Without needing to think, I say, “Femi. My ex-boyfriend.”
I’ve never been a loquacious person, but once I start talking it’s hard to stop. It’s as though someone has reached into a bathtub and pulled out the plug, and now all the murky, dirty water is whirling beyond my control. I tell Jacqui that ever since I was young, I’ve been an overachiever. That this served me well in my education and career, and so, naturally, I had faith that I’d find love and marry one day too. So when I got with Femi—sweet, ambitious, handsome Femi—he didn’t just solidify my plans, he boosted my confidence. My life was all going as I’d hoped it would. Then all of a sudden, he didn’t want to be with me.
“I met his beautiful new fiancée recently and I was like, ah-hah!” I raise a finger. “So that’s why you left. You wanted someone better. Someone lighter—” I break off, then continue hastily. “And now I’m convinced there must be something wrong with me. Is there something wrong with me? Sorry, you’re the one supposed to be asking the questions.”
Jacqui finishes the note she’s scribbling. “Don’t apologize,” she says, and there’s a twinkle in her eye. “Remember, there’s no right or wrong way of expressing yourself.” She tilts her head. “It sounds as though you went through some heartbreak, huh?”
I nod several times.
“From what I’m hearing, you’re feeling hopeless. Your ex-boyfriend has managed to meet someone and you haven’t. That’s what brought about this fear, isn’t it? But Yinka, tell me. What if you never find love or get married? How would you ultimately be?”
The very thought is excruciating. “I would like to say I would be happy because finding love doesn’t define who I am.” Aunty Blessing flashes to mind. “But honestly, Jacqui, I would be disappointed. Then there’s dealing with my family and friends. I don’t want to be the one everyone feels sorry for.”
Jacqui does another of her “go on” nods, but my throat is tingling. I don’t want to elaborate. Then after an immense silence, she says, “You know, it may be that it’s not so much fearing being alone, as fearing you’re not good enough,” and I feel as though she is holding up a mirror.
“A person who doesn’t believe in themselves may think that they are not worthy of love,” she carries on, and I knock back my water to stop my gathering tears from leaking out. “Yinka, I want to help you confront your underlying fears head-on. The goal here is for you to be happy as a single woman now while retaining your faith that you’ll find love because you deserve it. In other words, to embrace the present and not fear the future. Does that make sense?”
Unable to speak, I give a weak nod. And when she glances down, I wipe the corner of my eye.
“Now, if you don’t mind,” she says, looking up again, “I want to touch on something you said earlier. When you mentioned Femi’s new fiancée, I was intrigued by the words you used.”
I take a long glug of my water as Jacqui refers to her notes again, hoping she’s not going to ask what I think she’s going to ask . . .
“You said, and I’m going to quote you here, ‘I met his beautiful new fiancée recently and I was like, ah-hah! So that’s why you left. You wanted someone better. Someone lighter.’?” She looks up.
“Oh, did I?” I give a nervous chuckle. Then I peer at the clock behind me. How has only twenty minutes gone by?
“Okay, let’s leave that for another day,” Jacqui says finally. Thank God. “Now, going back to Femi, walk me through how you coped with the breakup. What thoughts were running through your head?”
“I guess I buried myself in work,” I admit, reflecting on my days at Godfrey. “I worked at an investment bank as an operations manager. Didn’t particularly like it.”
“What about your attitude toward love? What was it like then?”
I push out my lips. “Strangely, optimistic.” I tug the end of my sleeve. “I always told myself that I would find love in my own time. It was the mantra I used when people brought up my singleness. Like I said, I was convinced that my life was all going to plan.”
“Would you say it was your crutch?” Jacqui asks, and I let slip a quiet gasp. This was the same question I posed to Donovan when we talked about his reluctance to start dating.
“Yes,” I say eventually. “That’s right.”
Jacqui and I discuss practical ways that I can overcome my fear of being alone and boost my self-confidence. From meditation to words of affirmation. Hmm. Maybe I can write a few of these on my Post-it notes? We also discussed the importance of embracing singleness and taking time out to be at one with yourself—a task she set me for this week’s homework.
“So, Yinka”—Jacqui unwinds her shawl—“can you imagine that you’re lovable even if you’re single?”
I think of Aunty Blessing again. “Yes . . .” I clear my throat. “I think—I think I can.”
Pregnancy doesn’t stop ears from working
Monday, 17 May at 3.08 p.m.
From: Matthews, Terry
To: Yinka Oladeji
Subject: Interested in working at Comperial
Hi Yinka,
Thanks for sending your CV. It’s very impressive. I actually think you’d be great as a strategy project manager (see role description attached). Are you available to come to our offices next Tuesday at eleven?
Terry
I make a mental note to reply later. Therapy has got me in the talking mood, and there’s only one person I want to talk to right now.
“Hey.” Kemi answers the door in a flat tone and gives me the briefest hug. “How’s it going?” she says as she slumps back on the sofa.
“Just came from counseling.”
“Counseling?”
I gaze over at Chinedu, sleeping peacefully in his crib. I join Kemi on the sofa. “I need to talk to you about some stuff.”
I tell her about everything—well, not Marcus but everything else—including how my singleness has taken a toll on me over the last few months.
“Yinka! Why didn’t you tell me?” she cries.
“Because I’m supposed to be your older sister, the one that’s supposed to have her ish together. And you were pregnant,” I add.
She frowns. “Pregnancy doesn’t stop ears from working.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s just . . .” I sigh. “Kemi, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I showed up here tipsy the other day. And for all the times I haven’t been there for you. You’re always making an effort to spend time with me. But I kept avoiding you . . . well, Mum.”
“Mum?” Kemi looks startled. Chinedu gurgles, and we freeze for a moment, then he settles. “So you weren’t avoiding me?”
“?’Course not,” I say as Chinedu quietly babbles to himself. “But these days you love to spend time with Mum. The only thing is, when I’m here, too, Mum always harps on about me being single. Then you apologize, thinking it’s your fault. That’s why I left the hospital without saying good-bye. My love life was put under the spotlight. Again.”
“Oh, Yinka. I’m so sorry—”
“But that’s the thing, Kemi. I don’t want you to be sorry. You’re happily married with a beautiful baby. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. The truth is, you feeling sorry makes me feel even worse about myself.”
Kemi opens her mouth—like she’s about to apologize—then closes it again.
“My issue is with Mum,” I carry on. “I’m sorry I allowed that to affect our relationship.” I’m not sure who reaches for whose hand first.
“You know”—Kemi licks her lips—“when we were younger, I envied the attention Mum gave you.”
I squeeze her hand and she places the other on top.
“You were the bright, clever one,” she goes on. “You earned Mum’s respect. She admired you. You got the grades, or rather, you got the grades in the subjects that mattered. So for years I fought for her attention. Why do you think I understand Yoruba and can make Nigerian food better than you?”
It’s my turn to stare at her, shocked.