, sounding impressed. “That’s a long way from London. How do you find it, being so far from Amara?”

I winced, knowing that my father’s question, while innocent on the surface, was anything but. He and my mother had never been shy about their desire for me to settle down with a nice Nigerian man, preferably one who lived in the same city – or at least the same country – as me.

“It’s not easy,” Kenji admitted, his voice tight. “But we make it work. Amara’s career is important to her, and so is mine.”

My father hummed, a noncommittal sound that I knew meant he wasn’t entirely satisfied with Kenji’s answer. “And what about family?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I have a younger sister,” Kenji said, his voice warming slightly. “She lives in California with her husband and two kids.”

My father nodded. “Family is important,” he said, his voice heavy with meaning. “It’s the most important thing.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbing the drinks from the fridge and carrying them into the dining room. “Mama, can you call the men to the table?” I asked, setting the bottles down with a thunk. “Before Daddy scares Kenji off entirely.”

My mother chuckled, shaking her head. “Your father means well,” she said, her voice chiding but fond. “He just wants what’s best for you.”

“I know,” I said, sighing. “But what’s best for me is Kenji, whether he lives in New York or Timbuktu.”

My mother gave me a look that was equal parts exasperated and affectionate. “Come on,” she said, leading the way to the living room. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

Dinner was a lively affair, filled with good food, good conversation, and just a hint of underlying tension. My mother had outdone herself with the cooking, and even Kenji seemed to enjoy the meal, tentatively trying a bit of everything and even going back for seconds of the jollof rice.

But despite the good food and the easy flow of conversation, I could feel the weight of my parents’ expectations, the subtle pressure they were putting on Kenji to prove himself worthy of their daughter.

It wasn’t anything overt – no pointed questions about his intentions, no outright disapproval of his career or his background. But it was there, in the way my father watched him, in the way my mother’s eyes lingered on me when she thought I wasn’t looking.

Kenji, to his credit, handled it well, answering my parents’ questions with patience and respect, even when they veered into uncomfortable territory. He talked about his restaurant, his plans for the future, his hopes and dreams. He asked my parents about their lives, their work, their experiences immigrating to the UK from Nigeria.

But even as I watched him navigate the conversation with grace and charm, I could see the strain in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. And I knew that he could feel it too, the weight of their judgment, the pressure to conform to their expectations.

By the time we finally said our goodbyes, I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. I leaned against Kenji in the back of the taxi, my head resting on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around my waist.

“That was…” I started, trailing off as I searched for the right word.

“Intense,” Kenji supplied, his voice wry. “But also wonderful. Your parents are great.”

I snorted, shaking my head. “They liked you,” I said, my voice sure. “Even if they didn’t exactly make it easy.”

Kenji chuckled, his breath warm against my hair. “I’d expect nothing less,” he said, his voice soft. “They love you. They want to make sure you’re with someone who deserves you.”

I smiled, snuggling closer. “And do you deserve me, Kenji Tanaka?” I asked, my voice teasing.

He laughed, squeezing me tight. “Probably not,” he admitted, his voice light. “But I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to.”

I grinned, turning my face up to his for a kiss. “Good answer,” I murmured against his lips.

As the taxi carried us through the darkened streets of London, I let myself relax against him, the tension of the evening slowly fading away. I knew that there would be more challenges ahead, more obstacles to overcome. But for now, in this moment, with Kenji’s arm around me and the city lights flashing by outside the window, I felt happy. I felt loved. I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

We rode the rest of the way in comfortable silence, the city blurring past us in a streak of light and color. By the time we finally stumbled into my flat, it was late, well past midnight.

“Exhausted?” I asked, tossing my keys on the side table and kicking off my shoes.

Kenji nodded, running a hand through his hair. “In the best way,” he said, his voice warm. “Your family is… a lot. But I mean that in a good way.”

I laughed, wrapping my arms around his waist and leaning in for a kiss. “They’re something else,” I agreed, my lips brushing against his. “But they loved you. I could tell.”

He kissed me back, his arms tightening around me. “I’m just glad you’re here,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

I smiled, my heart full to bursting. “Me too,” I said, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

We made our way to the bedroom, shedding our clothes and climbing under the covers, our bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. I lay my head on Kenji’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling the rise and fall of his breath.

“This feels right,” I whispered, my voice barely audible in the quiet of the room.

Kenji’s arm tightened around me, his lips brushing against my hair. “It does,” he agreed, his voice soft. “It really does.”

I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of his body lull me into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

When I woke the next morning, the sun was streaming through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. I stretched, my body feeling languid and relaxed, and rolled over to find Kenji already awake, his head propped up on one hand as he watched me.

“Morning,” I murmured, my voice rough with sleep.

He smiled, leaning in to kiss me softly. “Morning,” he said, his voice warm. “Did you sleep well?”

I nodded, snuggling closer. “Like a baby,” I said, my lips curving into a smile. “You?”

“Better than I have in years,” he said, his eyes warm as he gazed at me.

We lay like that for a long moment, just basking in each other’s presence, the easy intimacy of the morning. But as the minutes ticked by, I could feel the weight of the previous night’s dinner settling over us, the unspoken questions and doubts that had been simmering beneath the surface.

“So,” I said finally, my voice careful. “Last night…”

Kenji sighed, his body tensing slightly. “Yeah,” he said, his voice heavy. “Last night.”

I propped myself up on one elbow, looking at him directly. “You were amazing with my parents,” I said, my voice sincere. “I know they can be a bit much, but you handled them beautifully.”

He gave me a tight smile, his eyes not quite meeting mine. “They’re just looking out for you,” he said, his voice guarded. “I get it.”

I bit my lip, hesitating. “But…” I prompted, knowing there was more he wasn’t saying.

He sighed again, running a hand over his face. “But it’s not easy, Amara,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Knowing that they’re judging me, that they’re wondering if I’m good enough for you. If I’m the right fit.”

I felt a pang of guilt, knowing that he was right. My parents loved me, and they wanted the best for me. But their version of “the best” didn’t always align with mine.

“Hey,” I said, reaching out to cup his face, forcing him to look at me. “You are good enough,” I said, my voice fierce. “You’re more than good enough. You’re everything I want, everything I need.”

He gave me a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know you think that,” he said, his voice soft. “But what about your parents? What about your family? What about your culture?”

I felt a flicker of frustration, pulling back slightly. “What about them?” I asked, my voice sharp.

He sat up, running a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “It’s just… it’s a lot, Amara,” he said, his voice rough. “The pressure, the expectations. I don’t know if I can live up to that.”

I stared at him, feeling a surge of anger. “So what?” I snapped, throwing back the covers and climbing out of bed. “You’re just going to give up? Because it’s hard?”