Ola:
Nervous, I smack my lips to spread the watermelon-flavoured lip gloss I have applied. Earlier, I had put on a light layer of foundation and powder, filled my eyebrows, and lined my eyes with black pigment. With my hair in a high puff, I smile at the thought, fineapple.
How will tonight go?
I had been obstinate with Saheed yesterday, trying to cover up for what I had felt when he had whispered into my ear, "I missed you too, baby."
I had shivered.
It must have been the close proximity, or the way he had lowered his voice, or the strength and warmth rolling off him in waves, or the way he had held me so intimately...
He sure is a great actor.
After the meeting at his suite, I had avoided him at all costs, communicating only through WhatsApp. I had driven myself to my own apartment in Ikeja, where I had stayed for the rest of the day going over designs for my menswear brand, my latest pet project.
And now I was nervous about meeting him again, this time in the presence of Nonye.
The thought of my friend brings up some annoyance. It was her fault, for getting me into this situation. Because of her, I had slipped and lied, and now I am taking the lie further. Because of her, I had rushed and hugged Saheed, called him Zaddy. And because of her, I am going on a date when I would rather be at home, watching a movie on Iroko TV or a shark documentary on NatGeo Wild.
After my past relationship, Nonye had been almost as hurt as I was, and furious. Then came the fallout with my father, which worsened my case. Even after Nonye moved to Canada, she had tried everything to get me into another relationship in the hopes that I would be distracted, but that hadn't worked.
I slip on my footwear, a pair of dark green satin shoes with bowties at the front, and four-inch heels. Standing in front of my full length mirror, I smooth a hand over the front of my fitted, little black dress, made of cotton with a turtleneck and elbow-length sleeves.
"We are on our way," Nonye tells me over the phone while I leave my apartment.
"Same. See you in fifteen minutes."
"Saheed is there already. Imagine how punctual he is? So different from-"
"I've got to go now, see you."
You talk too much, Nonyerem.
The Venue is a posh restaurant with branches in major parts of Lagos State that serves local Nigerian cuisine with so much finesse, you won't be pissed about paying thousands of Naira for a plate of rice. In fact, you are more likely to thank them for the smaller ration. I always joke to myself that patrons also pay for the air conditioner and perfect lighting for perfect photos with a touch of that 'abroad' filter.
After stepping out of my car and handing the keys to the valet, I am ushered into the beautiful, intimate but artfully spaced area that is the dining room of The Venue. The waiter leads me towards the end of the area where a secluded table sits. I spot Nonny, with her big hair and colourful make up.
"Here she comes," my friend announces excitedly.
One of the three people seated is Saheed, who stands upand turns to greet me, his face a cool mask. My breath hitches in my throat as I take in the sight of him.
He is dressed in a white cotton turtlenecked shirt, topped with a navy blue blazer. Black chinos, navy blue suede loafers. An unshaven jaw covered with a shadow, hairline artfully carved, hair brushed neatly, adorning his scalp in waves.
He is the very picture of Sweet Boys Association. Falz should have added him to his video.
"Ola," he greets me, his voice smooth. He moves forward and envelopes me in a hug, and before I can react, places a smacking kiss on my lips, his arms wrapped around my waist, holding me dangerously close to himself.
"Two love birds," my friend sighs at the sight.
I feel my face burn, feel my stomach drop, feel my heart beat erratically. I am made aware of the loss of warmth when Saheed releases me, leaving me in a cloud of his masculine scent and my lips tingling from that brief contact.
I will kill him.
"Ola, are you okay?" Nonye asks, her brows dancing on her face.
"Yes," I breathe.
"She missed me," Saheed jokes.
The man beside Nonye laughs, drawing my attention from my thoughts about ranting to Saheed later tonight. He is very dark, darker than Nonye, with a clean-shaven face and hair in cornrows on the top of his head, while the surrounding scalp sports a fade cut.
Hair cut ndi fuckboy? I wonder.
Nonye's date is handsome, and that knowledge shows in his smile towards me, in the way he cocks a brow and stretches out a hand for me to shake.
"Mark Anthony Opara," he introduces himself, not giving Nonye a chance to do the formalities.
"Hello, Mark Anthony. I'm Ola."
"I've heard so much about you from Nonye."
I look at my friend, who beams proudly from beside Mark Anthony. "Good things, I hope."
"And funny too."
