“Congratulations!”
As soon as Nana breaks away, Ola, Rachel and I join her family by half-throttling her with a hug, before loading her with a bouquet of flowers, kisses and compliments.
“Girls, thank you so much for your help earlier,” Nana says. “And Rachel, Yinka, you killed the runway.”
Everything happened so quickly—one minute I was being ushered on to the stage, the next I was physically on it. Suddenly, this confidence came out of nowhere and I was strutting, hands on hips. I didn’t care that the majority of my body was exposed, including my J-shaped bum, which I’ve now decided to stop referring to it as. I wasn’t in my head, worried about the bright lights, or if I would fall off at the end and break my neck. Instead, I was in the moment, reciting the letter to my younger self: Yes, your rich chocolate skin does deserve a seat at the table.
“So out of the three of us, you smashed your bridesmaid’s goal,” says Rachel, patting Nana on her back.
“Nuh-uh,” says Nana. “Rach, surely you’ve reached your weight goal by now?”
Rachel smiles. “I haven’t, but I’m flattered you think I have. Truthfully, I ditched my diet months ago. When I thought about it, I was like, hey. I want to look like myself on my wedding day. And I love my curves!” She puts her hands on her hips.
“While we’re on the topic of goals,” says Ola. “I’ve got some news to share.”
As Nana and Rachel gush over Ola’s news to become a makeup artist, I scan the crowd and the rows of chairs. I don’t spot who I’m looking for, but I do spot a familiar face.
“Alex!” I say after slipping into the crowd.
He looks up from his phone. “Hey! Long time.” He leans over and hugs me.
“So, how’s things?” we say at the same time.
Alex chuckles. “Ladies first.”
Over the background noise, I tell him about my decision to have a career change. He tells me about his work with the same animated expression as always. And while we are chatting, I keep thinking, Alex isn’t a bad guy. There’s no reason we can’t be friends.
“Alex,” I say after he stops talking. “I’ve got a confession to make. You know that time when I made you Nigerian food? Well . . . I had a helping hand. And if you’re willing,” I quickly add as he laughs, “I would love for you to show me how to make proper Naija food one day.”
I return to the girls with a cooking session with Alex in my calendar. Joanna and Brian have joined them, Brandon and Ricky in tow.
“Ooh, we’ve got something for you,” says Brian after we’ve gushed over the best bits of Nana’s fashion show. Joanna hands me a gift bag.
“Aww, guys. You shouldn’t have.” I squirrel into the bag as though it’s Christmas Day. I gasp.
“We thought you could use it to jot down your thoughts after counseling,” says Joanna as I awe over the beautiful notebook, its sleeve made out of wax fabric.
“And what’s this?” I push the tissue paper to one side and pull out a damask pink hair bonnet.
“You weren’t able to get a hairnet that time,” says Joanna as I rub the cap against my cheek. It’s silk!
“Aww, thank you, guys.” I embrace them together. Jeez. Shame on me for thinking that they were out of touch with Black culture. As I draw back, I catch Donovan staring at me. I excuse myself.
“Well, look at you, Miss Naomi Campbell.” We hug. Thankfully, he’s back in his own clothes again.
“Well, look at you, Mr. Michael B. Jordan.”
Donovan smiles.
I clear my throat. “I got some news to share with you—”
“Oh, yeah? I’ve got some too. But go ahead, you first.”
I roll back my shoulders. “I’m . . . going to pursue a career in charity.”
I stare at Donovan, waiting for him to yell, “I told you so!” Instead, he says, “Well, this makes my news ten times easier. Remember that Sanctuary job I was telling you about? Guess who got shortlisted for an interview?”
I frown. Donovan nods to me, a smile growing on his face.
“How—when? I didn’t even apply.”
Donovan laughs. “I put you forward for the role. Remember that time you sent me your CV?”
My mouth drops. “Are you being serious? Did I really get shortlisted?”
“Yup. So, I was right all along, yeah?”
My lips twist into a smile. And overcome with happiness, I’m unable to help myself; I throw my arms around him. “Thank you, Donovan,” I whisper.
After I’ve let him go, my friends magically appear.
“We were wondering where you got to,” says Nana, giving me a wink.
Rachel wastes no time introducing herself, even checking Donovan out while she’s at it.
Brian whispers to me. “Cor, he’s a stunner.”
Ola throws me a “You go, gurl” look before extending a hand.
Joanna behaves like a normal human being. “Nice to meet you, Donovan.”
While Donovan gets to know everyone, I stand back and watch, grinning. So, this is what it looks like when my worlds blend.
July
Where’s your plus one?
SATURDAY
Friday, 9 July at 4.17 p.m.
From: Huang, Martin
To: Yinka Oladeji
Subject: Next steps
Dear Yinka,
It was great speaking to you on the phone just now.
Congratulations again on your appointment as Outreach Manager. We can’t wait for you to join the team.
As I said over the phone, you truly impressed us during the interview with your passion and enthusiasm. We think you’ll fit right in!
I’ll be in touch next week with your contract, but any questions in the meantime, please get in touch.
We look forward to welcoming you to Sanctuary.
Best wishes,
Martin Huang
Head of HR
I look one last time at the e-mail I received yesterday and allow myself to feel another surge of excitement before focusing on the scene around me. This wedding is what I’d call glam galore: think a copper and rose-gold palette, with lots of white silk flowers, chandeliers and fancy Chiavari chairs. And at the center of it are Rachel and Gavesh. From the back of the candlelit hall, I stare at them dancing, their eyes firmly locked. Rachel is stunning in her princess dress and her gold multilayered headpiece, and Gavesh looks so gorgeous in his sequined jacket with its puffy sleeves and matching crown-like hat.
How they managed to plan their special day within six months is beyond me. Though they both come from different cultures where weddings are an equally big deal, somehow they fused their traditions beautifully without killing each other.
With a glass of bubbly in hand, I watch as the saree-and-à?ò? è?bí-wearing guests on the dance floor spray Big Mama and Gavesh’s mum with American dollars while they drop it like it’s hot. Kemi’s dancing too. She has slipped into her flats and is showing everyone how low she can go now that she no longer has a bump to contend with.
“Hey, you.” Nana drapes her arm around me and gives me a peck on the cheek. We look like twins today in our pink saree-inspired bridesmaids’ dresses. Nana has done an amazing job.
“I’m so happy for Rachel and Gavesh. I mean, look at this.” I spread my arms.