Since the antispam bot has decided not to let me be, on my former thread, I’ll try to see the positive side of the situation, that being: Its ascertainment of my need to start a new thread. So yes, welcome guys to my very first not-so-short story. As of my typing this, I have no idea of the word length approximation, if it’s going to be a novella, or a sequel, or a novel or whatever, I’m just going to take it as it goes (write it as it comes). That said, another issue is erm updating…my updates might be not so frequent as you all are used to (as per other NL writers). Had to straighten that out.

But, I’d try my very best to update at most (I know you’re expecting at least ) once every week, I’d try to compensate for this by making each update quite lengthy (say 1000 words? 1500?) and yes, you guys are not in any way obligated to comment (scaredy-cat is just wary of being badgered to post more updates) although CONSTRUCTIVE criticisms are highly welcomed (notice the emphasis of the constructive? ). All that been duly noted, welcome once again, and I hope you enjoy your stay.


And lest I forget…update starts in two days.

See you all around, Cheers.

Copyright © 2017
This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed are the work of the author’s imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All right reserved @ DebbieTiyan. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.

When Antispambot attacks just send a mail to the mods

Divepen1:
When Antispambot attacks just send a mail to the mods

mailed the super mods, first time...they fixed it. I guess subsequently (two more times) they got tired of my yapping.

Debbietiyan:

mailed the super mods, first time...they fixed it. I guess subsequently (two more times) they got tired of my yapping.

Ndo.. Just mail mod on this section. We'll handle it.

Divepen1:
Ndo.. Just mail mod on this section. We'll handle it.

Alright lemme mail you , Thanks Divepen1

Prologue



Falling in love was never my forte. You could say I was a believer in all things practical, and love, for me, wasn’t. I had had crushes on guys – ones even spanning the designated three months, I had been in relationships, but I never felt the breathtaking, heart crushing, earthquake-inducing feelings being described in romance novels. How I hated those books. The only thing I despised worse than them was the ‘Happily Ever After’ phrase. The thought that one could find solemnity in such frivolous hocus pocus, was far beyond me. As far as I was concerned, I was a practical woman, hoping to get married to a respectable man with family values and having two reasonable kids who wouldn’t believe in the absurdities of inventory folklore.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________



My last relationship ended barely a month after it had begun. It was hardly any fault of mine. Tochukwu had the worst case of roving eyes I had ever seen, or even heard of. He was as quirky as he was handsome. The only reason I dated him, was the quality of genes I felt would be passed down to my – our children if we eventually got married. We met at a friend’s party. He happened to be the emcee of the event and I remember vividly, been drawn to his languid mannerism. I, however, didn’t throw pathetic glances and inane smiles as did my obnoxious female counterparts. He walked up to me after the party and we got talking, turned out he was the first cousin of my friend. Although I’m leery of giving out my numbers to guys I meet at parties and clubs – sly, smooth-talking devilish ones most especially. I bent my rules a little and gave my number (main line) to him, my silly justifying reason then, being…he was related to a good friend and was therefore not a total stranger. Each morning after that, I awoke to the gentle buzzing of my phone. He sent me beautiful albeit Google-lifted messages. I chose to forgive his tactlessness and appreciate the gesture. The latter was quite difficult. I couldn’t help but imagine how many millions of ladies, myself included, having the same professed message sitting in our various inboxes. Some inexperienced ones, actually believing it. Resignedly, I chose to ignore them. Not everyone could be as poetically gifted as my second boyfriend Chisom. Although, I never believed a word he said.

Special invite goes to my fav persons on NL Jeffreyjamez, Royver, Alennsar, and yes, the first set of people who made me feel welcome here: Nobody, Oluwabuqqyyolo, Adroitvezy

It's finally happening.

My fellow Nlanders, you are all invited too.

Debbietiyan:
Special invite goes to my fav persons on NL Jeffreyjamez, Royver, Alennsar, and yes, the first set of people who made me feel welcome here: Nobody Oluwabuqqyyolo, Adroitvezy

It's finally happening.

My fellow Nlanders, you are all invited too.

