Twisted

14: Engagement Party

Beverly

A part of me feels like I should hold my head high up, but another part of me is asking, 'Why should I even bother?' What is there to be proud of in this chaotic mess? Just yesterday, I was in his hotel room, and now, I'm uncomfortably sitting in his business partner's car as a date to my best friend's engagement party. God!

"I'm sorry he had to park like this," he apologizes to Deji, his words disrupting the brief unsettling silence.

I try to melt into the plush leather seat, attempting to vanish into thin air at the same time, but it is an epic fail, so guess what? I remain in the perfect frame for him, and with every glance Zayyad steals in my direction, I wish the ground would swallow me. I have never wanted to desperately die until now.

After what feels like an eternity, even though it was probably just a minute, the conversation finally comes to an end, and as Zayyad rolls up his window, our eyes lock once again, intensifying the overwhelming emotions that consume me. I swallow hard, quickly averting my eyes to the dashboard in front of me.

The Prado zooms off, leaving me alone with Deji, who begins recounting his entire history with Zayyad as we drive onto the main road, resuming our original route. But honestly, I couldn't care less about how they met at the airport.

"Hmm. Mhmhmm. Yeah. Wow" is what I find myself saying throughout the conversation and I wonder why he can't take the hint and be quiet.

I just want to get to the bloody party, and down some vodka til' I blackout because Deji's voice is starting to appall me, and all I want is to scream at him to shut the fuck up!

"What the fuck? Why?" he demands, taken aback.

I spiral into a mental frenzy when I realize I blurted that out loud. "Oh my— no, no... sorry, I just... I didn't mean that. I was lost in thought, and it slipped out. It's just my period," I hastily fabricate an excuse, my words tripping over each other in a rush.

"Your peri–" he casts a skeptical glance my way. "–did you just make that up?"

"No, I do have cramps,"

"That miraculously started two minutes ago..." He casts a dubious glance my way. "Look, if you wanted me to stop talking, you could have politely asked, you know," He glances at me again before focusing on the road. "And to think I was sharing something that excited me," he mutters, leaving me engulfed in guilt.

"Deji, I didn't mean to be rude and I just–"

"Abeg, it's enough. If you want to go to the party in silence, then we'll do that," he interrupts, his voice thick with disappointment.

In a bid to drown out the discomfort, he cranks up the volume of the music, yet even the catchy beats of Davido's Unavailable fail to dispel the awkwardness that is hanging heavy in the air.

. . .

The event is in full swing when we arrive at the couple's five-bedroom home in Katampe extension, the muffled bass of Victony's Soweto can be heard playing from inside the house as Deji parks his car amidst a bustling sea of other vehicles.

We drove here without talking to each other but the moment he turns off the engine so we can step out of the car, he reaches for my wrist, his firm grip signaling his intention to be a true gentleman. "I'll get the door for you."