“Yeah, they should be proud of themselves.” Nana looks around for a moment, then nudges me. “You too.”
“Me?” I laugh a little. “Let’s be real. I didn’t contribute that much.”
“No, I’m not talking about the wedding. I’m talking about how far you’ve come. I’m so proud of you, sis.”
“Aww.” I give her a side hug and we sway a little.
“Sooo, where’s your plus one?” In an exaggerated manner, she swivels her head.
“Plus one?” I frown. “Girl, you know I abandoned my bridesmaid’s goal a long time ago. The goal is to love myself and that’s still a work in progress.”
“You didn’t invite Donovan?”
“Nana, we’re just friends.” I take a sip of my bubbly, pretending not to see her cock her head, like yeah, right.
“Anyway, this is my jam.” She hoists up her dress, pecks me on the cheek, then rushes to the dance floor to shake a leg to yet another Afrobeats song.
“Yinka.”
It’s Aunty Blessing. And she’s got someone with her.
“I would like to introduce you to someone.” With a grin, she gestures at the silverfox of a man who kind of looks like Sean Connery （obviously after his Bond days）。 “This is Terry Matthews.”
I blink, then remember my manners.
“Sorry, nice to meet you.” I shake his proffered hand.
“Blessing tells me you’ve got a new job?”
I glance at my Aunty, who is still manically smiling. “Yes. I recently got a job as an outreach manager at a homeless charity. I know. Worlds apart from what I was doing before. Oh, and I’m sorry I didn’t meet you that time.”
Terry bats a hand. “Don’t worry. And congratulations. It’s important to do what makes you happy.”
I glance at Aunty Blessing again. She looks the definition of happy.
“Okay, let me introduce you to my other niece.” Aunty Blessing slips her arm through Terry’s. “Ooh, I see her. Yinka”—she hugs me—“we’ll catch up later, my dear.”
I watch them meander their way around the hall, each round table adorned with white linen, gold candelabras and silk flowers.
My first thought is, I wonder if she met him on that dating website? Then my second thought is, I’m so, so happy for her. Just goes to show that you can find love at any age.
Beaming, I make my way to the buffet station. Those—I think they’re called watalappans?—are absolutely to die for. En route I see Ola with her arms around Jon’s neck, dancing. Our eyes meet and she waves. Jon turns his head and waves too. It’s nice to see the two of them being affectionate.
Just as I’m about to reach for a dessert plate, I feel a light tap on my shoulder and turn around. It’s Femi.
“Yinka, so good to see you.” I’m greeted with a hug . . . and now a squeeze . . . wow, and a wide smile. I forgot that he was going to be at the wedding. And now that I’m seeing him in the flesh . . . I wait for the familiar sensation of nerves and anxiety to kick in. Nope, it doesn’t come. So, I guess I don’t care any more.
“Hey, Femi. Good to see you too. Where’s Latoya?” I glance over his shoulder.
Femi’s jovial expression vanishes. He seems preoccupied with the floor.
“We broke up,” he says at last, his face glum.
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.” I now feel terrible for asking. Okay, I feel a tiny bit glad, but mostly awful.
“We kind of rushed into things, whatever.” He shrugs, but I can tell he’s hurt. “She was still in love with her ex, so . . .” He manages to lift his gaze an inch.
“Femi. I’m . . . I’m truly sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He runs a hand over his head, and I congratulate myself for not gawking at his biceps. “In fact, I should be apologizing to you.” He exhales. “Yinka, I’m sorry that we didn’t work out. Sometimes I wonder if breaking up with you was a big mistake.”
I stare at him, dazed. Everything around me vanishes. And as I gaze at him, I realize that I’m actually waiting. I’m waiting for a feeling. Vindication. Longing. Something. But nothing comes except for the realization that I’m well and truly over him.
Femi realizes this too. He shifts uncomfortably in his shiny shoes. Then he clears his throat and says, “You look beautiful, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I scratch my elbow. Hey, what do you know? That word did nothing for me either. A few months ago, my heart would have swelled from the compliment.
“So is your mister here?” Femi swivels around, and just as I’m about to say no, Donovan appears.
Wait, Donovan?
“Look at you, looking all fancy,” he says, bundling me into a hug while my mind is trying to process why he’s here.
“Sorry, my bad. I’m Donovan.” He stretches a hand toward Femi, and the look on Femi’s face is priceless.
“Well, it was good seeing you.” Femi nods to me, then he does this weird half-wave at Donovan and scurries away as though he needs to pee really badly.
“Lemme guess. The ex?” Donovan cocks his head. I’m so used to seeing him in his woke hoodies, I’m taken aback by how attractive he looks in a suit.
“Yes,” I answer after admiring his neat beard. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” Donovan staggers back as though my words are bullets. “Nana said you wanted to invite me, but was too chicken to ask.”
“That girl!” I spin my head, and not to my surprise, Nana’s watching. She gives me two thumbs up. Sneaky.
Then as though tonight is the night of guest appearances, Mum and Aunty Debbie magically appear by our side. Aunty Debbie is in my good books right now, because she managed to compose herself after I failed to catch Rachel’s bouquet.
“Hello, Aunties,” Donovan says just as I’m about to introduce him. From the looks of things, however, both Mum and Aunty Debbie already know his name. Huh?
“Donovan came to All Welcome last Sunday.” Aunty Debbie has clearly read my baffled expression.
Mum says, “We recognized him from the fashion show, so we thought, you know, we’d introduce ourselves.”
“Oh, did you now?” I notice their familiar mischievous expressions. And wait—why the heck was Donovan at All Welcome Church?
“Anyway, we just thought we’d say hello,” says Mum, already adjusting her wrapper to leave.
I blink. This is a miracle. I’m standing side by side with an （objectively speaking） handsome man and she’s not even sizing him up as a potential huzband?
I’m still in a state of shock as I watch them go.
“Okay, since when did you start attending All Welcome?” I ask, gathering myself.
Donovan chuckles, then rolls his eyes. “First of all, it was one Sunday. And it’s not my cup of tea.”
“But why?” I laugh a little. “Not why wasn’t it your cup of tea. Why were you there in the first place?”
Donovan’s response doesn’t come straight away. “I guess talking to you about faith made me want to, you know, revisit what I had in the past. I’m not saying I’m a Christian now, but I’m definitely . . . intrigued. In fact, you heard of the Alpha course? Yeah, man starts that in two weeks.”