(Drives in)

I'm here

CHAPTER ONE



My name is Anita Okorie, and as I like to add, I am the most practical person I know. There are many things I have to be grateful for in this life, one of which is my adroit understanding of the male species. Maybe a little thanks is due to my dad Ejiro Smith. The unsimilarity in our names is due to the fact that I bear my Mom’s name, Tabitha Okorie. The reason is quite cliché, they were married for barely twelve years when my Mom discovered he had another family apart from us and the worse part of it was, we were the other family. Fortunately, I happen to be an optimist who sees at least one good in every bad circumstance. Then I learned my first profound lesson in life: “Men Lie.” Seeing as I am veracious enough to recognize the biasness this statement could cause, I’d rephrase it, especially now that I am older and more considerate: “Humans lie, but mens' are pathological.” It simply can’t be helped. That first lesson has seen me through a lot, even till date, nine years after I learnt it. And as a practical person that I am, I’d prove it to you with two experiences. The first of which was gotten through my Dad.

Most people wonder how ignorant my mom and I could have been, to not have noticed the little signs of unfaithfulness my dad must have left trailing. Truth is, there were hardly any. Reason is, He is a pathological liar (still is, a leopard never changes it spots).

Growing up in the first decade of my life, Dad travelled a lot. According to him, he was a travel agent (it’s obvious why it made sense to me then, and you can guess why now I don’t take words at face value). There was always an explanation for every question that popped up. For instance, once when he wore the same cloth for more than two times in a week to work, because he didn’t have enough corporate wears, Mom asked, “Why wouldn’t let me shop for you?” and he responded. “I am a man, we don’t need these things.” And then when he came back from a said business travel, with different set of cloths, Mom would ask, “Why do you only buy stuffs when you travel?” he would say, “Caught my fancy, couldn’t help it.”

It only made sense to us (myself and mom), when he had been caught and Mom discovered his first wife had access to his account, and every dime he spent wasn’t lost on her. The fact that he opened another account in my Mom’s name and left her in change of every expense also made sense too, his first wife wouldn’t get suspicious because of irrelevant spending, and Mom too wouldn’t have to bump into any documentation of his other account (this went both ways). I guess maintaining two families was so demanding, he didn’t want to add extra expenses by buying things he didn’t need (good thing his lying expertise came in handy).

Even though till date no one knows the exact work he does.

Another example is, when Mom would complain that she couldn’t find most of the cloths he travelled with, as he mostly came back without them, he would reply. “John took them.” John was his imaginary brother (don’t ask why we didn’t question his absence from the wedding album, because Mom did, although that’s a topic for another day). But sometimes when the ‘John-took-them’ line wouldn’t fit, like when Mom asked why he got the exact of two shirts, he’d say. ”I got it in two, in case john decided to take one.”

When asked why John never came over but always seemed eager to visit him only on business trips, he’d sign, shake his head solemnly and say something in the lines of “That one, ever since he’d lost his girlfriend to childbirth, he’s a bit touchy about family, but he’ll soon come around.”

My Mom was never one to hold on to an argument. Still isn’t.

The list is endless, and naming them tale after tale, would lead to the exhaustion of the country’s supply of ink and paper. So I’d go next to another experience I had. This so happened to be my first boyfriend Kelechi, a relationship I won’t be forgetting in a long while.

Although it’ll hardly qualify as a relationship, seeing it lasted for barely a week.

JeffreyJamez:


(Drives in)

I'm here

Welcome

Unfortunately, there is nothing outstanding about him, so I’d just go straight to the most significant lie he ever told (to me anyways).

If you can’t love me, I’d commit suicide.

Seems like the everyday boy meets girl, falls hopelessly in love goto pick-up line. But this was a little more than that, and a whole lot more pathetic.

We met three years ago, in one of the little halls of my school cum Jamb tutorial center. I’d state the time, but that’ll mean indulging too much importance to our fleeting relationship time together. There were a lot of new faces, hardly anyone familiar, because most of my set mate were either busy touring the country or taking time to cool off from their high school experience while gathering momentum for throes of college life. He was one of the new faces. I remember seeing him about two weeks after I had started.

It all started with a compliment.

“I like the way you speak.”

There was nothing wrong with smiling back at the utterance of an outspoken fact. Though if I hadn’t let vanity get the most part of me, I’d have realized I had never spoken a word to him before.

“Thank you.” I replied, smiling.

Somewhere along the line of vainly waiting for the chemistry tutor to show up, our conversation had proceeded to:

Me: “…oh, I’m not really a fan of sports but I was in the track team here in high school.”

Kelechi: “No wonder you have such wonderful legs.”

I should have noticed the red flag, but then again… I do have wonderful legs.

