The last thing I wanted to do on a Friday morning was go home. Not because I didn’t love my family,I did, probably more than I admitted, but because going home meant losing the little freedom I had managed to build for myself. At Res nobody cared if I came back at 2 in the morning. If I slept the whole day. If I didn’t cook the whole week and survived on yababa roll and fries. No one asked me questions. I heaved a sigh and sat up on my bed surrounded by clothes I had been supposed to pack the night before. That alone was enough to make me want to scream. My phone started ringing for the 3rd time. I glanced at the screen. It was my mother. The girl didn’t mind calling every hour of the day. And it was always a video call. If she saw I was still in bed, and my clothes were still unpacked she was going to crash out. So I let the phone ring until it stopped. 2 seconds later, it rang again. I sighed and answered.

“Hello Ma”

“Are you awake?” She asked squinting her eyes.

“Obviously.”

“You sound like you’re sleeping.” “Because I was.”

“Nomazulu.”

“I’m awake now.”

“When will you get home?” I looked around my room.

“Later.”

“What time is later?”

“Ma, I don’t know.”

“Your father wants you home before lunch.” I frowned.

“Why?”

“Because he said so.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“It’s your father. Since when does he need a reason?” I laughed quietly. That was my father. If he wanted something, the explanation was usually the fact that he was my father.

“Fine. I’ll leave after breakfast.”

“Don’t leave late.”

“OKAY.”

“And dress properly when you get here.” I frowned.

“Why?”

“Because we have a visitor.”

“Who?” She smiled.

“Mlandokayise.” My stomach did something strange. I hated that it did. “Oh.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. Just come home.” The call ended, and I stared at my phone. Mlandokayise had been around since before I could remember properly. My father and he had grown up together, herding cattle when they were boys, long before either of them had money, cars or properties with electric gates. He and Mlandokayise had been inseparable. Brothers, according to my father. They had grown up together, survived things together, and watched each other become men. Mlandokayise was now a successful businessman who seemed to own a house in every province he had a reason to visit. Johannesburg was where most of his business happened, but he was constantly moving between provinces, opening developments, building properties and attending meetings. He rarely stayed in one place for long. Yet somehow, whenever he returned to KZN, he always found time for my father. I had known him as Malum’ Mlando for most of my life. He had bought me birthday presents, attended family celebrations and once embarrassed me in front of my friends by telling them the story of how I used to cry and run whenever I saw a TLB because I thought it was a human crushing machine that kills people. I had hated him for that story. Now I was 21, and the thought of seeing him shouldn’t have made me feel anything at all. But it did. I threw the phone onto my bed and stood up. I had a brand deal to finish, a suitcase to pack and a 1 hour journey ahead of me. Whatever strange thought had just crossed my mind about my father’s best friend could stay right where it belonged—in my head. By 10:30, I had finally packed my suitcase, filmed the last few clips for my week vlog and said goodbye to my roommates. The drive home was familiar enough that I barely noticed the roads changing. The further I travelled from university, the more the noise in my head seemed to quiet. By the time I reached Mtubatuba, I was hungry, tired and already regretting promising my mother I would arrive before lunch. When I finally pulled into our yard, I saw my brothers outside before I even switched off the engine. One of them ran toward my car. “Zuluh!” I laughed as I stepped out.

“Why are you screaming?”

“You’re finally home!”

“I was gone for 3 weeks.”

“That’s too long.” I hugged him, grabbed my bag and walked toward the house. I could hear my father’s voice before I entered. I smiled automatically. Then I stepped into the sitting room. My father was sitting on the couch with a glass in his hand. Beside him was a man I had known for most of my life. He looked up. And everything inside me went still. Not because I had never seen him before. I had. Hundreds of times. But the man sitting in front of me didn’t look like the man I remembered. Maybe it was me who had changed. Maybe it was him. His eyes moved over me slowly before meeting mine, and for the first time in my life, I became painfully aware that my father’s best friend was a man. A man who was looking at me as though he had just realized the same thing.