Song: 'How Could You Leave Us' by NF; 'Heartless' by Kanye West
"If you're not the most gorgeous couple on the planet, make I bend!"
"You're so dramatic," I respond with a shake of my head.
Amina sighs dreamily, before forcing her phone into my face. "Look at her, Saheed. I mean, look at the material!"
"Yes, she is truly lovely."
It's been three months since Ola and I came to an agreement on our relationship. We have become quite an inseparable pair, smoothly transitioning into a couple and slowly getting used to the knowledge that people now know that we are together.
While we have busy schedules, we make time for visits, dates, and the frequent sleep over at random nights. Knowing I can go to bed and wake up next to her frequently gives me a sense of contentment, and our sex life...when it does happen, it's wonderful. Mind-blowing. Intense. Intimate.
I can't get enough of her.
My eyes linger on the picture of Ola, dressed in a black jumpsuit. Beside her, I am laughing while she is whispering something into my ear. Some random person had taken the picture of us as we stepped out of Luxury's Finest after a lunch date yesterday. The picture had ended up on a popular Nigerian gossip blog, captioned, 'Wahala for who no get funny bae.
Construction mogul Saheed Bello and his celebrity stylist girlfriend, Ola Matthews having a good laugh after their date'.
"Construction mogul?" I shake my head. "When did I become a mogul?"
"They're manifesting it for you, na," Amina replies. "Look at Noah, trying to get himself killed again."
My nephew, lying on his back in his little pram, has managed to cover his face with the small blanket Amina had placed over him. It is almost like he is aware that we are watching, because he lets out a frustrated cry. I rise from the couch and move towards him, chuckling. The moment I gently pull up the blanket, he stops his wails.
"You just wanted attention, didn't you?" I ask him before scooping him up.
Noah gurgles and lets out a fart.
"Trust me, that will stink," Amina promises.
"Please take your property," I say, wrinkling my nose and stretching my arms towards my sister.
"He's your nephew," she protests, but she takes him and peers into his diapers. "It was just a fart, confirmed. No poop. He's clear."
"Alright."
Back in my arms, Noah snuggles and tries to latch on to my chest, turning his little head this way and that way in search of a nipple. This makes me laugh out loud, startling the poor boy, who bursts into tears.
"He's hungry for the tenth time today," Amina sighs. "Give me that old man."
In a few seconds he is latched to her, contentedly suckling.
"This can't be easy," I say with a shake of my head.
"Not at all, but it is what it is. You'll see when you have your own children."
"They're not on my agenda yet."
Amina scoffs. "That's what they all say. Look at Femi now, changing diapers at three A.M and singing nursery rhymes. Noah has turned him to mush."
I imagine my brother in-law doing what Amina has described, and I grin. "Femi has always been the dad type; I could tell when I first saw him."
I watch her smile at Noah, whose eyes are fixed on her as he suckles enthusiastically. I catch myself thinking about my mother. She had held me like this as an infant, peered into my eyes and smiled. She'd sang me lullabies, fed and clothed me, rocked me to sleep, played with me. How did her love for me change, twisting into a hatred so deep, she derived satisfaction from inflicting pain on me till the point of near death? All those beatings and those venomous words-
"Saheed, don't think about her."
I snap out of my thoughts, embarrassed that Amina had seen me wander towards forbidden territory. I clear my throat and find my voice.
"I read that breastfeeding is one of the best times to bond with your baby."
"Look at you, doing your research. That's right, too. Isn't he lovely? This little human being."
"He is," I agree.
"And to think I nearly died just for these moments. Totally worth it. You know, when I woke up and saw him, my pain became secondary. I can't explain it."
"I can only imagine it," I confess. "Baba and I were too terrified for you."
Full, Noah turns his head away towards me, and Amina zips up her shirt. I take him from her and place his head on my shoulder, my hand rubbing his back in circles.
"Saheed, you're a natural."
"You Tube videos."
"But you took the time to learn."
I shrug, not knowing how to respond.
