DAYLIGHT

“Good Morning, Isioma. How are you today? You are looking as radiant as ever”, he added as he stared down her hips and winked. 

“I am doing very well. Thank you, sir.” She responded as quickly as possible; she didn’t want to start her day with someone making moves at her, and not even someone now — her boss. She felt uncomfortable with the stare. But she was becoming used to it. 

She made a quick run, or walk to her office Isioma’s office was on the fourth floor, adjacent to Mr. Ross’ which was not so much of a distance from the elevator. 

Now, Mr. Ross was a good-looking, leanly-muscled, dark-skinned bald, chiseled-shouldered African-American man. He ticked the box of Isioma’s list: he was good-looking, he was rich, he was smart, he had a good smile, a clean and white set of teeth, and dark skin. Not to mention that he has African Ancestry too. But Isioma was never attracted to him. 

For one, she knew and had accepted that he was her boss. She engaged with him in a boss-worker capacity. 

Secondly, she had a no-relationship-at-work rule. She couldn’t possibly date someone she was working with. This was her longest-standing rule; it didn’t just start today, it started in her days of working as a doctor. Her reasons were not far-fetched.

For one, things could get messy and dirty. Also, mixing relationships with work only meant one party would suffer — and it was only the weaker party. Unluckily, in this scenario, Isioma was the weaker one. 

Sitting on her sit, she decided to pray. Her words of prayer were often few and scanty but today, she decided to say a few more words 

‘Thank you, Jesus, for another beautiful day like this. I’m here at work; I’m hopeful and happy that today the right words would come. I’m thankful that today would be successful and I shall give all glories to you. Amen’ 

And here comes the few extra words:

“But God, I am confused as to my Boss Mr. Ross, and why he could be doing the things he’s doing. Staring at me, and making some moves when he’s beside me. Dear Jesus, I am confused.” she said these words with fear but with uttermost faith in her heart

Isioma was confused about Ross.

The day had started. Isioma started her computer system and started to write. Usually, the daily tasks were sent from Mr. Ross to the entire staff of about thirty-seven writers, but today, things were different: she didn’t get an e-mail. 

“Why could that be?” she thought to herself.

She checked her emails in and out to be sure she hadn’t skipped a thing. She even searched her spam folder to ensure that it wasn’t marked as one; but still, nothing. 

Staring at the wall, it flashed into her memory.

“Maybe he had forgotten”, she consoled herself. Although Mr. Ross never misses any details, she thought there might be a first time to everything. 

Refusing to waste any more time, she decided to start writing her blog post on boundaries.

She began. Boundaries are not walls. Rather, see them as semi-permeable membranes or in more subtle terms, gates: only certain things are allowed to get in and get out

For the umpteenth time, she got lost in her thoughts. Initially, when she relocated to California from Nigeria, before moving to Houston, Mama would often call her twenty times a day. 

“Ke du, how are you doing? Are you finding that place convenient?” Mama asked.

“Yes, mama, I am fine, she would often respond with reluctance” In the next couple of hours, mama would call.

“Good Afternoon, Nne. I just called these from you. Hope you aren’t feeling too cold. Have you put the stock fish and crayfish you took along inside the refrigerator?”

“Yes, Mama, I have done that.” She would more often than not, respond with a fake smile. She didn’t want to come off as rude or condescending. 

Also, she had often heard stories of young boys and girls who traveled to Europe and The Americas and forgot their parents in Nigeria — or even where they had come from; she didn’t want to be included as those. Therefore, she needed to keep in touch. But right now, Mama was testing her patience. 

Mama would call in the evening again. “Isioma, I know it is 8:45 PM, but can you help me find out how to renew my N*****x subscription? It expired last month and I’m just wondering if you can help me renew it.”

That was it. Mama was calling her at 8:45 to renew her N*****x subscription? She was teasing her patience at this point. She remembered what her therapist Doctor Nicole had said about boundaries and how they were essential in situations like this.

“Mum, I understand and appreciate that you call me. But I’m very busy now. And I would only be answering your texts and not phone calls.’’

Mama for a minute was dumbfounded. Her daughter had just insulted her. ‘You suckled both of my breasts for 3 years, and this is what can come out of your dirty mouth’, Mama said as she hung up the call.

She didn’t bug. She knew just like Dr. Nicole had said, boundaries — particularly ones like that — would not be accepted easily by people.

Impressively, Mama listened. She didn’t call her at odd hours, and when she did, it was mostly emergency. She couldn’t have her first daughter who was living in a completely different world upset with her.

Now into reality, Isioma started to type again, “Sometimes our parents or people we love might not respect our boundaries, but we have to uphold them”

Before getting a chance to move into the next paragraph, Isioma heard a knock on the door of her office — now that was weird. Writers were often not disturbed or distracted by visitors during afternoons — the business hours of the day.

“What could be the issue?” she thought to herself.

“Yes. Please, come in.” it was her boss, Mr. Ross’ secretary, Rania. 

Rania was a white woman. She was blonde. Her accent goes her out as someone from France or Spain. 

“Good Afternoon, Rania. How can I hope you today?” Isioma asked 

“The Boss would like to meet you in his office,” Rania responded