Edgar is the kind of guy that grows on you. The one with potential, so you overlook the undesired traits they display because terming things like ‘younger than me’ as red flags seem a little far-fetched. They are easy on the eyes, like cooking, don’t really mind cleaning your house and get you flowers often. Ideally, Kenyans on Twitter would call him a simp, but damn! Why can’t the world deal with a man treating a woman right? You love yourself a simp, don’t you?
That’s how our relationship kicked off. Edgar was overly available and it irked me. As a lastborn, I’ve gotten used to stuff getting done for me. So, when I moved out of my sister’s house to start life on my own, you can imagine the mess I created in my house. After trying to be modest with zero success, I resorted to ordering meals and having mama fua come around every Saturday to clean up and on some occasions, prepare some meals to last me a few days into a new week.
Edgar was visibly shocked when he first stepped foot into my apartment on a Friday night.
“You left all that dirty laundry and utensils like that went out with your girls?” He questioned, spinning around the room. He lay my drunk self on the bed gently, took off my shoes and helped me into my night dress. I was surprised when he ducked back to the kitchen and I heard the clinging of glass.
“You okay in there?” I asked, lifting my head up.
“Yes. Just go to sleep,” he added as the clinging of glass persisted.
“What? Aren’t you joining me?” I asked, sounding disappointed.
The shattering of glass rented the air and I jumped out of bed quickly to check on Edgar.
“Don’t walk in, the glass could cut you!” He warned his hands’ in mid-air, holding a dustpan. It was this infamous magic cup I had bought as a gift to my ex before I caught him cheating. The guy was shamelessly texting celebrities on social media, professing his undying love for them and acting like the biggest loser. The cup had been put away for months now until I had used all of my cutlery and resorted to using it.
“I’m so sorry Petra. I’ll get you another cup, similar to this one,” Edgar offered.
“You don’t have to, it’s okay. It shouldn’t be here in the first place,” I responded.
“Why?” He asked.
“Long story. You should come to bed after cleaning up.” I retreated back to bed.
The sun rays piercing through my room when I woke up the next day was a total surprise. The sun was a stunning orange, and Edgar’s smile when he walked in from the balcony brightened my day even more.
“You didn’t sleep?” I asked to distract the big smile plastered on my face in reciprocation.
“I did. I just woke up a little earlier.” He was holding a laundry basket, pegs and a pail in his hands, the bottom of his grey sweatpants wet. He had done my laundry and when I rushed to the balcony, I was even more surprised that my undies were washed, hanging beautifully on the cloth line. We spent the rest of Sunday together, with him cleaning all around the house, as I entertained him with stories about my friends.
I liked having him around, mainly because he’d perform the house chores without a complaint, and our love grew better every day. I’m such a cheerful giver; gifting is my love language, so I bought him things he liked and we all seemed pretty content. But just as with any other relationship, we had challenges, and ours weren’t out of the ordinary.
For starters, he disliked my best friend Immaculate so much that he’d always put on a show when she was around. I remember he arrived at my house late into the night one time, hoping that it would prompt me to ask my friend to leave. What pissed me even more, is the fact I financed his life. In layman’s language; mimi ndio hutuma fare. The other downside of our relationship was that I had to be financially responsible for him whenever he came around and it had begun to irritate me.
I was rather calm and collected when we argued that night and we resolved he’d sleep on the sofa because my friend was there first. The next morning, he did his usual, cleaning up, preparing breakfast and being too darn sweet. But the cracks in our relationship continued to grow bigger when he expressed his concerns about my lack of emotional support. He’d cry, and I was left soothing him and it just put me off gradually.
I broke up with him the night after he left my house in a WhatsApp text, and my oh my! He was camping outside the gate with a bouquet of flowers all day the next day when I came back from work. When I refused to let him in, he came back with his mother at around 8 pm. His mother was soft-spoken, focused on solving our issues and to meet this lady her son adored so much. I fell into the trap and took him back. But that’s not the worst thing I did, I moved into their house about a month later, because his mother thought it was a good idea.
Before you throw stones, can you admit how good it feels to be loved and wanted by the family of the man you love? Don’t we all want that? No? Okay, we’ll pick it up from them after the story. Edgar’s family is not well of. The parents worked menial jobs around the city and his only sister was in high school. So, I packed out of the apartment my sister paid rent for and brought all the fancy things to their home, they were truly pleased.
His mother taught me how to prepare meals for her son as she thought me things about their culture. His father was a quiet man and only talked when it was necessary. Things took a different turn when my internship contract ended and the little cash, I was bringing in fizzled out. Edgar was working a day shift job at a supermarket and he started making his demands and expectations of a ‘soon-to-be-wife’ known to me. He woke me up one morning, asking why I didn’t iron his work clothes, brush his shoes and prepare him breakfast. His mother intervened in our early morning fight and he audaciously said, “Petra, you can’t even take care of me, like a woman should take care of her man!”
“How am I supposed to do that?” I asked, placing my hands on my waist.
“Mama, you should wake up, light the stove and prepare your partner tea. He’s going out to hustle for you,” his mother said, her hand rubbing my left arm softly.
“Stove? Edgar, you know that I’m asthmatic right? And exposing myself to such things will lead to health complications?” I directed my question to Edgar.
“You just can’t be sleeping Petra, be a useful partner!” He said as he stormed out of the house.
His mother stayed in our room, reprimanding me for getting Edgar angered and asking why I wasn’t pregnant yet. She went on about how a baby would make Edgar happy, and the entire family. After talking that morning, I stayed in our room for hours, thinking back to how he’d tried to flush my phone down the toilet and demanded I cut ties with my friends. He once slapped, me but apologized with tears and I thought it was okay.
After giving it too much thought, I decided to reach out to Immaculate, who agreed to host me as I explain to my family, my poorly informed decision to move in with my boyfriend’s family. I casually left in the afternoon to meet up with Immaculate and then texted Edgar to let him know that I won’t be coming back but will be there the next day to pick up my things.
When did I say shit hit the fan? We literally were at it for close to a month, threatening to involve the police and every nasty thing you can think of until he finally sent me the most annoying text, I packed out of their house on Friday last week.
Even my father didn’t approve of you anyways, you are just a spoilt brat who will never be suitable for a wife.
He never thought of mentioning it, when his family was literally feeding off my sweat? The audacity!
I’ve been living with my friend since, but I really despise myself for not treating his lesser age with a lot of concern. I know you have reservations about age, but men younger than you are a red flag! I have receipts to back my claims and please don’t cite celebrities in this case. Okay?
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