There’s a short pause before Lizzie says, “You’re very odd sometimes, Olu. It’s my favourite thing about you.” “I thought your favourite thing about me was my ability to mysteriously solve any and all problems,” I say. It’s a joke, of course. So why does my sister respond seriously, and why am I grateful? “No,” she says. “No. You can be undeniably useful, but I don’t need to use you. I just love you.” She stumbles over the last word, not because she doesn’t feel it, but because we are who we are. When we were children, Lizzie and I, we didn’t hear that word much.