"You're going to be a good dad, Saheed. Whenever you decide to have a kid or two."
I shrug again. "For now, I will settle with being a great uncle."
"You're so obstinate."
"It's part of my charm."
"Baba was here last week; did I tell you?"
"Oh?"
Noah lets out a long burp and coos in satisfaction. I reward him with a few pats on his padded bottom.
"Baba brought an entire box of clothes that Noah will wear until he's maybe five, approximately two boxes of toys, three packs of diapers, and a box of baby food in every flavor possible," Amina reports.
I blink in surprise. "I have to hand it to our old man, overall best in grandfathering."
"E choke, but I am not complaining. When I expressed surprise, he joked that if I complained he would buy more and we wouldn't say no."
I can't help but laugh. "That's him, alright."
"Sometimes I feel like he's trying to make up for his absence in my life, you know?"
I detect the change in my sister's mood. Her eyes have gone dull and her smile has drooped a little, sadness evident in its shape.
"Amina, Baba loves you. He had to make some tough decisions, but he loves you."
"I know. I know. And I've forgiven him. These thoughts are mostly intrusive."
"And I love you."
Amina gasps in mock surprise. "What was that? I didn't hear you clearly."
I roll my eyes, enjoying the switch. "I won't repeat myself."
"Did the hard guy loose-guard?"
"Don't make me take it back," I warn.
"I love you, too. You have been the most amazing big brother. You've tolerated my excesses, allowed me to bully you without complaining, and taken care of me. I appreciate you, Saheed, and I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy."
My throat clogs up, and I swallow to make breathing easier. "Thank you, Amina. This means the world to me...considering- "
"Considering nothing. Saheed, considering nothing," she says softly, her eyes searching my face.
I let out a shaky breath and nod in agreement.
"Repeat after me, 'I am deserving of love'. Oya," Amina commands.
I laugh at the absurdity of what my sister is doing, but she doesn't budge. She has her mouth set in her trademark stubborn expression. I roll my eyes and sigh for the millionth time, agreeing that I have tolerated Amina's excesses over the years.
"Fine. I am deserving of love."
"I am worthy."
"I am worthy."
"Any one that thinks otherwise should get out abeg."
"Anyone that- wait, now that's you just pushing it too far, aburo mi."
Amina laughs so hard, I join her. Startled, Noah coos in possible annoyance before returning to his milk-induced slumber.
"I have to take off now. Rush hour is fast approaching and the roads will be congested between the two states."
Amina takes Noah from me and gently places him in his small day bed. We share a long, farewell hug.
"My love to Ola. I haven't met her yet, but I know I will like her."
"She will hear, Mini."
Amina chuckles at her old nickname. "I thought we agreed that you wouldn't use that name now that I'm married? Is my ring not fearing you?"
"I lied. Mini will be on my tongue forever. And that ring doesn't mean a damn thing; you're still my little sister."
I flick her nose with my index finger, for emphasis, to remind her who's the Senior here.
"Scam," she says with a hiss. "Goodbye Boda Saheed."
"Oh, touché."
"What can I say, I learned from my big brother."
***
As Amina said, Look at the material.
"Would you like some more coleslaw?"
I give myself a slight shake and try to appear like I have been concentrating on my meal. "Yes, please. Thank you."
She leans over and scoops more of it onto my plate. "There you go."
"Thank you," I repeat.
Ola smiles at me briefly. "You're welcome. You sound chipper tonight."
"I'm always chipper when I'm with you."
"Now you're sounding corny."
"I'm always corny when I'm with you."
"Saheed, please."
But she is giggling, and my grin is widening. I drink in the sight of her, in her plain white shirt and linen shorts, her curly hair bouncing around her head, held away from her face with a yellow bandana. My heart feels fuller than my stomach, and I realize that this may be happiness. Having her here, our attention on each other, the laughter and jokes, the occasional argument that ended in honest conversations, apologies and kisses; the non-sexual contact, hugs and cuddles; everything I do with her becomes extraordinary.
I could get used to this.
