“The kids aren’t staying,” she says, leaning in to my shoulders to give me the tiniest of hugs. “My mum couldn’t babysit, and I needed a ride, so we had no choice but to bring the kids along.” She slithers past me and I watch her ankle boots clack against the floorboards down the hallway.
“Yeah, sorry we’re late.” Jon appears by the entrance wearing a navy Barbour jacket and beige chinos.
“Oh, hey, Jon. How’s it going?” I push what Rachel told me to the back of my mind. I give him a quick hug, then smooth my hand over my blouse to neaten it.
“I’m good, thanks,” he says, then blinks. “Oh, wow, you changed your hair again!”
Right at the same time that he says this, I realize that the attractive model with red hair is now standing behind me, a cigarette and lighter in hand.
“Sorry, excuse me,” she says. Jon and I step back so that she can pass. I look over my shoulder: Ola, kids in tow, is watching Jon like a hawk.
“Guys, say good-bye to your mum,” he says.
Ola is a different person when she hugs her kids good-bye. She gives each child a loud, wet kiss and giggles.
“Come on, kids. Let’s go.” Jon is about to turn, then stops. “See you later, gorgeous.” He kisses Ola on the cheek, and like a teenager she glances down, suppressing a tiny smile.
“Come on, kiddos. Let’s get some McDonald’s.” Jon turns to leave as the kids break out in loud cheers. “Bye, Yinka.”
“Bye, now.” I close the door.
As I twist the lock, I think of my next move. It might be easier if I apologize. Keep it short and sweet.
“Ola.” I turn around. “I’m—”
“Sorry,” she finishes. Wait, is she saying that she’s—
“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “For overreacting, for how I behaved. I can be a right drama queen, can’t I?” She looks sincere.
“No, I’m the one who should be apologizing. What I said at Nando’s . . . it was insensitive and inconsiderate. But Ola, I didn’t mean to be.”
“It’s okay.” Ola shrugs and a stretch of silence follows.
Sooo, is this the part where we hug?
I test the waters by taking a step forward. Ola doesn’t budge.
Fine, at least we’ve made a breakthrough. A small one, but still something.
“Where’s Nana and Rachel?” she says.
“Follow the music.” I smile.
* * *
—
The models have gone, and Nana has decided that since Ola and I are here, she might as well take our measurements for the bridesmaids’ dresses. I’m up first and stand in the center of the room. Nana crouches in front of me, winding a measuring tape around my hips. Thirty-eight inches. Hmm. Does this mean my bum is growing? Ola and Rachel are sitting nearby, their feet propped up on a chair.
“How do you think the casting went?” Ola fluffs the end of her afro puff.
“Good,” says Nana. “But I only liked a couple of the male models.”
“Did Petros make the cut?” Rachel wails.
“Yes, Petros made the cut,” Nana replies sardonically, and we laugh. “Well, I guess I can always ask my cousins,” she adds, moving on to measure my height.
“Or”—Rachel quirks a brow—“you can rope in Yinka’s lover boy. Hey, don’t think I don’t see you blushing over there.”
I pull a face. “Rachel. I’m Black.”
“Naw. You don’t say.”
“Lover boy?” Ola laughs. “So, what, you and Alex together now?”
“Not yet.” I smile. “But we will be soon. Oh my gosh, Ola. I’ve got so much to tell you. Where should I start? Did Rachel tell you that we’re following each other on Instagram?”
I whip out my phone with pride and excitement.
“And that’s not all,” I say after locating Alex’s Instagram. I tell Nana to pause for one sec, then I hand my phone to Ola. “Guess who has a date?”
Rachel gasps.
“And not just on any day, but on Valentine’s Day.” After doing a mini-dance, I give the girls a full update of our conversation after church and meeting his mum—everything.
“Babes, this so exciting!” Rachel says. I can always rely on good ol’ Rachel to be super-excited for me. “Seems like your new weave has given you confidence, huh?”
