Saturday mornings always smelled of fried plantain and laughter in their house.
Tonia stood in their small kitchen, spatula in hand turning the slices of ripe plantain in the siz-zling hot oil. The sun from the window poured in richly through the open window, catching the steam that rose from the kettle. The kitchen was not the fancy type. Just the regular brown and white tiles rising from the floor to half of the wall, a wobbly wooden stool in the corner, a plate rack with a handful of plates, and an old gas cooker with only one stubborn burner that hissed before it obeyed.
In the next room was the soft sound of music from her husband's radio. Hanson, a man in his early thirties cleared his throat as he leaned lazily in the doorframe. He was dressed in an almost worn-out jersey. He looked a bit odd that morning because his hair looked like it had been long when he saw the barbershop, and his beard needed a little kiss from his clippers. The only thing that remained the same was how his eyes danced around her body with so much admiration.
“T, please don’t cut that plantain too thin,” he teased, grinning. “You know I don’t like plantain chips. I want it big. You know the fat slices kinda big that can hold their ground in my belly.”
Tonia turned and smiled then she rolled her eyes playfully. “Mr man, don't you think I don’t know what you like, eh? Since when did you become a plantain consultant in this house?”
Hanson chuckled, stepping into the kitchen and holding her from behind. “Since I married you. Besides, someone has to supervise you before you eat the whole thing and then save me only two slices.”
Tonia laughed, shaking her head. Her hands still held onto the frying pan as she dropped a few golden slices of plantain into the hot oil. Hanson let go of her and took a few steps back as the familiar hiss filled the air. Then accompanied by the aroma of sweet plantain.
"You're scared." Tonia mocked him. "My man is scared of hot oil."
Hanson smirked then folded his arms. "I'm just being careful."
Tonia laughed heartily again.
But Hanson didn’t stop there. He pulled the wobbly stool and sat closer to her. With a low voice, he asked, “T, you remember our first Saturday breakfast after the wedding? That morning you nearly burnt the house with that kettle.”
Tonia dropped her spatula and turned sharply. She leaned on the kitchen counter “Babe! That was not my fault. You know our gas cooker isn't good. It was misbehaving. Now you're twist-ing the narrative.”
Hanson grinned. “Just admit it was your fault." He paused "Oh, I remember you just couldn't resist this handsome guy. You were lost staring at me with those big eyes, and you forgot you put water on fire.”
She tried to look stern, but laughter pushed through. She moved closer to him and sat on his lap. “Now you're trying to put the blame on me, whereas my eye caught something hand-some that morning and I couldn't stop staring."
“Just the way they've caught something handsome again this morning. And this plantain is in danger too.”
They both laughed.
"Don't worry. I won't lose focus this time." Tonia replied, poking his cheek.
She sat there on his lap, still giggling and fondling his beard. Hanson, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying it as he shut his eyes and moaned at intervals.
Suddenly, Hanson sniffed hard and opened his eyes. "Seems like there is going to be a re-peat of that morning babe."
"Huh?"
"Something's burning."
Tonia quickly jolted to her feet but it was too late. The plantain slices had already darkened and there was smoke rising from the oil.
“Mogbe!” she exclaimed, quickly flipping them.
Hanson burst into laughter, clapping his hands like a child. “I knew it!”
Tonia looked over her shoulder at him. She tried keeping a mean look but the corner of her lips betrayed a smile. “Don't blame me for this, it's your fault! If you had not come in here with your sweet words, I would have been watching the pan. You distracted me.”
He kept laughing. “Again she blames me." He shook his head dramatically. "It is I who melts easily to my words, even if it is an ordinary ‘good morning,’ you will laugh and blush. Now she blames me"
She puts out the last piece of plantain and turns off the gas then she pulls her husband clos-er. "Not you but your words." Then she kissed him.
“Tell me about them?” he returned her kiss.
She paused. "Our food will get cold if I start."
"So we'd better eat first before you blame me for that, too."
The two of them stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter again.
Hanson moved to the dining room, pulled a chair for her, sat down, and waited for her to ap-pear with the burnt plantains. Tonia appeared and dropped it onto the table.
Hanson quickly picked one and threw it into his mouth then nodded. “Hmm. Just like the taste of marriage, burnt at the edges but sweet in the middle.”
She gave him a naughty look. “Sit down, Jor. Yeye Man." She watched him throw another piece in his mouth. "Seems like you love it?"
Hanson leaned back in his chair, his eyes softening. “Not as I love you, T." He pulled her closer.
She blushed hard. "I love you too. But can we please eat now? Before I blame you for the food getting cold."
He let her go, raising his hands. "Please, serve."
And so they ate it together in love, joking, laughing, teasing each other over every blackened slice.
