Morning light slipped through Emma’s curtains, painting gold puddles on her quilt. She blinked awake, heart thumping. Today was the day she would tell Mama her choice.
The kitchen was full of familiar clatter: pots on the stove, the radio humming, Mama humming louder. Emma padded in, her toes curling on the cool floor. On the table, Mama had set out two steaming mugs of cocoa and a plate of toast, stacked high and buttery. Everything in the kitchen looked the same as always—the old blue dish rack, the cheery yellow clock, the vase of fresh-cut bougainvillea from the front yard. But Emma felt different inside, as if something new and fluttery had taken up residence in her chest.
Mama poured porridge into bowls, glancing over her shoulder. “Did you sleep well, my girl?”
Emma nodded, though her mind was whirling with thoughts of the village, of Gogo waiting under the big baobab, and of Mira’s laughter still echoing from yesterday.
She scooped up a spoonful of warm, sweet porridge, swallowed, and gathered her courage. Before she could speak, someone knocked at the door. The sound startled both Emma and Mama. They paused, listening. The knocking came again, quicker this time, as if the person outside couldn’t wait.
Mama wiped her hands and went to the door. Emma followed, clutching her mug. On the porch stood Uncle Thabo, Gogo’s son, wearing his old checkered jacket and a wide grin. He stooped to pat Emma’s head, smelling of sunshine and a bit of engine oil from his minibus.
“Morning, Emma! Are you ready for an adventure?”
Emma’s stomach flipped. She glanced at Mama, who gave a small, reassuring nod. Uncle Thabo laughed. “I was just passing through town with my minibus. I thought, maybe Gogo would like a surprise visit—if you choose to come today, that is.”
For a moment, the kitchen seemed to stretch like taffy between two worlds: the cozy scent of cocoa and toast, and Uncle Thabo’s big hand, holding out a bright red scarf Gogo had knitted. Gogo’s scarf, soft and warm, was like a promise.
Emma squeezed the scarf and pressed it to her cheek. She looked out the window: the town road buzzed with bicycles, and across the rooftops, she could almost hear Mira’s voice calling her to the pool later. Her heart thudded—the choice was suddenly right here, ready to be made.
Uncle Thabo jingled the minibus keys. “If you want, we can leave in ten minutes. There’s room for your bag and all sorts of stories along the way.”
Mama knelt beside Emma, her eyes gentle. “Whatever you choose, Emma, I’ll be proud.”
Emma’s hand closed around the scarf, her other hand clinging to her mug. Outside, the wind carried the sound of the ice cream truck and, just faintly, a rooster crowing from some hidden backyard. The worlds were so close she could almost taste them both.
She took a breath, feeling the leap inside her chest.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang again—this time, it was Mira, breathless and wild-eyed, waving a flyer for the school’s big pool party, happening this afternoon. “Emma!” she called, “We need you on our team!”
Mama, Uncle Thabo, and Mira all looked at Emma expectantly, the kitchen full of choices, her heart beating at the center of them all.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, as if the sky, too, was waiting for Emma’s answer.