Me: laughing “How about you? You look athletic enough.”

Kelechi: “I dance.”

Me: “Woah, that’s unexpected, never would have guessed.”

Kelechi: “You don’t watch much television, do you?”

Me: “Not much. Why?”

Kelechi: “I have a band, we actually came in third place on Step up Revolution season 4. Massive show, aired on fifteen channels.”

Given my social lacking then, I actually swallowed that hook, line, and sinker. When I watched the movie four months ago, I shot myself in the foot (figuratively).

Me: “Maybe one of these days, I get to watch you perform.”

Kelechi: “Or, you could just come watch us rehearse.”

Me: “That’ll be cool.”

The only performance I saw him act out, was three weeks after and it had nothing to do with dancing. Turned out he was not only a liar but also a very skillful actor.

Debbietiyan:
Special invite goes to my fav persons on NL Jeffreyjamez, Royver, Alennsar, and yes, the first set of people who made me feel welcome here: Nobody, Oluwabuqqyyolo, Adroitvezy

It's finally happening.

My fellow Nlanders, you are all invited too.

thanks a bunch for d mention.

Alennsar:


thanks a bunch for d mention.

thanks for stopping by.

Debbietiyan:
Special invite goes to my fav persons on NL Jeffreyjamez, Royver, Alennsar, and yes, the first set of people who made me feel welcome here: Nobody, Oluwabuqqyyolo, Adroitvezy

It's finally happening.

My fellow Nlanders, you are all invited too.

I've been busy, dear. Sorry I just got here. I'll read and offer my thoughts. Read my ongoing piece too via my signature.

OluwabuqqyYOLO:

I've been busy, dear. Sorry I just got here. I'll read and offer my thoughts. Read my ongoing piece too via my signature.

Thanks, sure will .

Debbietiyan:
Special invite goes to my fav persons on NL Jeffreyjamez, Royver, Alennsar, and yes, the first set of people who made me feel welcome here: Nobody, Oluwabuqqyyolo, Adroitvezy

It's finally happening.

My fellow Nlanders, you are all invited too.

Thanks, I'm in.

Debbietiyan:


Thanks, sure will .

Please come continue. You, dear, never disappoint. I like this.

adroitvezy:

Thanks, I'm in.

welcome

OluwabuqqyYOLO:

Please come continue. You, dear, never disappoints. I like this.

Aww, thank you... would, in few days time. I want to make the thread update consistent by updating once weekly.

We exchanged numbers, and from then on hung out during lessons as prospective good friends. Two days after we had taken the exam, I got a call from him. He sounded really depressed. I asked him what the problem was, and he said it wasn’t something that could be discussed on the phone. We arranged to meet the next day at the restaurant closest to my place.

I really didn’t think anything about it that night, just waved it off as post-jamb stress.

He looked pretty normal the next day even though he acted more courteous than usual. “Thanks for seeing me.” He said as soon as I plunked down on the chair directly opposite him.

Like I had an option. “It’s nothing. What’s the problem?”

He was unusually calm, “How about we order something first?”

By then, I had already guessed our meeting had nothing to do with what I had first assumed it was. “I’m fine. Just ate lunch.”

“Drink?”

“Urm, Yoghurt would do.”

He stood up and walked to the counter, when he returned, he abandoned his former position, lifting his seat and placing it about 5cm away from where I sat.

I smiled, and added an extra 5cm between us.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I just…you know…like my space.”

“Can I see your hand?”

“Why? Are you a palm reader or something?”

He laughed, and gently placed my hands in his. Kneading them in turns, he looked at me. “Your hands are icy.”

“And so is my heart.”

He didn’t react. Just stared me right in the eyes and whispered, “I’m falling in love with you.”

As much as I hate to admit, I did blush. Prior to that, I had no experience in that matter whatsoever and so the day ended with me promising to get back to him with an answer, and with him hoping it’d be affirmative.

When I did get back to him, my answer wasn’t what he had hoped for.

He seemed to take it quite well, his only request was that we get to see one last time, in his words, “See for the last time, what I’d be losing to the lucky guy.”

As you already know, it wasn’t for the last time, but boy, did he come prepared.

Backed up with crying, was the mother of all Story that Touch, he showed me the scars of his last suicide attempt. Last, because according to him, he had attempted it twice. First was for the father that never cared, and the second was for the ex-girlfriend who ripped both half of his heart, and both of his pockets. Now, there was going to be a third, and this time…he assured me, was going to be successful. He had prepared a suicide note, and my name was boldly written on it.