After a meal of white rice and ofada stew, a bottle of wine is popped by Saheed, before he graciously pours some into our elegant, crystal cups. He holds back the flow when it gets to my turn, barely filling half of my cup.
"You're recuperating, my love," he tells me with a wink.
But I'm too suspicious to believe that's his only reason. Nonye distracts me from my reply by calling my name.
"Can I talk to you in the ladies room, Ola? After a bit?"
I try not to blink rapidly, because that's what I do when I'm caught in a lie. Has she figured it out? Is she suspicious? Damn, she's too fast, this friend of mine! "When you're ready."
"Tell me, Anthony, how did you two meet?" Saheed is asking Mark Anthony.
Mark Anthony smirks and says, "She maxed out her credit card at one kind boutique like that in Canada, and asked to borrow mine."
"Actually, that-" Nonye chips in.
"Shut up, I'm talking here," he tells her aggressively.
Nonye looks down at her lap, suddenly silent. I raise my brows in surprise and look over at Saheed, who is giving Mark Anthony a hard glare.
"I'm sorry, baby," he tells my best friend, reaching for her hand.
Bruh, what am I witnessing? I ask myself. I'll need to ask Nonye if everything is really alright. I shoot Mark Anthony a glare, before rising to my feet.
"Nonye, I have a message for you from my father."
Slowly, Saheed turns to look at me, a brow raised, almost like he's saying, 'That is the worst lie I've ever heard.'
Nonye follows me to the ladies room, a space filled with bright lights, polished mirrors, and stalls big enough to house a family of three.
"Is everything okay with Mark?" I query.
"Of course, why are you asking?" she replies with a smile.
I know my friend very well. I can tell the forcefulness of her smile, I can see the little twitching movements of her cheeks. She is lying.
For all her toughness, Nonyerem is able to endure to save face. That was how she snuck in a waist trainer when we were in secondary school, and while we all complimented her figure, we were unaware that she was starving and asphyxiating herself until she fainted during our home economics. We had tried to remove her uniform and were shocked to see the waist trainer, hooked at the last point. Angry, I had used a pair of scissors to destroy the waist trainer.
"Is Mark Anthony..."
"This is for you," she interrupts, producing a gold, embossed envelope.
"What is it?"
She looks down at her feet. "He said I should give you."
My heart picks up its pace as I accept the piece of fancy paper. It has my name on it, in a familiar handwriting, slanted, elegant, written in dark blue ink: Ola.
Slowly, I open the envelope and pull out the card. A gasp escapes my lips. Tears fill my eyes instantly, and I feel a sudden surge of anger towards myself, for feeling this way, for letting this get to me.
I'm over this. I'm over him.
"He mailed this to me and demanded that I give it to you. I didn't want to, but I didn't know if you would like to find out from someone else..." Nonye is saying, but her voice trails off because I have stopped listening.
My mind is taking me back to the previous year, to a time when all that mattered in the world to me was him. Rexford.
Remembering him leaves me with a bitter taste in my mouth. I suddenly start to feel foolish, shameful, and furious at the same time.
"I'm glad you delivered the message," I reassure Nonye. But she doesn't believe me, and she stares at me, confused that my voice is calm, not the chaos she was expecting. I see guilt on her face, and I understand that she never meant to pass on the message; she just brought this up so I would take my mind off her relationship with Mr. Fine Boy Mark Anthony.
"You could ignore the invitation. It doesn't concern you. He just wanted to hurt you one last time..." my friend is saying.
But I have taken my mind off her, I am moving my body towards the mirrors to examine myself. I apply lip balm, pull a little at my hair, and practice a smile.
"I wish him all the best, Nonye. Saheed is waiting for me."
Saheed looks up towards me as I approach, his eyes asking questions. I nod and settle beside him.
"Saheed and I were discussing architecture," Mark Anthony tells me. "He says he runs a consulting firm."
"Hmm," is all I can manage, before reaching out for the champagne bottle in the centre of the table. I fill my glass while Saheed watches me, attentive to my every move. He also watches while I drain the glass and fill it up, repeating the action.
Nonye comes forward and takes her seat beside her beau, who raises her hand to his lips and kisses it gently.
Can't convince me, I think to myself. I need something stronger. When last did I taste alcohol in the form of spirits?
I rise abruptly. "I'll be right back, you guys. Give me a few minutes."
"Ola," Saheed speaks.
"Five minutes, I promise. I want to use the ladies room- again."