“More like your new look,” Nana says under her breath, as she presses her measuring tape against Ola’s leg.
I narrow my eyes at her as I sit down. “He complimented the dress you made, by the way.”
I cross one leg over the other and turn to Ola, who now has a measuring tape around her waist. Like Nana, she doesn’t seem that excited about my news. Instead, she keeps pursing her lips and she barely looked at Alex’s Instagram before handing my phone back.
“Sooo . . .” I sway a little. “Any thoughts, Ola?”
“On what?” she says evenly.
“On what I just told you. Duh.”
She pauses. “Yinka, if you want my honest opinion, something seems . . . off.”
I’m so startled, I let out a laugh. “Sorry, what do you mean by off?”
“This . . . crush that you have on Alex. Not to be rude, yeah, but I think you’re wasting your time.”
“That was a bit harsh.”
I’m surprised to hear that remark from Rachel.
“Rach, I’m only looking out for my cousin,” Ola says. “I don’t want her to get hurt.”
I fold my arms. “You think he’s too good for me, don’t you?”
Ola hisses. “Now don’t you go putting words in my mouth. I just think you’re getting way ahead of yourself.”
“Way ahead of myself? Ola, what are you talking about?”
She shrugs. “I think you’re reading into things, no offense. Like this date, for example. Is it really a date?”
“It’s on Valentine’s Day!” I protest.
“And you’re the one who has to cook?” Ola frowns. “Surely, he should be the one trying to impress you.”
I sigh. Clearly, she hasn’t been listening. Because if she had, she would have picked up that Alex and I banter about my cooking skills. I breathe in and out a few times. Remember what Rachel told you. She’s got her own insecurities that she’s dealing with right now.
“So how come he told his mum about me?” I say, unable to stop myself. “When I met her, she already knew my name.”
Nana has finished measuring Ola, and they both drag a chair to sit opposite me and Rachel.
Ola picks at the gel flakes along her sideburns. “But you said that just before you met her, Alex met you at the lobby to give back your jacket, right?”
I nod.
“So, did it not cross your mind that your name was only brought up to his mum when he was going to return your jacket?”
I glance down. I didn’t even think about that.
Ola laughs. “Oh, Yinka. See, this is what I mean. You’re reading into things. I just want you to be careful. What do you think, Nana? You’ve been awfully quiet.” She turns to her.
Nana looks at me, then back at Ola. Eventually, she says, “I think we should just wait and see how this all works out.”
“Well, don’t say I didn’t tell you.” Ola gets out her phone, probably to go on Instagram.
I’ll prove you wrong, I want to say to Nana and Ola. Especially Ola.
“Oh, ignore these Debbie Downers.” Rachel flicks her wrist and I give her a grateful smile. “As for me”—she points to her chest—“I’m down for the romance. But are you really going to make Nigerian food?” She lets out a raven-like cackle. “Because the last thing you want is to send him to the toilet.”
I laugh nervously as I think back to the jollof rice I made yesterday. Let’s just say I sent myself to the toilet. Despite following a recipe that I’d found online, it came out all starchy and soft, and because I forgot to remove some of the seeds from the Scotch bonnets, my tongue is still paying the price. “Actually, I was wondering . . .” I turn cautiously to Nana. She was at her sister’s yesterday, and thankfully, didn’t see my disastrous attempt.
Nana stares at me for a second, then blinks. “You want me to cook?”
“Not cook. Just, you know, help a little.”
“I might be busy,” she says.
“You? On Valentine’s Day? Come on, Nana.” I laugh. “You and I both know that you’re free this Sunday. And Saturday. And didn’t you say that you’d cook for me as part of our deal for you to move in?”
Nana narrows her eyes a fraction. “Oh, I thought you wanted me to move in for another reason.”
I purse my lips. Okay. Let me not push it, in case she outs my redundancy.
Rachel looks perplexed. “You’re a good cook, so . . .” She swivels her eyes as she waits for Nana to answer.