They’ve both been very busy getting things ready for the baby—my God, I can’t believe Kemi is due any day now—which I guess I can count as a blessing, as Mum hasn’t even been in touch to ask how the date with Alex went. I’ve stopped attending her church, so maybe she’s forgotten. I’m so glad I never told Kemi anything.
“So, Yinka,” says Brandon, projecting over the cheesy pop music, which has sent many people to the dance floor. True to the photo that Joanna showed me, Brandon has spiky ginger hair, apple-green eyes and a body of a rugby player. “What do you do?”
“I’m unemployed,” I say bluntly.
“Oh . . . cool.” Funny enough, Brandon looks more uncomfortable than me. Then after a long pause, he adds, “What’s the reason? You taking a career break?”
“No,” I say matter-of-factly. And I leave it at that.
Brandon scratches the back of his neck. He smiles awkwardly. “What’s that you’re drinking there?”
I lift my glass. “Oh, this? Tap water.”
Brandon throws back his head and laughs.
“It’s the only thing I can afford,” I say with a deadpan expression.
“Oh, sorry. Let me get you a drink.”
“It’s fine. I’m only teasing. It’s lemonade. But I am unemployed, though. Didn’t make that bit up.”
“Oh, my God, I love this one! Who fancies dancing?” says Joanna, the girl who never dances. Drink still in hand, she pulls Brandon from his seat, her skater dress twirling as she cha-chas away. Brandon looks frankly relieved to be taken away from me. Brian is next up. He doesn’t drag Ricky with him because he hates dancing.
“Girls?” Brian looks over his shoulder.
Nana turns to me with an “I’d rather watch paint dry” expression.
“We’re going to wait until they start playing RnB and hip hop,” I say.
Ricky shakes his head as Brian pushes his way through the crowd.
“What is he like?” Ricky says as he scratches his stubble. “Anyway, you girls fancy another drink?”
“I’m good, thank you,” I say after Nana politely declines. Ricky heads to the bar.
I’m glad that Nana and I are alone, there’s so much that I want to talk to her about. She’s been so busy working—sometimes I hear the drill of her sewing machine well after midnight—that we haven’t been able to catch up as much these days.
Fine, if I’m honest it’s more than that. She’s been off with me ever since I told her that I’d lied to Ola and Rachel about Alex.
“Yinka! This is getting absolutely ridiculous,” was what she actually said when I admitted it. “All this lying! I thought you were a Christian.”
“I’m human!” I snapped back. “Ola was being really snarky. And technically, I didn’t lie. I just . . . exaggerated the truth a little.”
But it was when I asked her to back up my story that she really blew up.
“You want me to tell the girls what? That you lied about how the date really went? Or about the fact that you didn’t actually get the promotion? Or maybe even about your extreme transformational plan?”
“Hey, that’s not fair,” I cut in, wounded. “I didn’t ask to lose my job. And you were there when I abandoned my plan! And it’s not exactly easy saying, oh, by the way, the person I really liked, likes my best friend.”
The silence that followed was astronomical.
Finally Nana sighed. “I just thought, I dunno, you would have told the girls that Alex likes somebody else or something like that. We’re all supposed to be friends. We’re supposed to be honest with each other.”
“I will tell Rachel and Ola in my own time.”
“Please do, Yinka. For your own sake.”
But I still haven’t. And since I heard that I didn’t get the Oscar Larsson job, Nana seems to be giving me a break. But she’s also clearly not forgiven me.
I sidle closer to her. The music is so deafening that I’m going to have to speak right in her ear.
“How’s the website going?”
She turns from the throng. There are a lot of comically drunk people on the dance floor who suddenly think they can bust a move.
“Great,” she says brightly. “Alex is good at what he does. I’m not going to give too much away, though. You’ll see the website when it’s done.”
I nod in time with the music, which is again another pop song. Sigh.
“And how’s the working relationship?” I ask after a tentative pause. I mean it genuinely—I don’t care about Alex any more. He’s in the past.
Nana shrugs. “It’s not awkward, if that’s what you’re hinting at. It’s all strictly profesh. Althooough, he does ask about you from time to time.”
I roll my eyes.
True to his word, Alex invited me to his place for lunch, the Sunday after Valentine’s Day. Amicably, I declined his offer. I told him that I was now attending a local church, shorter commute and all that. Still, he continued to WhatsApp me. And because I didn’t want him to get suspicious, I continued to reply. But when he asked me out for a drink the next Friday, I knew I had to break contact. So I sent him a voice note explaining that I was too busy and stressed with job hunting to do anything at the moment, and that I’ll let him know when I’m free again.
“We missed you yesterday,” says Nana, grabbing the wheel of our conversation. In response to my frown, she clarifies. “Rachel’s bridal meeting. How come you couldn’t make it? Anything to do with your little white lie?”
“No! I had a headache.”
Nana doesn’t even try to hide rolling her eyes. “Rachel kept asking me about the latest with you and Alex—”
“What did you say?” My voice is so loud that it actually causes a passing man to look over his shoulder.
“I told them that we’ve both been so busy, that we haven’t had a chance to catch up—”
“And what did Ola say?”
Nana folds her arms. “She didn’t say anything. So you can stop looking at me like a fox caught in broad daylight. Honestly, Yinka, you can’t avoid the girls forever. Rachel’s bridal shower is this Saturday!”
To my relief, Rihanna’s “Umbrella” starts playing—well, a weird remix version.
“Ooh, this is our cue.” I pull Nana’s arm. And despite her objections, I prod her along to the sweaty dance floor.
Weave out
FRIDAY
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Good excuses for not going to a bridal shower—Reddit
“How’re things going between you and Alex?” says Aunty Blessing as she hacks a blade at a piece of thread. It’s déjà vu: once again, I’m sitting on the floor between my Aunty’s legs in her living room, only this time, she’s taking out my weave. “The last I heard, you said my advice worked and he was coming round to yours for lunch. I don’t want to pry, but you never got back to me when I texted you about it.”
“Yeah, well, things didn’t work out,” I reply. “Is it okay if we don’t talk about it?”