However, I manuever my way to the private bar down the hallway from the ladies room. It is a dimly lit room that smells faintly of polished wood, cigar smoke, and alcohol. Low, classical music plays from hidden speakers, soothing my ears the moment I step in. Asides from the counter lined with high stools, there are brown overstuffed couches arranged around low tables. The combination gives the room an overall ambience.
"Good evening, Madame," the bartender greets me. He is a white man, well-built with his brown hair slicked back. His eyes are a startling green, his face clean-shaven.
"Good evening," I reply. "Give me your strongest drink."
He nods, obviously used to having slender women request for the strongest brand of alcohol to potentially knock them out. I watch as he pours the brown liquid into a short glass for me.
"More," I demand when he stops pouring. He hesitates this time and tips the bottle over for about two seconds.
"You come alone, Madame?" He asks, concerned.
I notice his accent and his use of English. Definitely not native.
"I was born alone," I reply, although I know it makes no sense.
The effects of alcohol are more pronounced if you take significant quantities at once. With this knowledge, and the knowledge that people are somewhere waiting for me and I might end up a mess after this...I throw back my head and gulp down the contents of the cup.
My throat and chest burn immediately. Tears sting my eyes. The drink settles in my stomach like lava, hot and volatile.
"Another one," I tell the bartender.
He looks around the bar, hoping that maybe, one of the few occupants is here with me.
"Bartender. Hey."
He grudgingly obliges me, but pours a lesser amount. I push it back as well, closing my eyes as the drink burns my insides a second time.
"No more for you, Madame," he says.
"Okay, last one. Please?"
With a solemn not, he tips the bottle over for a few seconds, but I push its neck low when he tried to raise it, and with a mischevious giggle, swipe the cup out of his reach. Surprised, the bartender stands and watches while I gulp it down.
"You want to get drunk," he observes, a frown on his face.
It amuses me that he is appalled by this. Maybe it's because I'm female, because I know that one of the purposes of a bar is to sell alcohol that helps people forget their worries.
"You really shouldn't bother. I'm a customer. If you keep doing this to every miserable customer, you'll be at a loss," I reprimand, pointing a finger at him.
"Did you come alone?"
"Are you French?" I question. "You sound French."
"Yes. I come from Marseille."
"What are you doing, bartending in Nigeria?"
He smiles. "This is temporary job."
"I see."
A hand touches my shoulder from behind and I turn abruptly, shocked.
"What are you doing here?" Saheed demands, his face in a frown.
"What do people do in bars?"
His eyes fall on my empty glass. "How much have you had?"
"Not enough."
"What's going on? Did anyone upset you?"
"I'm fine." I turn to the bartender. "Merci beaucoup..."
"Jean-André, Madame."
"Jean-André. Nice name."
"Merci, Madame. Au revoir."
"Wait, your money." I search all around me for my purse, but can't find it.
Saheed digs a hand into his pocket, but Jean-Andrè stops him with, "No worries, Madame, Monseiur. The drinks, on me."
"Thank you, Jean-Andrè. You have been such a sweetheart."
He smiles at me and give a little wave. Saheed thanks him with a smile but his eyes harden when they land on me.
I slide off the stool, hoping my legs are not too rubbery. Saheed moves to support me, but I pull away with a huff. "I'll be fine."
"You're upset. And so you turned to alcohol to help you."
"Or I was craving a drink on my own?"
He remains silent, walking beside me until we get back to our table in the main room, where Nonye and Mark Anthony are deep in conversation.
"Did you miss me?" I ask them cheekily.
"That was one long bathroom break," Mark Anthony tells me.
"What took you so long?" Nonye queries.
I settle in my seat a bit noisily and sigh. While they continue their discussion and Saheed joins, I withdraw into my thoughts.
Rex is getting married. To the girl he cheated on me with. It is a typical representation of one of those Twitter memes that joke about losing the love of your life to the person he or she told you not to worry about. He gets to the the knot, and here I am, pretending to be in a relationship with a stranger because I'm so desperate for validation from my friends and family.
This isn't how to move on.
Just get out of this while you still can. Confess to Nonye, and forget it. Free yourself and Saheed from this nonsense.
After dessert is served, I listen to their conversation, not really understanding wjat they are talking about. Their voices sound distant, like I'm listening from the other side of a closed door.
"Ola."
My eyes focus on Saheed, who is holding my hand and looking at me, concern showing in his amber eyes.
"Baby, are you sure you're alright?"
My insides quiver at the endearment. But this is just pretend. Tomorrow we'll part ways and I'll be alone again. What's the point?
