*Kwame Asante*

"Hey Ma."

"Hi, sweetie." Her cheery-filled voice floated out of the phone speaker. "I was wondering when you'd call. How's the homeland so far?"

"Other than the fact that I lost my luggage, everything is great." I leaned against the bannister.

"Wait, you lost your luggage?" Her cheery tone quickly shifted to one of concern. "How did that happen? Do you have clothes now? What are you wearing?"

"Relax, Ma." A chuckle left my mouth. Even though I was a fully grown 29-year-old man, I would always be a baby boy. "They actually found our luggage this morning. Arrangements have been made to take us to the airport for identification and collection."

"Us?"

"Yeah, Delores and I." I glanced behind me to check if she had returned from the bathroom.

"Oooo Delores."

I slapped my forehead. "Really Ma? It's not like that. She's just someone I met yesterday, nothing is going on between us."

"Oh, I know that, sweetheart." I could almost picture one of her teasing smirks. "I'm just happy that you're finally seeing someone."

"I'm not seeing her, Ma."

"But you should." Her voice switched to her lecture tone. "I know how much you loved Zenobia, but it's high time you moved on. You're too hung up on her and the plans you made together. It's been what, two months since you ended the engagement, and she's already gotten herself married to someone else."

"Whoa, wait, what?" I picked myself off the bannister. Despite the cool, late morning breeze, I felt sweat beads on my forehead. "Did...did you just say Zenobia is married?" My heartbeat quickened.

Ma muttered a curse word but remained silent.

"Answer the question, Ma." Her reluctance to spill the beans was beginning to eat at my nerves. "Ma!"

"Yes, Kwame!" She finally yelled. "She's married! She married the rich lesbian you caught her cheating with!"

As if my heart wasn't already broken, I felt another fissure split through it.

"They got married the day you came down to Ghana."

"Well, why didn't you tell me when I called?" I threw my hand in the air.

"Because I know you, Kwame. If I had told you, you wouldn't have left Chicago! You would've skipped your flight to storm the wedding!"

Her words stung but I couldn't deny the truth. I brushed a hand over my face. "Look Ma, I gotta go."

"Sure. But please son, don't let this ruin your day. I just wanted you to know so you understand why I keep urging you to move on. There's no point weeping over Zenobia when she's out there living her best life."

I sighed, "Yeah Ma, I get it. I'll try to move on."

"Good." She paused. "I'll talk to you later then?"

"Sure, bye Ma."

"Bye."

I pulled the phone from my ear and ended the call with a deep sigh. Digging a hand into my back pocket, I yanked out my handkerchief and wiped away the excess sweat, though the shock and disappointment still lingered.

I shouldn't care. After all, we broke up two months ago, and I was so glad we did. But it still hurt because it proved that all those years we spent together meant absolutely nothing to her, and the realisation sent a jolt of pain through my heart.

"Hey." Delores appeared at my side, her braids dancing in the soft breeze. "Sorry, I took so long. I dashed to my room to pick up these." She hooked a pair of sunglasses onto the front of her shirt.

"Nah, it's fine," I muttered.

"Umm, are you ok? You look... distraught." Her eyebrows dipped low as she extended a hand, and I flinched at her warm touch.

"I said everything is fine!" I backed away from her, still feeling her curious gaze on me.

"Hello?"

We both turned to find Didi's assistant from the airport giving us a small wave.

"Apologies for interrupting, Ms. Brown and Mr. Asante. My name is Brian, and I'll be driving you to the airport to claim your bags.

"Oh uh, sure, let's go." Delores stepped forward.

"Uh, shouldn't we wait for Ms. Michaelson?" Brain asked.

"Oh, she's not coming. She has other engagements, so she asked me to collect her luggage for her."

"Well, in that case, the van's right this way, please."

Brian led us out of the building to the parking lot where one of the hotel's minivans had been parked a few metres away from the entrance. He ushered us in and then closed the door right after we had settled in the front seat.

Delores made sure to leave a large gap between us as if she expected Brian to join us instead of driving the vehicle.

The van took off underneath the hotel's archway. Silence lasted for five minutes, until Brian turned on the radio, playing some local highlife songs to ease the tension. Delores didn't seem to mind; she stayed in her corner, looking out the window while sipping from the plastic water bottle she had brought.

A sudden urge to start a conversation bubbled up inside me, but I couldn't get a single word out. Apart from photography, what were we even going to talk about anyway? I wished Arturo was here, and as the thought crossed my mind, I pulled out my phone to text him.

From the pics he had posted on his WhatsApp status, it seemed like he and Dayton were having a blast. Here I was, trapped in this uncomfortable space with an alluring woman. But it didn't last long. In the next twenty minutes, the van pulled up in the parking lot of the Kotoka International Airport and we both piled out, heading straight for the reclaim area.

The clerk, a young Ghanaian woman, was on the phone giving directions to a probable tourist. Within minutes, she wrapped up the conversation and turned to us with a broad smile. "Good morning, how may I help you?"

Delores took charge. "Morning. Our bags got lost in transit yesterday. We arrived on AlphaKing Airlines flight 265 out of JFK in New York."

The young lady began typing away on her computer, cross-checking the details.

"This morning, our tour guide informed us that our bags had been found on a flight to Côte d'Ivoire and had been returned to the airport."

"Yes, they are here. They came in late last night." The clerk said as she stared at the screen. "But before we bring them out, can I see your claim forms, please?"

"Of course." Delores quickly placed hers and Dayton's on the counter.

