Last Christmas 

It’s Christmas, and I wish you were here. But you’re not.

Ibinabo whispered the words into the receiver, her voice barely rising above the low hum of the standing fan beside her, as she sipped on her already-cold cup of tea.

“I know, babe. I’m sorry,” Kamsi responded, his voice breaking slightly on the last word.

“Of course you are,” she said, staring at the blinking Christmas lights hanging unevenly on the wall opposite her. He would've fixed that easily, she thought.

“What? What did you say?” He asked.

“Nothing,” Ibinabo replied quickly. “I’m whispering because the kids are asleep. By morning they’ll want to open their presents. I wouldn’t want to ruin Christmas by waking them up now.”

There was a pause. A faint sound she couldn’t place lingered in the air.

“I’m really sorry, IB,” Kamsi finally broke the silence. “Sorry I’m not there.”

“It’s okay,” she said, too easily. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, babe. I love you. Tell the kids I love them too. I’ll call again tomorrow. I have to go now.”

“Don’t bother,” Ibinabo whispered after the call had already ended.

She placed the phone face-down on the arm of the sofa and let out a long breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. One tear slipped down her cheek, slowly landing on the wrapper of a half-opened gift box at her feet.

She stared at the wrapper, willing her mind not to wander, not to remember the old days, when she and Kamsi put the kids and the holidays before anything else. But it was a failed attempt. She remembered, vividly, the last Christmas they spent together properly — Christmas three years ago.

It was 4:00 a.m. on the morning of the 25th. Kamsi had woken before she did, moving quietly and tiptoeing to and fro the living room, carefully pulling out boxes of gifts and rolls of wrapping paper.

The soft rustling finally woke her, and she whimpered, blinking groggily at the sight of Kamsi standing by the wardrobe, pulling out boxes, still in his sleepwear.

“Baby, what are you doing up at this time?”

“Wrapping the gifts and putting them under the tree to surprise you and the kids,” he whispered. “Now shhh. Go back to bed, you’re ruining the surprise.”

She smiled, her lips curling as sleep clung to her eyes.

“Have I ever told you you’re amazing?”

“Only twenty times yesterday,” he said, giggling, moving towards the bed, planting a soft kiss on her forehead, then her nose, his lips travelling slowly to hers.

“How about you stay in bed and I give you a little special Christmas present?” she asked, wiggling her brows.

“Tempting,” he said, smiling, “but I have to finish these. Now go to sleep. I can’t wait for you and the kids to see them in the morning.”

He leaned in for one last kiss before rolling off the side of the bed again.

Ibinabo blinked back to the present, still sipping her cold tea, letting her tears wash away the sharpness of what now felt like ages ago.

“Whoever said this new job of his was a good idea lied,” she muttered to herself. “It’s terrible. I miss my husband.”

She stood up slowly, forcing her feet to move, dragging herself down the hallway until she reached the bedroom. She slid into bed, stretching out her side and rolling onto her back. After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, sleep finally claimed her.

*

“Mummy, mummy, wake up, it’s time for us to open the gifts!” was the first thing she woke up to.

Ibinabo blinked slowly, her eyes were burning slightly, and a dull heaviness had settled in her throat before she could even speak.

Odera, her six-year-old, was halfway on the bed, climbing over her legs and tugging at her arm with all the urgency only a child on Christmas morning could muster. Beside him, Dede, her nine-year-old firstborn, stood holding him back gently, her small hands wrapped around his shoulders.

“Leave her,” Dede whispered firmly. “Let Mummy sleep small. She’ll come down soon.”

“But I want to see my gift now,” Odera protested, wriggling in her grip. “Daddy says we should open them first thing in the morning.”

“I know,” Dede said, pulling him back. “Come. Let’s go downstairs.”

Odera huffed but allowed himself to be dragged away by his sister, casting one last look over his shoulder at his mother before the two of them padded out of the room.

Almost immediately, another voice followed.

“Everybody oya, come outside!” Ibinabo’s sister’s voice rang out from the hallway. “I’m done cooking. Let’s eat before the rice gets cold.”

Ibinabo lay still for a few seconds after the room emptied, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft thud of little feet retreating down the stairs. Then, slowly, she pushed herself up and sat at the edge of the bed.

The smell of her sister's rich cooking hit her first. Fried rice, smoky jollof, and fried chicken wafted into the room, followed by the familiar scent of nkwobi and something peppery simmering in the background. The aroma caused her stomach to tighten, not from hunger, but from gratitude.

At least her sister was here.

With Kamsi gone for the holidays, she hadn’t been feeling up to cooking. She hadn’t been feeling up to much at all, really. Back then, Christmas used to look much different.

She would be in the kitchen from dawn, tasting and retasting, sending Kamsi to the store for one more bottle of drink, rearranging the sitting room, making sure the tree lights worked, inviting the neighbours and their children over.

By noon, the entire house would be full. There’d be wrapping paper everywhere, the buzz of bubbling laughter, plates balanced on knees, and a Christmas movie playing in the background. It was usually Home Alone, because the kids never tired of it.

Now, she was to settle for smaller things, and doing this has been difficult.

Ever since Kamsi started being away, her younger sister would come over instead, gladly stepping in to do the cooking, playing with the kids, filling the silence with noise. Ibinabo was thankful for it, though it reminded her of what was missing.

