Always Yours (Lagos Romance Series) (8 page)

We hadn’t spoken for days. That hurt. It’s usually easy to say you never want to see a guy again but most of the time it’s not easy to actually never see him again. In my worst moments I wondered what I would do if he actually gave up on me. It made me feel so desperate, like I would do anything, just to have him for my own.

I was heartbroken, with no excuse to be. The acknowledged lover has an excuse for her red eyes and shaky voice, but the unacknowledged one, like me, has to smile and put on a happy face, after all, for the world to agree that a man broke your heart, they have to have seen it in his hand. He had never made any commitment to me. All I had was the fact that, like a fool I had longed for one man for far too long and I had only just realized how futile my longing was.

Why do you always have to run away?

Those words again, even though I knew they shouldn’t, gave me
hope,
hope that I wasn’t the only one who was miserable. It was an odd kind of comfort, but the thought
that perhaps he was also missing me, wanting me, longing to be with me comforted me so much that it was only when I thought of Folake, that I would realize again how futile my hope was.

Folake! Sometimes I would torture myself by thinking of how beautiful she was. How he could never prefer me to her. In those moments I would resolve to go out and meet a man, a better man, to take my mind away from Michael. But I didn’t want any other
man,
in fact I didn’t believe there was anyone better. I wanted him. I wanted him so badly that it made me cry at night.

I tried to imagine a life where Michael would be married to Folake, where I’d just be a friend to him. Where we would see each other only on occasion, occasions where I’d always filled with longing for him. Then I would imagine the alternative, where he would be totally absent from my life. I couldn’t bear both scenarios, instead I fantasized about the impossible, a life where he belonged to me and I belonged to him.

It was hard to imagine that in such a short time I had grown so used to Michael’s presence in my life again. It had only been a week since the restaurant, a week in which we haven’t spoken at all and it felt as if the world had come to an end.

“Maybe you should call him.” It was one week and a day after the restaurant (I had been counting) and it was
Friday again, Living Lagos had just hit the stands again mostly thanks to Ada’s genius and the fact that I had finally managed to bury my pain with work. We were preparing to leave for the day and this was her latest solution for me snap out of the funk I was in.

“And what?”
I asked. I was standing by the window of my office, staring at the busy and crowded streets of Lagos Island below me, and wondering what all those many people were doing and if anyone of them was going through the same things I was going through. “Ada, don’t forget that he’s not my boyfriend or husband” I said. “It’s not like I’m going to call him and then we’ll have a grand reunion and some make up sex or whatever it is couples do in situations like this.”

“But you guys are friends” she said cajolingly. Today her hair was in a thousand long braids that fell to her waist and she was actually wearing a dress. A short, pastel blue dress which really set off her complexion, making her
look
really pretty. “At least you guys can talk”

I sighed.
“Yeah and then what”.
I paused and thought about it. “Nothing will change” I continued. I’m still going to love him and he’s still going to marry Folake.” I shook my head. “There is no happy ending to this.”

No happy endings.

Why do you always have to run away?

The weekend was
dull,
I cleaned my flat, shopped and edited articles on my computer. By this time I was really afraid that he would never call again. This, if I was truthful to myself, would have been the sensible thing for him to do at the time. But I didn’t want him to do the sensible
thing,
I wanted him to love me, passionately and without control.

By Sunday morning I was a wreck, I went through the motions of going to church and getting ready to go see my parents. I would have stayed at home and watched TV, or just moped around, watching sad movies or playing all my sad love songs over and over again, but my mother had called, complaining about not seeing me the previous weekend.

I had changed into a light sundress after church, and a pair of flat sandals. I wasn’t really looking forward to the drive, but as I had little choice I locked my flat and descended the stairs to the parking lot. Hearing but not really hearing the sounds coming from the other flats, Sunday sounds, television, and movies and cooking and children and other happy sounds that had no place in my life at that particular moment. When I got downstairs I walked blindly towards my car not really caring to see the children playing on the lawn or people lounging on their balconies. I didn’t want to see their happiness when mine was nowhere to be found.

It was a sixth sense that made me stop and look up. What else can I call it? The sudden tension I felt in my stomach, the way my knees went weak and my heart started to beat faster, rising to a crescendo when I looked up and there he was, right in front of me, stepping out of his car with a grace that showed none of my shakiness, my clumsiness or my confusion.

The slam of the car door as he closed it jolted me out of my
self induced
stupor. I was suddenly
scared,
I watched him walk towards me and realized I didn’t know what to say to him. It’s easy to know you want someone, but what do you do with them when they are right in front of you? I had to fight the urge to turn and run away.

In moments he was standing right in front of me. I couldn’t look up at is face, so I stared at his chest instead. It felt like I was enveloped in him. By just standing in front of me he was making the hairs rise at the back of my neck, making my throat thick. The smell of his now familiar cologne wafted around me and just that part of him made me full of so much longing I didn’t trust myself to move, or speak.

“Hi.” He said at last. His voice was firm and
strong,
he wasn’t shaking or trembling like I was. How could he be so calm, so smooth when I was in so much confusion that it took all my strength to even stay standing?

“Hi” I said to his chest.

I watched as he rolled his car key around in his right hand. His fingers clenching and unclenching around it, were we just going to stand here and do nothing, say nothing?

“Are you going to see your parents?” he asked.