And so, I said yes.

He was ecstatic, while I felt like Mother Theresa – bringing hope to the weary. He attempted to kiss me, nope, I wasn’t that cheerful. We parted that day with him feeling like he had won a lottery and me, feeling like I had just gotten twenty bags of Dangote cement placed on my shoulders.

I remember thinking, this must be what heroism feels like…draining, yet satisfying.

We chatted constantly from then on, mostly with him telling me of the heartaches he had to suffer as a result of the fake friends he amassed due to his Dad’s wealth, and how he had had to move away from home because he couldn’t stand the philandering behavior of his father.

It wasn’t until five days later when I had gone to check my results that the bubble burst. I ran into Jethro, a family friend of ours. He too had come to check his. We both made it, and so we decided cheering ourselves with a plate of ice-cream wasn’t out of place.

We strolled to Crunches, which happened to be about five-minutes-walk from the cyber café. Getting in, of all the people to run into, it was Kelechi.

He wasn’t alone, resting snugly beside him was a girl not much older than myself.

I was about to walk up to him, when Jethro noticing the direction I was staring, went: “Bad guy, whatsup nah, it don tay o!”

Kelechi looked momentarily lost but was quick enough. Standing up, he nodded curtly at me and hammered a thundering high five to the outstretched hand of Jethro. “My man, I dey.” He looked at me, smiled and turned to Jethro. “This your babe fine o.”

I wondered if I had developed eye problem but was only just then noticing it.

“She’s my friend, more like a younger sister.” He nodded at the seated figure beside us, she waved. “Your chikito fine too sha.”

“You know me na.”

“Kelechi?”

Jethro turned and stared at me, “You know him?”

Kelechi stared confusedly at me, and then as if recalling something. “Bros, she must be referring to Ken.”

“Who’s Ken” Jethro asked.

“My twin.”

“Twin keh,” Jethro repeated incredulously.

That was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

I grabbed Jethro’s hand and drew him tagging behind me. When we got out of the building, the first thing he said was, “That dude would never change.” He turned to me, “Oya spill.”

Spill I did, and we didn’t get the Ice-cream later on because if we had, Jethro would definitely have choked to death.

Next update in a couple of hours.

CHAPTER TWO



I am not a believer of the school of thought which holds first impressions are always right, neither do I buy the idea that one’s character could be deduced from the company one keeps, or that birds of the same feather flock together. I am mostly not a believer of anything conventional. Take for instance my closest friend Sophia, we have little or nothing in common. But the reason I enjoy our friendship is the fact that we complement each other wonderfully. We share almost nothing alike, starting from our physical appearances, down to our innate beliefs.

She, for one, is a helpless romantic while I am downright level-headed.

We have been friends for approximately three years and four months, roommates for about seven months out of those years.

It’s Friday evening. I’m lying on the sofa – the bed is too far off the window, trying to ignore the rattle she is making as she prepares for Damian’s dinner night when she yells my name.

“Nini!”

I fake a sign, “Sophia, not even you is allowed to call me that.”

“I’m your best friend, I’m allowed to call you anything. Now get over yourself, and come help me fasten this stupid zip.”

I look up from the book I’m reading and watch her struggle with the side of her turquoise blue gown, “Obviously that’s too small for you. Find something else.”

She stops pulling at the edges and glares down at me. “There’s a reason why events have a specific colour theme.”

“And there is a reason clothes come in varying sizes.” I stick out my tongue.

“Point noted.” She says, “Now, are you going to help me or not?”

I get up and walk to where she standing by the closet with both hands grabbing at the sides of her ankle length gown. “Is it just me or have you gotten shorter?”

“Dey there dey feel yourself.”

Sophia is just three inches shorter than I am, and what she lacks in height, she makes up for in curves. With a yelp from her, I fasten the edges together.

“How do I look?” she heaves.

Sophia is so light-skinned, every strain has her turning red. “Like you just came out of a boxing ring.”

“Why do I even bother with you?”

I laugh. “Because after me, na me.”

She sits on the stool and begins fitting her shoes. “Why aren’t you coming though? Chris would be disappointed. You know the reason he agreed to attend was that he thought you were coming.”

Chris, is the younger brother of Sophia’s boyfriend, Damian. I suspect that Sophia has been toying with the idea of us getting married to the same brothers. Her gooey eyed mentality on all things relationship is something I believe, I was sent to save her from.