We are both seated at my reading table in my apartment, having dinner from Luxury's Finest's kitchen. They have served us a simple meal of egg-fried rice, roasted chicken, coleslaw and fruit salad. Ola and I have opted for water, and I have a dispenser already.
"You're staring, Saheed."
"Ola, you bring me so much joy," I confess. No shame, no doubts. This is another reason I am happy.
Her smile falters, and I know that it is because my confession has taken her unawares. She lowers her eyes for a second before raising them again and reaching across the table to touch and squeeze my hand.
"You bring me so much joy, too."
After our meal, she insists on washing the dishes before room service comes up to take them. I stand beside her, drying them with a dish towel and placing them on the tray.
"Did you settle on a movie yet?" I ask.
Two days ago, we had both agreed on seeing a movie at my place tonight. It is something we do often; at least once a week. We pick a movie to stream, and we watch it either at her place or at mine. Then one of us sleeps over, and it ends in cuddles, late night conversations, board games or charades, and maybe love making...most likely.
"How about we shuffle on Netflix?"
"You promised to make a stellar choice, didn't you?"
She shrugs. "So many choices and I got overwhelmed, sorry."
"Or you never planned to see any movie with me, did you?"
She glances at me briefly before turning her attention back to the last dish in the small sink.
"What are you implying?"
"My theory," I say, tilting her face towards me, "is that you deliberately did not pick a movie."
Ola blinks rapidly, widening her brown eyes in mock-confusion. "Why would I do that?"
"You want to spend tonight doing other things with me."
"With you? That's bold of you, Saheed."
"Prove me wrong, then."
"I decline."
"Aha. My instincts never prove me wrong."
She pulls my head down for a long kiss. I groan, feeling my body respond to this intimate contact. I am aware of every stroke of our tongues, every breath I drag in to combat this lightheaded feeling, every butterfly fluttering in my stomach.
Fucking goner.
Ola withdraws slowly, and I follow her lips, protesting by groaning some more.
"No, don't stop now."
"We have a movie to select," she responds with a laugh.
"Didn't you just concede defeat a minute ago?"
"Did I?." She winks at me, mischief written all over her face.
She is enjoying this, I know it.
"Be my movie, I could watch you all night."
She shakes her head as she arranges the clean dishes and cutlery in the tray they came up with. "You always come up with new lines, Saheed."
"And you always like them, do you not?" I ask as I wipe the area dry with a disposable paper towel.
"Who told you that?" She counters as she moves towards my sitting area.
I follow. Like a moth drawn to a flame. But this particular flame only ignites my passion upon contact, keeps it simmering.
How did I delay this, delay us? I wonder.
Seated on my one single couch, she pats her lap. I accept her invitation, and take my position beside her before laying my head there.
"Aren't you due for a hair cut?" She asks, her fingers combing through my hair.
"I decided I like it when you grip my hair, so I'm keeping it around for a while."
Ola giggles at my remark. "Do I do that? Are you sure?"
"Come now, don't be coy. Should I demonstrate?" I look up at her face for her reaction.
"Hell no!" She exclaims, but her fingers grip a few strands of my hair. "Like this?"
"Yes, but tighter."
"Surely you're exaggerating."
"Maybe."
I could watch her all night. Looking down at me, her hair frames her face, forming a dark silhouette. I reach up to touch the curls, weaving my fingers through them.
"Everything about you is perfect."
I sit up and gather her in my arms, leaning back into the couch so she is cupped inside the space my body creates. Ola snuggles in even more closely, sighing contentedly. She places her head on my chest and a leg over mine, her hand burrowing underneath my loose T-shirt.
"This is nice," she says softly.
An understatement.
I breathe in the scent of her hair. "Tell me you got me my own bottle of this coconut shampoo."
"If you want to use it, come to my place and baff."
"Oh, is that what we're doing now?"
"For someone who uses the same soap for hair and body, you're quite interested in my hair care products."
"Do you know how good it feels to smell like you?"