I sneaked a look up at his face and nodded. How was it that after so many days of silence we were having this conversation, about going to see my parents? I almost burst into nervous laughter. What had I expected? That he would come to me with a declaration of undying love?

“I thought so.” He said. Then silence again. I looked towards the lawn, the gate, the sky, anywhere but his face, from nowhere the urge to cry hit me like a brick, and I blinked frantically to stop the tears from coming. What was happening to me? Who was this teary weak kneed girl? In just a few weeks Michael had turned me into a version of myself I hardly recognized.

“I’ve been at my parents place.” He said after a while. “They’re having a soiree later in the day.” He continued “I was there helping. I think”

I smiled at that and looked up at him. He smiled back. It felt like a ray of sunshine had burst open in front of my face. Suddenly the past week didn’t matter. I was just very happy that he was standing here in front of me

“I thought since I was so close I should come over here.” My smile seemed to have given him encouragement to keep talking.
“Though I wasn’t so sure if you would want to see me.”
He smiled ruefully. “So now you can tell me to get lost”

“Why?” I asked softly. “I don’t want you to get lost.”

“That’s reassuring.” He said earnestly. “I’ve been sitting in that car questioning my sanity, wondering if you would just come out and… what’s that word again..?” he thought for a moment. “Yes!” he said remembering. “Blank! I thought you’d just come down and blank me completely”

I laughed at his choice of slang. It had gone out of fashion ages ago, then I remembered why I was downstairs, that I was going out, I looked towards my car. He caught my look.

“I could take you” He said with something like hope in his voice. “I wouldn’t mind an afternoon at your parents. You could pay me back with an evening at mine.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, trying to hide my elation but failing miserably. There was nothing I wanted more than to spend the entire day with him. Folake, and everything she meant to him, and to us, I had conveniently forgotten.

He looked at me, and then without replying he started to lead me towards his car.

It was fun at my parent’s house. My mother fussed over Michael, and made him look at almost all the family albums we had, showing him my older brother Daniel’s wedding pictures, my graduation pictures etcetera.

For once my sister Cynthia was quiet as Michael teased her about how small she had been the last time he saw her. Even my brother had nothing to say about his
nintendo
, he just stared at Michael in awe.

At lunch my mother heaped Michael’s plate, ignoring all his protests. While we ate he talked politics and the economy with my father with
I
and my mother joining in occasionally.

After lunch while I and my mother were doing the dishes I waited for the inevitable questions.

“He’s such a nice young man.” She started as she handed me plates to dry and place in the cupboard. “I’ve always liked him”

I nodded and said nothing.

“I’m glad you people are still friends.” She continued. “I used to wonder why you suddenly stopped talking about him.”

“
Hmmn
” I said noncommittally. I wondered if she was already planning our wedding in her mind. The thing about mothers of daughter my age is that, weddings are never far from their minds. I wondered whether to tell her that he was engaged, or whether to keep her hoping.

“Well he’s exactly the sort of young man I’m glad to see around you” she continued, obviously not discouraged by my silence.

“Mummy” I said. “We’re just friends”

She smiled and said nothing. In the next moment Cynthia walked into the kitchen conveniently too late to help. Both I and my mother ignored her naughty smile, we were used to her.

Back in the living room my father, Michael and Chris were watching TV and talking about football. I wasn’t really interested in a discussion about the
Scholls
, the
Lampards
, the Van
Persie’s
and the Fergusons of this world so I just sat and half-listened to them.

I didn’t want to read too much into the way he just fit into my family, Michael was very well mannered, he would fit in anywhere, but it was pleasurable to watch him laughing and enjoying himself with the men in my life. Somehow I knew that he’d get on well even with Dan.

At some point Chris finally managed to overcome his shyness and ask Michael to come play a game on his
Nintendo. I got invited along as either a judge or a referee, I’m not sure which. It was fun watching them
play,
Michael actually managed to win a couple of times, something no one else in the family had ever done.

As usual, towards evening, my mum retrieved all the food she’d packed up for me in the freezer and supervised as Michael and Chris loaded them in the Michael’s car. I noticed the way she looked at Michael almost maternally and wondered if I had done the right thing bringing him home. It was bad enough that I was hung up on him. I didn’t want my mother to also become hung up on the idea of him as a son in law.

It was already getting to dusk as we drove back to my flat. The roads were free, which was good. I watched him as he drove, he looked relaxed, his beautiful hands light on the steering wheel, and every so often he would turn to look at me and smile.

I wondered if he had enjoyed himself. It mattered to me that he should like my family and that they should like him. It mattered to me, even though deep down I knew I shouldn’t read anything into it.

By the time we got to Third Mainland Bridge, it had gotten a little cold, I may have shivered a little because he glanced at me and without a word lowered the AC. I smiled gratefully at him, pleased at the small gesture that showed he cared, and turned to watch the little shanties at
the water’s edge. It filled me with wonder, how from up on the bridge they looked so picturesque and charming with the tendrils of smoke drifting into the air from each hut. But one could only imagine how bad they truly were, dirty and unsanitary.

In no time at all we were at my place. Michael insisted on carrying all the packages while I watched, feeling useless. It was nice to have a guy do it for me though, it made me feel girlish and nurtured. It was very manly of him.

Manly! Silently I smiled at the adjective my subconscious had chosen, as if he could even be anything but manly.

"Are you going to stand there admiring me? Or are we going to go to my parent’s party?”