“I didn’t tell him I was, and I don’t owe Chris anything,” and then so it doesn’t seem like I’m out rightly blowing him off, I add “besides, with you donned out like this, I’d just be looking like P.A near you.”

But she knows me too well.

“Uh huh, you’re not getting off that easily. It’s only an invitation, it’s not like he’s asking you out.”

“We both know how these things pan out, so why bother?”

“It’s worth trying.”

“Trying requires time and energy, both of which I am not willing to hand out.”

“We’ll talk about it when I return. I’m running late.” She bustles to her feet, half way through the door, she announces “Lock up early, I won’t be coming back tonight.”

“Like you had to say.” I sing out. She laughs and then click clanks her way down the hall.

I am two chapters into my odious practical manual, when my phone rings, almost giving me a heart attack, I can never get used to the blaring tone of my Itel torch. I feel for it on my bed, and blindly hit the answer button.

I hear the back-ground music and automatically guess who the caller is. “Hey.”

“Hey. You’re not here.”

Obviously.

“Yeah, I told you I had a paper to finish up.”

“I was really hoping you’d make it.”

“I told you not to get your hopes high.”

“Oh Anika – “

“It’s Anita.” I cut in.

“I haven’t forgotten tiger, you just remind me too much of her character in Empire. Cut throat, fierce, sassy and beautiful.”

“Do I?” I drag the words. I can’t wait to get off the phone with him.

He laughs. “Yes, even the way you talk.”

That was a rhetorical question, I want to add, but I reason that would just prolong the conversation. So instead, I ask: “Shouldn’t you be getting back to the party?”

“It’s not a party if you’re lonely, and the least I can do is talk to my date who’s…” I don’t hear the end of the statement, my phone is lying screen down on my pillow. He talks so much, he probably wouldn’t notice no one is on the other end of the line till about two minutes time.

I pick up my textbook, and mark the checkbox in my head which reads, never to indulge Sophia’s pleading of giving my number out to anyone.



Sophia saunters into the room and lands heartily on the bed. It’s a little past 11 am. She’s decked in a black jeans and white polo, her red braids flailing about her shoulders. “Guess who I saw at the supermarket today?”

“Who?” I ask,

“Darey”

“Mmm”

“Yes, and you wouldn’t believe who he came in with.”

It was really none of my business, but after what happened between us, I guess I’m still feeling pity towards him, that’s not to say he didn’t deserve it.”

“Uhm, a human being?”

“Nice one, it was Claudia. And they looked really cozy. After what you did to him, I thought he’d ever want to have anything thing to do with another girl.”

“What do you mean, It wasn’t that bad.” I reply, my voice somewhere between justification and acknowledgment.

“You flipped him over in a restaurant attended by 70 percent of campus population. You’re actually right, it was not bad” she makes a face like she’s thinking over the words and continues, “…it was terrible. Dude had his picture, as the faculty fan page profile pic for over a week.”
“P.O.C he lost his bearing. I didn’t in quote, flip him over.”

Darey was a feeler, and not in the literal sense. He was a guy who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, my choice of tense being because I hope he has learned his lessons and is now discreet with the female sex. We weren’t even dating or anything. He wasn’t even asking me out, we just had mutual friends. We saw at Orla, the restaurant closest to first campus and we went to take our order together. Then I felt his hand on my butt, I looked at him but he was talking to the sales girl whilst pointing to a glassed-snack box, so I assumed it was a mistake and let it slide. When we had both ordered, we turned to leave and his free hand flew to my waist in a bid to guide me to our seat. I indulged his enthusiasm. Next thing I felt his hand inside the back of my jean pocket. I nudged him in the rib, with my elbow. Hard. He slipped over a strewn chair and his tray of Chicken pepper soup came toppling over his jerry-curled hair. Definitely not flipping over.

“Whatever you say. By the way why weren’t you picking my calls yesterday?” she digs into her handbag and brings out her phone.

“You mean Chris’s call.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re even human. How did you know he asked me to call you?”

“Because I wasn’t picking his.”

“You sef. He really likes you. Lest I forget. I invited him over for lunch today.” She says casually.

“I didn’t know we had started business.”

“How do you mean?”

“I didn’t know we were running an eatery.”

She reaches to pull at my toes, “Don’t bail out on me. You needed to have seen him last night. I was feeling for him.”

