Improvised Plan #ProjectNigeria

16- Reflections

Ola:

The drive back to my apartment is a reflective one.

I am not the besotted, gentle and funny boyfriend you showed off to your friends and family. You know that, don't you?

I had known. Damn him, I had known and I had gone back there because he had been in the back of my mind. Because I needed his warmth. Because I was vulnerable.

Is he ever vulnerable? I wonder as I dodge potholes ahead of me. What could have made him this way?

He said he liked me enough to warn me. And what the hell is that supposed to mean, Saheed? How does one like me and still have the nerve to... tell me off?

Tears suddenly blur my vision. I angrily wipe them away, cursing myself for being such a softie.

It's not like he broke your heart, I tell myself in the most logical way. He even helped you, you should be grateful. Who brings out his time to pretend to love someone for two weeks? It was fun while it lasted.

Yes, it was interesting indeed. All the privileges of being a fake couple, the company and laughter, the kisses, touching...and the sex. Gosh, it was good. The sex.

A shiver passes through my body at the memories. He had been the ultimate lover, paying attention to every sound I made, knowing automatically where to touch and kiss and nibble and-

I shake my head and focus on the road.

If you get accident now, wetin you go tell Angel Michael for gate?

Dad is gone by the time I get to my apartment. At the gate, he had been thoughtful enough to drop my bag with the security men, who handed it in good condition, over to me as I drove in.

My mind wanders to my father. The man who, at this moment, I want to avoid for as long as possible. Sure, Dad loves me. He loved me enough to take me from my mother when she was vulnerable enough to let me go. He loved me enough to dump me with his true family when he couldn't keep up with the lies any longer.

What to do with him? I don't know yet, but I am sure our relationship will never remain the same. How had I even managed to pretend that all was well after my trip to America? It appears that pretending is what I'm good at these days.

My apartment suddenly feels desolate and too huge for my liking. Quickly, I get myself busy, retrieving my phone from my bag and attending to prospective customers on Facebook and Instagram. Asides from designing clothes, I dabble in celebrity styling and private personal shopping for those who can afford it. It is something I had stumbled into when I had randomly suggested bright colours to one of Dad's business associates. I had been twenty, in my final year of university and coincidentally, I had been at Dad's office the day this particular man had showed up dressed in all black. I was seated at a corner of Dad's office, sketching men's outfits when the man had jokingly complained that his wife said he dressed terribly and without thinking, I had asked, "Have you tried brighter colours?"

Both of them had turned to look at me, Dad's face in a proud smile. I used to help him pick outfits for the week whenever he was home for a while, oblivious to the tensions between myself and my half siblings.

"She's my personal stylist, Bode," Dad had told the man.

"Will you be my personal stylist, Ola?" Mr. Bode had asked with a chuckle. "I have been envious of your father's clothes for a while now. I should have known he couldn't have done it without help."

And so, my journey into fashion began. Recommendations gave way to more clients and within the year, I was styling celebrities, thanks to Dad's connections. As the good daughter, I still made out time to work at Dad's offices when I could, because I was familiar with Dad's financial consulting firm. The rivalry between my siblings and I didn't help, as they felt I was being groomed to take over from Dad, instead of his 'legitimate' children.