Today, she promised herself, everything would be different.

She stood up properly and stretched, shaking off the weight in her chest. Today, she would try. Today, she will be present. Odera and Dede deserved that much, they deserved to feel the magic of Christmas, even if it wasn’t the same as before.

She walked into her bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, brushed her teeth, and stared at her reflection in the mirror for a moment longer than usual. 

“He’s working for you and this family, IB. Them no use love swear for you,” she said quietly, lightly slapping her cheeks. “You’re going to cheer up and make these children happy.”

She reached for her phone.

Glancing at the screen, she checked for missed calls from Kamsi.

Nothing.

“He’s just busy. He’ll call later,” she told herself, smiling faintly.

She slipped the phone into her pocket and stepped out of the room, following the smell of food and the sound of her children’s voices downstairs.

*

In the living room, they ate on the floor. Plates were balanced carelessly, Ibinabo smiled at Odera as he insisted on opening his drink himself, spilling some of it in the process. Dede laughed with her mouth full, while her sister scolded Odera half-heartedly.

Wrapping paper soon littered everywhere as the children tore into their gifts with squeals and gasps, holding things up for Ibinabo and her sister to see. The television also played Home Alone in the background as usual. 

Ibinabo watched them closely, smiling when she was meant to, laughing when they laughed. For the first time that morning, her chest felt lighter.

Now that she was in a better mood, she decided she would call Kamsi, for the kids, at least. He still hadn’t called, but she would call him herself, put him on speaker and let the children shout into the phone. Have everyone talk over one another as laughter fills the room. 

She wouldn’t mention that it was already past three in the afternoon on Christmas Day and she hadn’t heard from him. She wouldn’t express her anger over it. No, she would smile and pretend things were exactly how they used to be. Maybe, with enough pretending, things might eventually feel normal again.

*

“Okay,” Ibinabo said eventually, clapping her hands together. “Time for the last gift.”

She reached behind the sofa and pulled out a neatly wrapped box.

“This one’s Daddy’s,” she said lightly. “We’ll video call him so we can open it together,” she said, already reaching for her phone.

She dialled once. No answer.

She dialled again.

Still nothing.

“Let’s give him a minute,” she said, forcing a smile. “He’s probably busy.”

The children settled back onto the floor, waiting.

Something heavy rolled around her chest.

Am I missing something? she thought. Is this… normal?

Her fingers tightened around the phone.

She looked up at her sister. “Do you think,” she started slowly, “do you think he’s cheating on me?”

Her sister’s smile immediately faltered. “IB,” she said gently, “not in front of the kids.”

“No!” Ibinabo said, louder this time. “Because this isn’t ‘work.’ This can’t all be work, can it?”

Her hands began to shake as she straightened the phone and dialled his number again.

“He’s still not picking up,” she whispered. “He’s still not picking up.”

Dede looked up at her, with wide but calm eyes. “Mummy,” she said softly, “Daddy will pick up later. Let’s just open his gift and go back to the movie eh?”

For some reason, something in her snapped at her daughter's words.

“No,” Ibinabo said sharply. “No!” She screamed this time, “He’s going to pick up now. He has to pick up. It’s Christmas. He’s supposed to be here.”

The living room fell quiet.

Ibinabo’s sister stood up immediately, shooting her a warning look, taking Odera by the hand and turning to Dede.

“Come,” she said gently. “Let’s go upstairs.”

They both followed her without protest.

When the door closed behind them, her sister turned around and walked back down the stairs, stopping in front of her.

“You need to stop this, IB,” she said calmly. “It’s been three years. You’re scaring the children. Do I need to call your doctor again? I thought you were getting better.”

“You don’t understand,” Ibinabo said, shaking her head. “You don’t understand. He needs to be here.”

Her sister’s voice softened, “He can’t be here, IB. He’s dead.”

She paused, then added, “He died three years ago. On his way traveling to the east on Christmas Day, he died.”

She walked slowly to the sofa, reaching beneath the cushion where Ibinabo had hidden Kamsi’s phone the police had retrieved. She pulled it out with trembling hands and pressed play.

Kamsi’s voice filled the room and her sister closed her eyes.

“You need to stop this,” she pleaded. “Please, he’s not here. He’s not coming back. You need to be present for your children. Throw the phone away. Stay on your meds. Odera knows Daddy’s not coming back. Dede knows he’s dead and has been playing along for you.”

Ibinabo snatched the phone from her sister, clutching it to her chest.

“Nobody understands,” she whispered as she clicked on the phone, restarting their last call which he had recorded from Christmas day three years ago, the day of the accident. Their voices looped again from the beginning.

“It’s Christmas, and I wish you were here. But you’re not,” Ibinabo whispered the words into the receiver, her voice barely rising above the low hum of the standing fan beside her, as she sipped on her already-cold cup of tea.

“I know, babe. I’m sorry,” Kamsi responded, his voice breaking slightly on the last word.

“Of course you are.” 

“What? What did you say?” 

“Nothing, I’m whispering because the kids are asleep. By morning they’ll want to open their presents. I wouldn’t want to ruin Christmas by waking them up now.”

“I’m really sorry, IB, sorry I’m not there.”

“It’s okay, Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, babe. I love you. Tell the kids I love them too. I’ll call again tomorrow. I have to go now.”

Ibinabo sank onto the sofa, the phone still playing.