“You feel for everybody, leave me jare.” I reply, yanking my leg from her reach.

“I’ll do our laundry.” I ache a brow. “…for a week.”

I pretend to think about it. “Dishes?”

“She-devil.”

I make to stand up.

“Fine, I’d do the dishes too.”

I smile, “So, what are we having for lunch?”

“I’ll order. Tabs on me.”

“Uh uhh, final condition pumpkin… you cook.”

“But, you know – “

“I’ll change my mind.” I threaten.

“Fine.” She picks up a pillow and hurls it at me. “Let me get the manual.”

It’s a little past three pm, I’m sitting on the bed scrolling through my facebook feed when Sophia peeks through the gaping door and announces giddily. “He’s here.”

I look up at the wall clock, and then I try to smile, “Be there in a sec.”

Her lips curve into a frown, “you are going to change out of that, right?”

“Into what?” I ask, staring down at my grey oversized sweater and white knee length shorts.

She rolls her eyes and whizzes back into the kitchen.

I steal a quick glance at the mirror. Perfect.

He stands up as soon as I walk in, and his face breaks into a wide smile, which actually wanes as he takes in my appearance. “Hello.” Towering at about 6’1, he’s dark and looks everyday of his 26years. He is dressed in a brown shirt with milk spotted flower design, which clings hungrily to his bulky frame, brown trousers, and black leathered shoes. His dapperness does little to hide his type, they are basically four types of guys and Chris just happens to be of the Traditionist-type. I won’t go into many details just yet, but some of their attributes include; Talkative, Bossy (euphemism for control freaks, with a penchant for getting things done their way), Adamant preconception (they hate change and are unwilling to take correction). A reason why our being together would be catastrophic. To be fair, he hasn’t portrayed all three, but it’s bound to happen – the signs are glaring.

I smile brightly, “Welcome to our little hut.”

Looking around he says, “Pretty nice hut you’ve got.“ I drop to the ground, sitting cross-legged and beckon for him to sit. He clears his throat, “I got you something.” He bends and lifts a white nylon from the chair. Walking to where I am, he holds it out to me. I don’t reach out to take it. Smiling I say, “You didn’t have to.”

“I know.” He drops it on the stool closest to me. I see his forehead wrinkle and I know he’s thinking of the next thing to say. “You look good,” he finally does say, and I smile in reply. Liar. He glances surreptitiously at his wrist watch.

“Do you have somewhere to be?”

“No… I mean yes, the both of us.”

I stare confusedly at him, “I didn’t know I was to be anywhere but here.”

“I assumed we’re going to lunch,”

“Oh that, lunch is actually coming to us.” And just in time, Sophia wads in bearing a tray.

He looks up at her. “You shouldn’t have stressed yourself. I told you I’d come pick her up.” Sophia shakes her head rigorously with frozen eyes and plastered smile in an attempt for him to keep quiet. But he still goes on, “After this round, I doubt there’d be any space left for the one we’d eat at the restaurant.”

She pulls at the center stool while trying to balance the tray on her other hand, he’s sitting quite close to where she is but he doesn’t so much as lean in to help her out. I’d help, but there’s no way I’m letting him get the idea that’ll serve him, not now or in the nearest future.
“Smells good, our wife, you should see how Damian is always boasting of your cooking.” He says, and not surprisingly, Sophia frowns in reply. Her eyes catch mine. Hers’ is pleading.

Sophia introduced us three weeks ago when I escorted her to her boyfriend’s house warming party. And in ten minutes, I knew his whole life; the schools he attended, the number of girls he had dated, the company where he works, his boss which he suspects must be gay; why else are his trousers so tight? where he lives, why he relocated from his previous place, his favourite food, when last he ate it and who prepared it.
On the tray, heaped on the ceramic plate is what appears to be Jollof rice although the colour is a startling red, supplementing it by the side, is a piece of meat which extends over half the plate. A bottle of cold Eva water lies by the side. Turning to me, he asks, “Can we eat together?”
Knowing what to expect from Sophia’s cooking I reply airily, “Go, ahead. This was prepared just for you.” He takes a spoonful of rice, scrunches his face involuntarily, looking back at me, he smiles. He takes another, half the size of the first and quickly swallows, without chewing. He manages this technique to get through a quarter of the rice on the plate. The size of the meat beckons compensatively to him, and so he prods it with his fork, the seeming piece of beef could as well be meat-colored rubber, the fork doesn’t go in. He doesn’t bother with it again.

