Ola purses her lips as though she no longer wants to speak, then she word-vomits, “I’m talking about Femi. Are we really not going to discuss what happened? Yinka, how do you feel? I can’t imagine it was easy, seeing him out of the blue like that, then finding out he’s engaged. I did try to look for you but Rachel said you’d gone home. And I was going to call, but, you know . . . the kids.”
I sit back in my seat. Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. Ola’s clearly digging to see if I’ll get upset.
“I’m actually doing great.”
Ola gives me a look that says, Oh, really?
“To be honest, I haven’t given Femi much thought. In fact . . .” This is the perfect segue. I’ve been waiting all week to share my news with them. “I met a guy recently.”
Rachel drops her fork, stretches her arms in the air. “Thank you, Jesus.”
“So does this guy happen to be Alex?” says Nana, and I grin so hard as I nod.
Ola frowns. “Wait, is this the same guy my mum wanted to introduce you to?”
“Um, how come this is news to me?” Rachel folds her arms.
“It happened at Kemi’s baby shower,” says Ola just as I’m about to answer. “Just before you came, my mum was trying to set Yinka up with one of her tenants, but she was being all stubborn.” She laughs. “So you took my advice, yeah?”
The corner of my lip twitches. Let it go, I tell myself. Let it go.
“Anyhoo,” I say brightly. “He asked me for my number.”
“And you didn’t call me?” Nana nudges my shoulder and I nearly fall out of the booth.
“Wedding planning can wait.” Rachel closes her magazine. “Don’t leave us hanging, girl. Tell us what happened.”
After one smug look at Ola, I do. I recite every moment of my magical meeting with Alex.
Rachel wastes no time in celebrating. She pretends the bottle of ketchup is a microphone and sings an off-key version of Ella Mai’s “Boo’d Up.”
“Do you have a photo?” Nana says.
I sigh. “Sadly, not. I tried searching for him on social media—”
“Found him!”
I glance over at Ola. I actually thought she had stopped listening.
“I have access to my mum’s Facebook account,” she explains. “She adds her tenants on Facebook for, you know, background checks. Anyway, is this him?” She props her phone on Rachel’s magazine, and I gasp.
“That’s him! That’s him! That’s him!”
Rachel snatches the phone. “Damn, Yinka. He’s buuuff.”
“Rachel!” Nana cries. “Can we all see the photo, please?”
Rachel reluctantly puts the phone on the table, and we’re all hunched over, trying to get a glimpse. In his profile pic, Alex is dressed head to toe in Nigerian native attire （of course） and he’s throwing up the deuces sign while standing in front of a palm tree.
“He’s hot,” Rachel says breathlessly.
Nana blows out her cheeks. “I have to agree.”
“Sorry, but how can someone that handsome be single?” Ola’s question sounds almost accusatory. “There has to be a catch. Let’s check out his other Facebook photos.” She raises a brow and adds, “Let’s see what he’s really like.”
“What he’s really like?” I scoff, but Ola is already tapping her shellac nails against the screen.
“Most of his pictures are private,” she murmurs. “Wait, hang on.” She rests her phone on the table.
I gaze at the photo on the screen. This man right here with his adorable smile and piercing eyes asked me for my number. Kai! God is good o. I’m about to comment on how chiseled Alex’s jawline is when another photo pops up—Alex with a woman who might as well be a Baywatch model. He has his arms around the woman’s waist. In the next photo too. And the one after that.
“Seems like he’s a fan of the ladies,” Ola says with a sniff, and the excitement I was feeling only seconds ago plummets. “I bet you, he’s a player.”
The woman he’s holding is ridiculously curvy and . . . fair. In fact, she looks the total opposite of me. Maybe I read it all wrong, jumped to conclusions too quickly. But he was the one who asked me for my number. We’ve been WhatsApping! And he licked his lips at me—which according to Cosmopolitan is one of the top signs that a guy is into you.
Ola has stopped swiping, leaving me to stare at the mystery woman’s ample cleavage. “I’m telling you, cuz,” she says. “These men. You can’t trust them.”
“Wait. Aren’t you married to one?” Nana lets out a laugh.
“These photos are old!” wails Rachel, pointing at the album date. Five years old to be exact. “And for Pete’s sake, he’s in Ayia Napa!” She points at the location below the photo. “Of course he’s going to be living it up.”
“Ola, I think you’re being too judgmental.” Nana wipes her fingers with a napkin.
“I’m just sharing my opinion.” Ola huffs.
I inhale slowly.
“Let’s look at the rest of the photos.” I swipe manically across the screen, pretending not to see the club night photos where Alex is surrounded by even more women.
Then suddenly, I whiz past one photo that intrigues me, and I take a few swipes back. Again, it’s an old photo of Alex but this time he’s with a dark-skinned girl. She has long braids and she looks about a size eight. I have no idea what their relation is, and quite frankly, I don’t care—seeing Alex with a girl who looks like me instantly raises my spirits.
I reach for my phone and unlock it in a hurry, desperate to show the girls Alex’s WhatsApp messages. To show them that I’m not delusional and that Alex is clearly feeling me.
I’m just about to speak when Ola says, “Yinka, I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you. And can we go back to talking about the wedding, please?”
“Okay, calm down.” Nana laughs.
I look over at Rachel, hoping that she too will call out Ola for being a jerk. Instead, she says, “Actually, this is perfect timing,” and I bury the feeling that I get with Ola, always getting snubbed. Why is she such a hater? I stab my chips with my fork.
“So I was reading this blog the other day, yeah,” Rachel is saying. “And it talked about setting bridesmaids’ goals—”
“Count me out,” says Nana, and I laugh and feel instantly better.
“Hang on,” Rachel cries. “Give me a chance to explain what it is first. Now, bridesmaids’ goals”—she leans forward—“are all about supporting the bride-to-be. Motivating her. Anyway, given wedding diets can be stressful—”
“Wait. Is that why you got the salad?” I connect the dots.
Rachel looks down at her bowl, mighty pleased with herself. She shoots a finger gun at me. “Exactly. Anyway, the whole point is that each bridesmaid makes a goal of their own to support the bride. It’s just a bit of fun,” she adds, looking over at Nana, who appears incredibly dubious right now. “I mean, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”