She looks up at me, laughter in her eyes. "Oh Saheed, you're such a lover boy but you keep denying it."
"Certified," I murmur before locking my lips on hers.
Her mouth, soft and warm and tasting of the fruits we just shared, yields to mine. Her hand caresses my cheek, skimming over my short beard, creating pleasant friction. Maybe I should take her shirt off, maybe we could–
My phone rings, an unwelcome distraction. I glare at it, sitting on the short, center table a foot away.
"Ignore it," I tell Ola.
"Okay," she agrees, her body language telling me that she wants her shirt pulled off.
The ringing becomes incessant.
"I think it's important," Ola whispers.
"Argh." I reach out for it. "It's Baba."
Ola lowers her head back to my chest.
"Baba?" I answer.
"Son, where are you?"
"Pent house. Are you okay, Baba?"
His voice is strained, almost threadbare.
"I am well. Saheed, it's Khadijah."
My heart drops suddenly. "What happened?"
"She–" Baba's voice breaks. I hear him drag in a deep breath.
I grit my teeth, steeling myself for whatever is to come.
"Your mother– Khadijah is in the ICU."
"What happened? Is she sick? Did she have an accident?"
Ola raises her head instantly and fixes her eyes on me, alert, anxious.
Baba sighs deeply over the phone. "Saheed, she attempted suicide. She slit her own wrists and overdosed on sleeping medications."
***
The moment the car stops, I bolt out, leaving Ola in the driver's seat. She had not only insisted on coming along, but also on driving. In a few seconds I have sprinted through the front doors of the private hospital Baba had directed us to.
I meet my father in the waiting room. He is seated in the corner, arms folded, his chin resting on his chest.
Defeat.
My heart can't rise any further past my throat, and so I gulp heavily.
"Baba."
He looks up at me slowly and manages a small smile. "Ah. Welcome. I should have waited till tomorrow to tell you."
"She may not love me anymore...but she is my mother."
Baba averts his gaze, scanning the room. "Is that Ola I see over there?"
Ola materializes beside me and takes my hand in hers. The contact is reassuring, a reminder that she is here for me in this trying time.
"Hello Khalif. I haven't seen you in a while."
"You are a sight for sore eyes, Ola. It is nice to see you again."
We both sit beside Baba, with myself between him and Ola.
"What happened?" I ask.
Baba signs deeply. "Her domestic staff called me an hour ago. She noticed that Khadijah had not come out from her room for dinner. Remember, no locks were installed in her apartment because of her– because of her condition..."
Baba trails off and sighs again, his eyes focusing on nothing.
A pang in my chest hits me like thunder, but I choose to ignore it.
"She's wedged her vanity table behind the door. That huge, oak vanity table she loved so much...Khadijah had moved it while the staff was in the kitchen cooking. She was unconscious when they found her. Khadijah–"
Baba stops right there and buries his face in his palms. Breathing heavily, shaking his head, fighting his grief and pain. I place my hand on his shoulder.
"What kind of illness is this, Saheed? How can grief do this to her, to us? How can it tear her inside, shred Khadijah, take my wife and turn her into something else? What have I done wrong, where did I go wrong?"
"You didn't do anything wrong, Baba."
I did. I did everything wrong.
"Neither did you. I know what you're thinking, but you didn't do anything wrong," he says passionately.
I shrug and look away from him, straight ahead, seeing but not looking.
"I made a mistake, calling you. But I was so shocked and I didn't know what else to do."
"She's my mother, Baba. You made no mistake."
"She's stable. They're pumping the drugs out of her. Wounds have been treated and dressed. She's also getting a blood transfusion.She will be out of it for a day or two, but she's currently stable."
"That's a relief."
If you hadn't gotten Ibrahim killed, we wouldn't be here.
A young male nurse walks into the waiting room and calls our surname. We both rise and follow him out of the waiting room to the reception.
"I'll handle the bills," I insist.
It's the least I can do. After all, I caused this mess.
We are walking back towards the waiting room when the male nurse returns with a small plastic bag. Baba accepts it gratefully.