“Should I get you more water?” I ask, as he painfully gulps down the remaining content of the bottle.

“I’m fine,” he coughs out.

Sophia peeks from the behind the kitchen curtain, I am sitting opposite, while the chair Chris is on directly backs her. She has both hands on her head. Apparently, she just tasted the food.

I look at his plate. “Aren’t you going to finish that?” I ask as innocently as I can manage. “There’s more in the kitchen. I prepared enough for you to even take back home.” Sophia looks gratefully at me.

“I’d erm lo-love to, but I just remembered I left my office window open.”

“Today is a Saturday and it’s hardly raining.”

“I know, but the thing is erm, the documents on my table are very important, I erm can’t really afford for them to get wet.”

I stand up, just as he is about to. “Let me quickly wrap the food.”

He practically shouts, “No, please don’t bother with that. I erm erm might probably sleep over – at the office.” He gathers his phones and calls out to Sophia that he is leaving and literally runs out of the house.

It’s a little past 6 pm, Sophia wears a solemn expression as she gathers the leftovers into the bin. I’m standing by the kitchen door frame because either the builders took the name ‘self-contain’ literally or the kitchen was probably missing from the architectural blueprint and was then added as an afterthought. 12 by 5ft, single windowed, three-walled cupboard, nailed in kitchen table, sink and no inch of storage space, two of me could actually fit in, but me and Sophia? No.

She looks dejectedly at me, “That’s why you insisted I cook.” She sighs, “It’s never going to work out, is it?

I shake my head, “No, it isn’t.” and then I add, “You should probably stop taking Aunty Chioma’s food to them too.”

Nice one Debbie.

Splinz:
Nice one Debbie.

Thank you!! and you too Skarlett ... I really appreciate!!

Debbietiyan:


Thank you!! ... I really appreciate!!

Cool.

Still chuckling at the memory of Chris "swallowing...without chewing". Debbie were you expecting him to chew every morsel of the rice?

Lol.

Splinz:


Cool.

Still chuckling at the memory of Chris "swallowing...without chewing". Debbie were you expecting him to chew every morsel of the rice?

Lol.

He's even lucky the rice was swallowable

CHAPTER THREE



It’s been a week since the whole Chris issue, and his name hasn’t been mentioned between me and Sophia. Hopefully that should be the end of her match making journey. In a few days, our 2nd-semester examinations would commerce, and I’m really looking forward to it…well, not the examination per say, the aftermath…undergraduate Internship.

I study computer engineering and I’m in my third year.

When people ask why I chose to study computer engineering, I smile and give them the love of technological innovation sermon. Which is in all honesty, a far cry from the truth. And although I do like my course (or at least the idea of it). What really happened was I opted for it in a bid to prove a point that male dominated courses were so called, not because women couldn’t do it but because they had little exposure to warrant even the inclination of doing so, and if given the chance would outshine the males over and out. Admittedly I sometimes succumb to cussing the lights out of that particular day I penned it on the form, each time I have to memorize about a hundred lines of code for an exam, yet, I was right of course, with a 4.4 G.P.A backing me up.

Albeit that’s why the idea of six months without having to cram in volumes of programming jargon and logic circuits diagrams into my head is quite appealing.

The only noticeable downside is I won’t be seeing Sophia for a while. She studies biochemistry and is in the same level as I am, although a year older. How we came to be friends is quite funny, seeing as three years ago we couldn’t stand each other.

We first spoke at the C04 lecture hall. Before then we were just familiar faces to each other, sharing lecture halls and love-garden spaces. Well to me, she was the fair rich girl with brain and curves inversely proportional and as she later admitted to me, I was the tall dreadful snub with toes too big for any shoe to fit.

It was one of the older halls of the campus and was rarely ever used for taking actual lectures. I remember leaving my discrete mathematics class because if I had stayed, I would either have died from suffocation (it was a combined class with the various departments of our faculty) or boredom (my brain had already shut down from listening to, and futilely trying to process too much unuseful information). I had only one direction in mind, and that was the school hostel, my room. When I got there, the door was locked.

I shared the room with two other girls. I picked up my phone and dialed Sylvia, one of my roommates, she told me she had mistakenly dropped the keys in her bag and directed me where to meet her in the lab as she couldn’t leave there.

