you know, I’m extremely sour and incredibly masculine”—he winks—“Despite my pansexual tendencies. Otherwise, I’m an entirely blokeish bloke. I’ve a nasty habit of queue-jumping, swearing at slow drivers, never talking about my feelings. On occasion, I’ve even been known to snatch lollipops off toddlers.”
Liyana laughs. “You have not.”
“Well, perhaps not in actuality,” Mazmo admits. “But I’ve certainly considered it several times.”
Liyana takes a bite of soufflé. “Why is it that men, even pansexual men, it seems, so hate to be called sweet? It’s a compliment.”
Mazmo picks a stray salted caramel crumb from the tablecloth, setting it on the tip of his tongue. “Perhaps because it’s like being compared to a squirrel, when I’d prefer to be thought of as a . . . lion, or a bear. Or”—he lights upon an even more attractive image—“A silverback gorilla.”
Liyana regards him over her wineglass. “Is that your favourite fantasy?”
“Why not?”
“Well, all right then. You’re a strong, dark silverback gorilla. Is that better?” Sipping the sweet dessert wine, Liyana realizes that she’s flirting and should stop. She should probably stop drinking too. She’s had—how much?—too much if she can’t remember. Then Liyana has a thought that makes her feel guiltier still, the thought that perhaps being married to Mazmo Owethu Muzenda-Kasteni, with all its affiliated benefits, might not be quite so frightful after all.
“Yes,” he says. That smile again. The sliver of an unwavering moon in a midnight sky. “That’s much better.”
11:39 p.m.—Liyana
Later that night Liyana, still slightly drunk and overstuffed, sits on her bed shuffling her tarot cards. Every time she glances down, the Devil has come to the front. She slices him back into the deck, again and again. But when Liyana deals out five cards onto her duvet, he’s the first to appear, followed by the Four of Wands: a fairy picks a rose from her flowered garden, the turrets of her castle rise up into the sky. Prosperity, celebration, romance. The Four of Swords: a female warrior emerges from a dark wood into the sunshine, seeking out a cave in which to rest and recuperate. Retreat, solitude, preparation for conflict. The Empress: clothed in a grass-green dress, the empress dances with all of nature at her feet and a crown of stars on her head. Sexuality, pleasure, abundance. And the Star: an en pointe ballerina floats on a lily leaf on a lake, a frog leaps towards her, and a bird flies into her open hand. Healing, strength, trust.
At first, the pictures make no sense. Then, gradually, they seem to rearrange themselves into a story. For a split second, Liyana feels her mother sitting on the bed beside her, reading the tale the cards are telling. A tale of four sisters, their childhood adventures, their family secrets, their hidden strengths, their unclaimed powers, their far-off father watching it all . . .
“What does it mean, Dadá?”
Still the desire for reassurance, for approval, lingers. But her mother is no longer there.
Echoes of expensive champagne tug at her eyelids, and Liyana lays down her head, curling up around the cards still spread across the duvet. Just before she tumbles into sleep, Liyana thinks she spots something on the carpet: a tiny black fluff of a feather. But when she cranes her neck to be sure, it’s only a smudge on her sightline. Liyana thinks of BlackBird, but the last thought she has before closing her eyes is of her sisters.
11:59 p.m.—Bea
“That wasn’t bad. That was, surprisingly, all right.”
“All right?” Vali virtually squeals, before letting out a long, deep sigh. “It was absolutely fucking phenomenal.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Bea lies back on the bed beside him. “But it was quite good, especially for your first time.”
“Thanks, but I think that was mostly down to you. You give excellent direction.”
Bea nods, as if this is self-evident. She props herself up on her elbow. “You know, you’re quite large.”
Vali grins. “Really? Well, I’m glad you were sat—”
Bea rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t talking about your penis.”
“Oh.” Vali’s euphoria collapses into dejection. “Yeah, I—”
“I’m talking about”—Bea gestures at him—“The whole of you. You’re large.”
“You mean fat.”
“No, I say what I mean. I don’t fuck about with euphemisms. Yes, you’re fat and I say you’re fat. But you’re large too. Sturdy. Strong. I hadn’t noticed that before.”
Vali brightens.
“Yeah,” Bea continues, as if she’s debating a particular philosophical theory. “It feels good, being held by you.” She pauses, while Vali looks as happy as he might if she’d just proposed marriage. “So, want to try again?”