I was still rummaging through my satchel for mine until the clerk asked, "Ok, these are for you and your husband?"

I froze.

"Husband?" Delores repeated with a snort, then added, "Uh no. He's... not my husband. We're not married."

"Uh yeah. My claim forms are right here," I said, slapping them on the counter.

The clerk's sleek eyebrows furrowed. "Then who's the third form for?"

"It belongs to a friend of mine, Dayton Michaelson. She had other engagements so she asked me to get her luggage for her."

The clerk suddenly looked dissatisfied. But before she could release a complaint, Delores managed to convince her to accept the document. With a sigh, the clerk picked up our forms and disappeared behind a set of double doors labelled 'Check Inventory.'

For what seemed like five minutes, we stood in front of the counter, trying our best to avoid eye contact, until I noticed Delores walking away. She headed towards a small waiting area, settled on one of the benches, and pulled her phone out.

Ever since that moment on the balcony, she'd barely said a word to me and it made me feel uncomfortable. All she did was ask me a simple question and I snapped at her for no good reason.

Taking a deep breath, I walked over to the small waiting area and sat in the armchair on her left. Delores lifted her head briefly, then returned her attention to her phone.

I rubbed my hands together. "Look umm... I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier today. I just... my mind wasn't in a good place at the time and I didn't feel like talking about it."

"I didn't ask you to talk about it with me, Kwame," she replied. "I already understand that it's none of my business. I just wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help."

"Can you help fix a broken heart?"

The question was so abrupt that, when I glanced at Delores, all I met was surprise.

"No, I cannot," she said after a minute's hesitation. "But... I believe a broken heart is just the universe's way of telling you that you made a mistake in choosing your life partner."

"Huh. That's a very interesting way of looking at it."

"Yeah, and it also helps you move on." Delores crossed her arms. "Life is way too short to spend it in regret and pain because of someone unworthy."

That last part held so much bitterness and disdain, making it pretty clear that I wasn't the only one harbouring heartbreak.

Someone had hurt Delores badly. And though I wanted to find out what kind of dickhead would do something like that to her, I didn't get a chance to ask because the clerk soon returned with two red suitcases.

"Ok, are these your bags?" She set them in front of us.

Delores and I exchanged a look and burst out laughing. Honestly, both bags looked like they had seen better days... like in the nineties.

"Oh no, Miss," Delores responded first. "That's definitely not my luggage."

"Yeah, me neither," I added, wondering how she'd managed to pick these out when our luggage descriptions were on the claim forms. "Look, my bag is black with grey accents. It has my luggage tag and a Power Pictures Incorporated sticker on it. Why don't you take another look? It has to be in there."

The clerk let out another reluctant sigh, grabbed the bags and retreated to the check inventory.

As we watched her go, Delores chuckled again. The silly scenario had obviously lifted the previous tension between us.

"You know, if this wasn't so sad," she began. "It would be hysterically funny. But I am honestly concerned that we may never get our luggage back."

I shook my head. "Ah c'mon, you're exaggerating."

"No seriously, if my editor calls and finds out that I spent an entire twenty-four hours in the airport, chasing after my luggage, instead of getting her the fresh new content she wanted, she's going to go nuts and fire me on the spot!"

"Whoa, chill Delores. Nothing like that is gonna happen. They're going to find our bags, I'm sure of it." I pushed myself up, resting my elbows on my knees.

Delores on the other hand, let her head fall to the backrest and sighed, "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

My eyebrows dipped low. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She tilted her head to the side. "You are your own boss, meaning you can do anything you want to do at any time. You don't have anyone pushing you to the extreme."

"Uh actually, I do."

"Really, who?"

"My family."

Delores' expression turned solemn.

"My mum is always breathing down my neck and pushing me to the extreme." I clasped my hands. "To tell you the truth... she is the only reason I have made it this far with my career. I care about her way too much to let her down. It's one of the reasons why I came here, back to Ghana."

My eyes moved back to my companion, who sat quietly, listening with rapt attention, and it motivated me to continue.

"When I completed my service and opened up my studio, my mum was as proud as a peacock, because it was my commitment to her that I wasn't going to end up like my dad. So I filled it with her background, everything she's ever known, and different cultures from all around the globe." I paused to lick my lips. "She has looked out for me my whole life. This is the least I can do to make her happy."

Silence reigned for a moment.

"I can tell that you two have a beautiful relationship." Delores finally said.

I shrugged. "Well, I am her only son."

"Her only son who's still single," she teased.

"Yeah, but not for long."

The moment those words left my mouth, my eyes locked on hers and everything else faded away. The first expression on her face was one of delight, then in a flicker, it switched to fear--a type of fear I was quite familiar with.

The fear of falling in love again.

"Ok!" The oblivious airport clerk interrupted our moment. "Ms. Brown, Mr. Asante. I believe we have found your bags." She stepped aside for a couple of guys carrying a bunch of suitcases, which were rightfully ours.

"Oh Thank God!" Delores was the first to grab her bag and hug it tightly.

"And that's mine, thank you." As I received my bag, a sense of relief washed over me. "Let's just hope the last one is Dayton's."

Delores gave the bag a quick once-over before declaring it as her friend's property.

"Great, then let's go back to my desk so you can sign for them. The boys will have the bags loaded onto your van ."

As we headed over to the front desk, Delores trailed in front of me like an African goddess. I hadn't known her that long, but I had to admit that I liked her. I liked her a lot.

Maybe Ma was right. Maybe it was high time I moved on and focused on someone else.

Someone like Delores Brown.

******