The ride home with Lucas is uncomfortable—I have been working so hard to avoid an awkward lull between us, and now it’s hitting us at full mass and I can’t help but harbour a bit of bitterness. To make matters worse, we are stuck in typical Lagos mainland traffic. I don’t know what on Earth causes the traffic these days, because you can go for hours and not see what would have caused it in the first place.
After more than an hour of uncomfortable silence on a trip that wouldn’t have taken more than thirty minutes without traffic, I can’t help but be relieved once we get in front of my apartment building. He tries to start a conversation with me about the giant storm cloud hanging over our heads, but I cut him short, making it clear it isn’t something I want to acknowledge, at least not anytime soon.
I dejectedly walk into the compound of my home, not having it in me to muster up a smile or say greetings to the gateman and the people with him. Sulking and self-pitying are the only things I can do for the rest of this gloomy day because I know once I sleep on it, I will be fine. I just have to be.
I use my own key to unlock the door and enter the apartment, and I’m in the process of relocking it when I hear my mum cry out in excitement. She is easily excitable; the littlest things can make her so happy. But again, it could be a displeased outcry—she is as easily displeased as she can easily be happy. I hear some sort of ruckus when opening the door leading into the parlour from the entryway of the apartment, to then be greeted by the sight of my mum and her boyfriend, Mr. Saludeen, embracing and kissing like they don’t have a care in the world.
Oh my goodness! How many times do I have to walk in on them making out? I clear my throat loudly, and the happy couple untangles from each other, like high school teenagers that have been caught red-handed in a compromising position together. My mum turns a bright shade of red while Mr. Saludeen smirks at me, looking very pleased with himself. My mum peers at me sheepishly, but I know she’s happy; she is practically glowing. I’m glad she seems to have found herself a good man to love and who loves her back. I see it in the way he watches her and is always there without her needing to ask.
“Adesewa, you’re back home early today. Any problem?”
“I’m fine, Mum. Aren’t I allowed home again? I didn’t know you had plans to be home, either.”
Mr. Saludeen only chuckles and sits down on a sofa. My mum also sits, and he tucks her at his side. What is going on? Why are they more than affectionate in front of me? Are they somehow trying to mock me that they are in a happy relationship whereas I am not?
Okay, I am overreacting.
“How was your day? Your mother and I are having a pleasure-filled day.”
“Oh, really? What did you both do?” I ask before thinking.
Did I really want to know how my mum and her boyfriend spent their pleasure-filled day? I reluctantly take a seat on a couch beside them, settling down for the conversation I had initiated and was now going to embark on.
“Yes, we did. We went out to eat, a bit of shopping, we came back here to relax, and now, we are engaged. Your mum said yes.”
Wait—what? They are engaged. Wow. Oh, my. I can’t believe this. I have joked to my mum countless times, telling her she is still young and should get married again—but now, it is really happening? I completely understand the reason for her excited shriek when I entered the apartment. I most likely arrived right after she said yes and had ruined their happy moment a tiny bit.
Oh, well, but my mum is engaged! I don’t think any word can explain or define the kind of glee and joy this news brings up in me. There’s no one I know who deserves a happily ever after more than her.
“Oh my God! That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you, Mum! I feel like crying tears of joy. Congratulations to you both! So Mr. Saludeen, what made you decide to pop the question now?”
“It’s about time, won’t you agree? I love Joké too much, the only option left is to make her my iyawo.”
My mum blushes at her fiancé’s profession of love and how he’d wished to make her his wife, and I want to puke because they are too cute for me to handle at this moment. I get up and hug the happy couple, knowing they would love to be alone but won’t send me away.
I go to my room, and once I am alone, I remember the disaster that was my lunch with Lucas and let out a groan. Falling on my ass was clearly a sign from God.
I dig my phone out of my bag and lie down on my bed. Before my mum comes to disturb me and ask me to write her an engagement announcement message for her to put up on her social media platforms, I decide to get a head start on it. Something simple like “I’m engaged to my love Mr. Saludeen” won’t work for my mum. She would want to include a prayer and a gooey message of affection towards him, I’m so sure about that. I also know she would only allow the short and simple one as her WhatsApp status message.
I’m meant to also be celebrating a new development in my love life, I can’t help sadly muse. I’ll soon be twenty-three, and I’m tired of being single; I’m ready for a meaningful relationship. The last serious relationship I was in ended more than a year ago, time during which I fully embraced being single, loving myself, and just enjoying life.
I feel like I am destined to be alone. Okay, maybe I’m not, but like I won’t be able to find my soulmate and everlasting love. I find myself doubting time to time if love indeed exists or it could be the Cupid’s arrows with my name on them have been exhausted.