I laugh. "Just thinking, that's all."
A slow smile spreads across his face. It is such a sight to behold, that I just want to touch his cheeks and feel the texture.
The alcohol is getting to me. Hard.
Vaguely, I hear Mark Anthony say he is ready to depart. In a minute, Saheed is helping me to my feet, picking my purse for me.
"Ola is still recuperating, so I think we'll call it a night. Thank you for the invitation, Nonye. Let's do this some other time, no?" I hear him say.
You could win an AMVCA for this, Saheed.
"What?" Nonye asks.
Suddenly they're all staring at me in confusion. I blink rapidly, realising that I had said my thoughts out loud. "No, erm..." I stutter.
Saheed laughs. "It's a joke between us, don't mind her."
Outside on the well-lit parking lot, the cool night air caresses my face. I suddenly find my puff too tight and I reach up to release my hair. It tumbles down my shoulders, a confused mass of curls.
I need to talk to my friend. I need to tell her the truth. I can't do this anymore. The alcohol in my system is making me bold enough to make this move. I've never been one to lie, I've always been a bad liar, and how she hasn't figured ththis particular one out yet is a mystery to me.
Or has she?
"Nonye."
She turns away from her boyfriend and walks up to me. "Ola, I'm sorry I told you-"
"No, follow me. There's something important I need to tell you, in private."
I avoid Saheed's piercing gaze and drag Nonye a few yards away. My legs feel wobbly, my sight is impaired, but somehow I navigate myself.
"You're not going to Rexford's wedding, are you?" She asks suspiciously. "You know your head can touch."
"Nonye-"
"To think he married that useless Onyinye, imagine. After cheating. After the verbal abuse. That woman will suffer in his hands, I know it."
I can feel her anger rising by the second. She had almost fought Rexford after our break up, and is quick to express her dislike for him anytime she thinks of him.
"Nonye, I'm over it. And him."
"I don't think so. You were totally out of it tonight. You are acting weird."
Everywhere spins for a moment. "Nonye, Saheed and I-"
"Don't tell me you're breaking up. Isn't it too early?" She gasps.
Would she let me speak, for fuck's sake? I think to myself. My friend makes a surprised sound, and I know that I have spoken my thoughts aloud again.
"Sorry."
"You're drunk, aren't you? I knew it."
"Nonye, listen to me!"
"That's enough, Ola. You need to rest," Saheed's voice comes from behind me.
A strong arm snakes itself around my waist unexpectedly, pulling me against him. At once I am distracted, turning my head to look up at Saheed.
"I have to tell her," I whine.
"Nonye, we are not breaking up," he reassures her. "What she's trying to say, is that we will be attending Rexford's wedding ceremony. It is impolite to turn down an invitation to share in someone's joy, isn't it, my love?"
Oh no oh no oh no oh no. Was I that loud? Or was he eavesdropping?
We stare at each other. I am transfixed, lost, panicked and frozen at the same time.
"Oh," Nonye lets out, perplexed.
"What better way to show she's moved on to something better with someone better, hmm?" Saheed questions, before lowering his head and capturing my lips with his.
That fire spreads again, from my belly to every part of my body. His kiss seems to convey his annoyance towards me. I find myself enjoying the experience, melting into him. My hand grabs a fistful of his shirt, and I vaguely wonder if it's to hold him in place or to stop him.
"This is petty, but I like it," Nonye squeals, snapping me out of my reverie.
"Ola sneaked into the bar while we were eating. She had a ton of alcohol, and so I must take her home now. She will call you when she's done suffering from her hang over, alright?" He adds smoothly, taking advantage of my stunned silence.
"I knew it," my friend says triumphantly. I'm reminded of Nigerian mothers and their I told you so victories.
To my surprise, Saheed scoops me up into his arms like a baby, cradling me. Too tired to argue, I place my arms around his neck. It feels so good to have him this close to me.
"Good night, Nonye," I mumble. As we pass Mark Anthony who has been on his phone throughout the whole encounter, I wave weakly at him. He waves back, a smile on his face. "I don't like him," I whisper to Saheed.
"Right now, I don't like you, either," he replies gruffly.
"At least we have something in common."
A/N: Long time, no see.
What do you think about attending an ex's wedding, especially if you were invited? Too nice? Petty? Idk lol.
And did I tell you guys that Preordained is available on the Okadabooks app? Head over to the link in my bio for a copy!