Nana blows out her cheeks. “I have to agree.”
“Sorry, but how can someone that handsome be single?” Ola’s question sounds almost accusatory. “There has to be a catch. Let’s check out his other Facebook photos.” She raises a brow and adds, “Let’s see what he’s really like.”
“What he’s really like?” I scoff, but Ola is already tapping her shellac nails against the screen.
“Most of his pictures are private,” she murmurs. “Wait, hang on.” She rests her phone on the table.
I gaze at the photo on the screen. This man right here with his adorable smile and piercing eyes asked me for my number. Kai! God is good o. I’m about to comment on how chiseled Alex’s jawline is when another photo pops up—Alex with a woman who might as well be a Baywatch model. He has his arms around the woman’s waist. In the next photo too. And the one after that.
“Seems like he’s a fan of the ladies,” Ola says with a sniff, and the excitement I was feeling only seconds ago plummets. “I bet you, he’s a player.”
The woman he’s holding is ridiculously curvy and . . . fair. In fact, she looks the total opposite of me. Maybe I read it all wrong, jumped to conclusions too quickly. But he was the one who asked me for my number. We’ve been WhatsApping! And he licked his lips at me—which according to Cosmopolitan is one of the top signs that a guy is into you.
Ola has stopped swiping, leaving me to stare at the mystery woman’s ample cleavage. “I’m telling you, cuz,” she says. “These men. You can’t trust them.”
“Wait. Aren’t you married to one?” Nana lets out a laugh.
“These photos are old!” wails Rachel, pointing at the album date. Five years old to be exact. “And for Pete’s sake, he’s in Ayia Napa!” She points at the location below the photo. “Of course he’s going to be living it up.”
“Ola, I think you’re being too judgmental.” Nana wipes her fingers with a napkin.
“I’m just sharing my opinion.” Ola huffs.
I inhale slowly.
“Let’s look at the rest of the photos.” I swipe manically across the screen, pretending not to see the club night photos where Alex is surrounded by even more women.
Then suddenly, I whiz past one photo that intrigues me, and I take a few swipes back. Again, it’s an old photo of Alex but this time he’s with a dark-skinned girl. She has long braids and she looks about a size eight. I have no idea what their relation is, and quite frankly, I don’t care—seeing Alex with a girl who looks like me instantly raises my spirits.
I reach for my phone and unlock it in a hurry, desperate to show the girls Alex’s WhatsApp messages. To show them that I’m not delusional and that Alex is clearly feeling me.
I’m just about to speak when Ola says, “Yinka, I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you. And can we go back to talking about the wedding, please?”
“Okay, calm down.” Nana laughs.
I look over at Rachel, hoping that she too will call out Ola for being a jerk. Instead, she says, “Actually, this is perfect timing,” and I bury the feeling that I get with Ola, always getting snubbed. Why is she such a hater? I stab my chips with my fork.
“So I was reading this blog the other day, yeah,” Rachel is saying. “And it talked about setting bridesmaids’ goals—”
“Count me out,” says Nana, and I laugh and feel instantly better.
“Hang on,” Rachel cries. “Give me a chance to explain what it is first. Now, bridesmaids’ goals”—she leans forward—“are all about supporting the bride-to-be. Motivating her. Anyway, given wedding diets can be stressful—”
“Wait. Is that why you got the salad?” I connect the dots.
Rachel looks down at her bowl, mighty pleased with herself. She shoots a finger gun at me. “Exactly. Anyway, the whole point is that each bridesmaid makes a goal of their own to support the bride. It’s just a bit of fun,” she adds, looking over at Nana, who appears incredibly dubious right now. “I mean, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
“No, I think it’s a pretty cool idea,” says Nana, and my brows shoot up in surprise. “And I have a goal. One that I’ve been thinking about for a long time.” She takes a breath. “This year, I want to officially launch my fashion business.”
“Oh, Nana, that’s amazing!” I lean sideways and hug her.
“I’m planning to host a fashion show,” she carries on animatedly. “Sometime this summer. Obviously way before your wedding,” she adds quickly, nodding to Rachel.
Rachel blinks in shock. “Err . . . that’s not what I had in mind. But you’re already making the bridesmaids’ dresses, so I guess I can’t object. On one condition”—she fluffs her hair—“I get to be one of your models.”
Nana rolls her eyes. “Fine. Okay, that’s my bridesmaid’s goal sorted. Yinka, how about you? I was going to suggest that you join Instagram, but it looks as though you’ve done that already.” She laughs.
“And remember, it’s got to be relevant to the wedding,” Ola interrupts, just as I’m about to answer. “We all know that you’re doing well, what with your recent promotion.”
“You got a promotion!” Rachel’s voice makes the nearby party of four turn toward us. “Congratulations, hun! Why didn’t you say anything?”
I glance over at Nana: the only one who knows the truth.
“Thanks,” I mutter, glancing down. “But really, it’s no big deal. It was only a small promotion—”
“Well, my mum didn’t think so.”
I stare at Ola.
“Anyway,” I say quickly, feeling my irritation rising. “I already know what my goal is. My goal is to have a date for the wedding.” And get a job, I think. God, I need to smash this Oscar Larrson interview.
Rachel claps in excitement. “Your date could be fine boy Alex.”
Nana nods. “I’m proud of you, sis. You’re actually putting herself out there.”
“Yeah, I’m tired of my mum and aunties praying over my love life as though I’m terminally ill.”
“You know they’re only going to call Alex your huzband, right?” Rachel lets out a booming laugh.
“Well, beats being prayed for at every family function,” I say, wiping my hands with a napkin. “I’m looking forward to the days when that becomes a thing of the past. Anyway, how about you?” I glance over at Ola, who is quietly sipping her drink with a straw.
Ola lets out a small laugh. “Well, if anyone can tell me how to get my kids to tidy their room, then that’s my goal.”
“How about doing an online course?” I suggest. “It’s really flexible so you can study at home.” Ola’s laugh halts like a driver slamming on the brakes. “Loads of people enroll to open universities these days. You could even resume your degree.”
My intention was honestly to be helpful—after all, Nana’s goal was personal—but from the glare in Ola’s eyes, which have now become two slits, she clearly doesn’t see it this way.
“Are you having a laugh?” she says, her voice like ice. “Sorry, how do you expect me to study for a degree when I have three kids at home, huh? And what’s wrong with being a stay-at-home mum?” She throws her napkin on the table and Nana jerks. “Jeez, Yinka. It’s bad enough that my mum’s constantly at my throat, but now I have to explain myself to you.”
“Sorry, it was just a suggestion,” I manage over the salsa music. Ola scoffs and rolls her eyes.
“Yinka, you have no idea what it’s like being a full-time mum. No idea!”
“Okay, let’s forget about the bridesmaids’ goals for now,” Rachel says, glancing at the nearby tables.
Nana tries to lighten the mood. “Girls,” she’s saying, pressing her palms together as though she’s a monk. “Remember your energies. Now on the count of three, everyone take a deep breath in.”
By two, Ola is already on her feet.
“I’m off!” she spits angrily.
“Seriously?” Rachel exclaims, and Ola demonstrates how serious she is by wrestling her scarf around her neck.
“Ola, you don’t have to go. I said I’m sorry.”