I dropped my bag and headed back to school albeit frustratedly, half way Sylvia called back…goodness gracious it wasn’t the house keys, she just remembered Yinka had walked in as she was about leaving for class. Please don’t be angry, just find somewhere close to stay, preferably C04 hall? I just called her, she’d bring the keys to you.

And there I was in C04 tampering down my anger by drumming each finger on the desk when someone vaguely commented, “There’s beauty indeed in diversity.” I had no idea what he meant but I looked up anyway.

He was a random guy with the cutest smile I’d ever see and he gestured with two pointed index fingers to me and someone by my side. He turned out to be Chisom, my second boyfriend.

I turned to my side to see who he had paired me up with, it was Sophia.

“Promise you’d come to Abuja to visit. Dad asks for you each time I go home at the end of semester breaks.”

“I promise. Promise you’d find someplace else for your internship than your boyfriend’s house.”

“Promise you’d find a boyfriend…and keep him.”

“Yeah, you’ve got me.” I go over to her and give her a hug. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

I make it to the bus park before 7 am, I’m very time conscious and I really want to pick out the best seat. My favorite is the window seat on the second row – the front seat is uncomfortable and the roads make the back seat pure torturous. I pay for, and collect my ticket and immediately claim my position on the bus. The bus takes ages to get full, and when it finally does it's 8:45 am. I plug in my earphones and close my eyes immediately the bus tires leave the park ground.

The journey takes longer than I remember it does, about eight hours, and when I get home I’m too exhausted eat. I wrap my arms around mom who is all smiles and dimples – I got my dimples from Mom. She looks prettier than I remember and in a kind of way smaller and more vulnerable. I almost can’t believe I haven’t seen her in five months. She tries to take him my bag but I don’t let her. Suddenly I have a million things I have to say to her and I’m sure she does to me too.

We talk for hours and hours and I forget how tired I am. Mom is the only one with the ability to do that to me. I won’t say I’m quiet, but getting words out of my mouth sometimes could be quite tasking. There is something different about Mom though, but I can’t tell exactly what it is. It could be because I haven’t seen her for long while or maybe the makeup, the makeup… “Mom, when did you start applying makeup?”

My question catches her off guard and she panics for a second, “You don’t like it?”

“Mom relax, I love it. You were at the store today right?” Stupidly obvious question.

Mom owns a mini supermarket at Festac. She started it on a small scale when Daddy left – he didn’t actually leave leave…mom decided she couldn’t be a second wife and he consented to her going, we go on a ‘family’ dinner twice every year – I only go because of mom, left to me I’d sue him and never ever have to do anything with him again. But not mom, she has the kindest heart imaginable. She left him with nothing but a pure conscience (by this I mean she left koboless). It was really difficult at first. We had to go back to Grandma’s place, thankfully still in Lagos so I didn’t have to change schools, while Mom raised money to start a business.

When she opened the provision store, it was just room-space but now it’s really grown and even though we aren’t ‘swimming in cash,’ we are very comfortable, we live in our own house and Mom has a really nice car that I confiscate each time I come home.




The next morning, I check my mail and rush off to the bathroom to prepare for the day ahead. I have to meet up with the ICT firm I submitted an application to, I got called for an oral interview. Mom has already left for the store and yes, she took a cab.

I’m sitting in the car, and I take a few minutes to get familiar with the feel of it, I’ve been driving Sophia’s car while in school because she’s such a big baby and would rather sit on the passenger seat yapping away and taking videos of the both of us than getting behind the wheel. Mom’s perfume fills the whole car and I make a mental note to steal it when I get home – she’d give me if I asked but it is much fun taking it because she’d know I was the one who did and would come to my room to either bribe it back from me, or tickle me into releasing it. Too bad her shoes don’t fit me

Mom and I are really close and she’s more like a sister to me than a mother. Most times when we go out together, people mistake us for actual siblings, her petite frame doesn’t help matters. Mom had me when she was 19, she got married to Dad really early – obviously swept away by his sweet talk. Dad is about ten years older than she is. I got most of my facial features from her – my thread blindfold-able eyes, oval face, dimples and full lips. My height, complexion and long nose, I got from Dad.

I back the car out of the driveway and minutes later am driving on my way to my new job – I haven’t gotten the job yet but I’m so certain I will. I tune up the volume of the radio, my favorite morning show ‘Mannie and the angels’ is on, I smile…nothing could possibly go wrong.