"Her jewelries."
"The...sui– note– is inside," the young man stutters, apparently realizing he had made a mistake. He turns on his heel and walks away quickly.
"What note?" I ask.
"It's nothing, son. Let's go back to the waiting room."
"No, I want to know what note he spoke about."
Baba clenches his jaw a few times, his eyes turning to steel. But that look doesn't work on me, and I mirror his expression.
"Did Ma write a suicide note?" I demand.
My father, who had taught me to avoid telling lies all my life, is at loss for words. Standing by the entrance to the waiting room, we forget everyone around us, both of us so focused on each other.
"Tell me."
"I shouldn't have called you here..."
"Please."
"She wrote a note. Would you like to see it?"
"I want to hear it from you."
Baba takes a deep breath. "She wrote about how much she misses Ibrahim and the days we were a family. She apologized for the way she is, and confessed that she can not live like this anymore," Baba says in a low voice.
I wait with bated breath, a small part of me knowing that isn't all.
"She spoke about the unending sadness and anger, and how some days she would feel fine and other days so lost, she'd cry herself to sleep or go into moments of rage so intense, she'd turn her entire apartment upside down. She mentioned dreams of the day Ibrahim died–"
I know how much it hurts my father to tell me this; his voice is so full of emotion, it emanates in the air around him. But I am selfish in these moments, wanting to hear everything without touching the note for fear that it may burn me.
"And how he sometimes visits her. She wrote that while she is sorry for what she put you through, she also blames you for his death, Saheed. And for hers."
I am uncertain that a word exists to describe how you can know a truth in the back of your mind, but still have it rock your world and shake your core upon its revelation.
My blood begins to roar in my ears and everything seems to be hazy. The floor seems to tremble. The plastic bag falls from my father's hand, and he embraces me, supporting me with his body.
"Saheed listen to me," Baba whispers fiercely. "Listen. Your mother is mentally ill; she is schizophrenic and bipolar, and we both know you didn't take that razor and slit her wrists."
Well, isn't that comforting.
"Chin up, you're a man. Don't let Ola see you like this. You hear me?"
"I hear you."
"This was a terrible mistake. I wish–"
"For crying out loud, Baba, you did the right thing."
"I want you to go back home, get some rest. Khadijah is in good hands. I will call you tomorrow morning."
Look at what I did to you, Baba. The love of your life has become something else. How can you not blame me?
"I'm staying here with you," I object.
"Who will take Ola home? Will you let her stay awake here? Because we both know that she won't leave if you're still here."
I straighten my spine. "I'll go. But I'll be back tomorrow morning."
"Saheed..." Baba shakes his head. "You may want to stay away. The doctors suggested that seeing you again may worsen Khadijah's state. As soon as she recovers physically, she'll be sent to rehab."
"Oh."
"I'm sorry, son. You don't deserve this. I know you want to support her in any way you can, but at this point you'll have to step back, for both your sakes."
Saheed, son of Shaitan. Stay away from me! Get out! Leave us! Leave Amina alone! You've done so much damage!
I see her in my mind, screaming at me, pulling her own hair, her face contorted in rage. Amina, standing between us, using herself as a shield. Myself at twenty-one, frozen and as terrified as the boy she had abused physically and emotionally.
We'll never get past this, will we? Me, your poison. Your nemesis. I come close, and you wilt further.
"Do you understand?" He asks slowly, his voice now soft.
My father and I share a long look, both of us trying to make sense of our emotions. Once again I am struck by how it is like looking at a reflection of myself, albeit older, more stressed and world-weary.
"I understand."
A/N: Whew it's been a minute.
-I feel bad for Saheed 🥺
-Also: did you listen to the first song? Omg e choke.
-Saheed, Ola and myself want to thank you for your patience. We appreciate every one of you.
-I did a little research on Schizophrenia and Bipolar disorder for this chapter; and it's fitting that we just concluded Mental Illness Awareness Week.
-Take your mental health seriously, and don't forget to vote ❤️