I’m lost in thought when the ringtone I set for my best friend intercepts my mind. She is either worried I haven’t updated her about the turnabout of today’s event or just wants the details and isn’t concerned. I accept the call and put it on speaker.
“Sewa. I have been waiting for you to reply me. You can’t just leave me hanging in suspense like that. Don’t you fear God?”
“Haba, Nafisa, you know it isn’t like that. My day just took a weird turn, and I haven’t had the time to talk to you. You’re not serious. What does fearing God have to do with this? You’re such a drama queen.”
“Let me guess, that idiot didn’t want a relationship with you?”
“You know it. He said he just agreed to work things out with his ex. I guess I was a backup plan or a rebound. I don’t even understand. He used me to make his ex jealous. I feel like an idiot.”
“Lucas is the idiot. I don’t understand why men let a woman who is beautiful in and out, intelligent, smart, beautiful and wonderful like you g—”
“Yes, girl, go off, Nafisa! Rain down the compliments!”
“I’m serious, Sewa. You deserve better than him. You know I don’t like him even. He is as shallow as that Lucas on BKChat London.”
I love Nafisa so much, she never ceases to amaze me, and I can’t help but laugh at the comparison she just made.
“Don’t kill me, o. I have heard you. I’ll be fine. Thank God I did it now and didn’t wait ’til I had invested even more feelings into our relationship. ’Coz I see it now, he would have been with his ex and still playing me like a banjo at the same time.”
“You obviously would be fine. In fact, knowing you, you would have gotten tired of him eventually. You can’t seem to keep the interest in someone for long romantically. Mrs. Self-Sabotage.”
“Shut up, jare! You are meant to be making me feel better.” I added the jare for emphasis, and the effect is instant.
“Pele, ma binu.”
Nafisa rarely apologises so I take it as a win.
“Apology accepted, and I’m not angry. You like to add pepper to everything. You won’t believe what just happened!”
“Just tell me, leave the suspense for someone else jo.”
“My mum and Mr. Saludeen got engaged. I think I came home when she said yes, ’coz I walked in on them smooching.”
“Ah! That is wonderful news! I love this, the wedding party finna be lit! I’m happy Big Mummy is getting married.”
“It’s true. I’ve not even thought about the party segments. You’re going as far as I am concerned to the wedding party. I know they are also going to have an engagement party. Now at the parties, all my nosey aunts and Mummy’s friends will start asking me where my boyfriend is and when my wedding is occurring.”
“Who knows if you would have found a boyfriend by that time? Stop acting like you being alone is set in stone. Anything can happen and you know it. Be positive jo.”
“It is because you have snagged yourself the perfect man and you’re engaged that you’re talking like this. Look free me. I’m allowed to be negative for the rest of today if I want to. You can call me out on my sulkiness from tomorrow, but today, allow my moping. But forget me jo, how are you?”
“I’m great. My life is as perfect as it can be, and I couldn’t be more thankful. Nothing new is going on in my life. If not, you will be the first to know. Anyway, before I forget, are you ready for your interview tomorrow?”
“I’ll be fine. I don’t think anyone can ever be ready for an interview. I just have to be calm and collected, and I believe I’ll ace it. I’ve got all the right qualifications for it.”
“That’s the spirit. The other people who didn’t want you don’t know what they have lost. Okay, Sewa baby, I’ve got to go. My mum needs me for something, I wonder how she will survive without me when I move into my husband’s house. Talk later, love you!”
“Love you, too.”
I manage to squeeze my reply before the call ends.
I come up with many announcement posts to show my mum, with the assistance of Nafisa, so she will have a variety to choose from, but she still complains when I present them to her and makes me come up with a new one with her input.
I take an Instagram-worthy picture of her hand, showcasing the engagement ring, and use the platform to share the image and message, so it will also post on her Facebook wall, killing two birds with one stone. I argue that she need not put the same words for her WhatsApp status, and when Mr. Saludeen agrees with me, she lets me set it as the short and simple message, along with changing her profile picture to one of her and him.
Pleased I have that out of the way, I go into the kitchen to see what I can have for dinner. I don’t feel like eating what is being made for dinner, semolina and èfó riro, that Yoruba dish prepared with vegetables and stock fish, palm oil, crayfish, pepper, locust bean and also sometimes meat and other ingredients. I decide to eat boiled plantains with the èfó riro, not a fan of the semo, disliking the coarse durum wheat rubble used to make pasta and couscous usually.
After a pleasant and filling meal, I go back to my room to get ready for bed, which involves taking a bath, my facial care routine, and brushing my teeth. I have to brush them religiously if I don’t want to lose any more of my molars.
I contemplate messaging Lucas, but seeing that he had not bothered to text or call me, I decide against it. Instead, I chat with my friends, browse through all the apps I love using, and check for entertainment while listening to music before I settle on a book I would read ’til sleep found me.