‘What do you want? You won’t stop calling or texting. What do you want from me?’
‘Can we meet to talk in person? I know I deserve your contempt but please give me a chance to explain.’
‘Craft Gourmet. 9pm tomorrow,’ I said and disconnected the call.
I found a sleeveless cocktail dress with an asymmetrical hemline at the back of my wardrobe and decided it was the best option for the evening, a dress that said the events of a decade ago hadn’t, despite their best efforts, left me shattered.
I went hoping to put a stop to the nightmares that appeared to be the universe’s way of telling me there were issues unresolved. He was already seated when I arrived, and I thought time had been good to him. He looked different, mature in a way that gave him presence.
‘You don’t wear glasses anymore,’ I said.
‘Contacts,’ he replied with an awkward smile as he pulled out a seat for me. He still wasn’t very tall.
I pulled nervously at the hem of my dress as I sat.
‘What would you like to have?’ he asked, placing a menu in front of me. ‘I collected two when the waiter came by earlier,’ he explained and I remembered he’d been like that at the start our relationship: eager to make me happy. He would buy our lunch on the way back from class and run under the rain to get a taxi so my hair wouldn’t get wet.
Annoyance at the memories sprung up. I pushed the menu aside. ‘Let’s get this over with, what do you want? Why won’t you leave me alone?’
He looked nervous again and I felt a sardonic satisfaction at watching him. ‘Please don’t be like that. You look beautiful,’ he said.
‘Be like what?’ I demanded, ignoring the compliment, holding his stare and daring him to say something unflattering.
He sighed, defeated. ‘Zina, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
I looked away, afraid my face reflected the pain that crushed through me. ‘It’s been over ten years, Bayo. It’s rather late for that.’
‘A lot has happened since then,’ he said. I rolled my eyes. ‘My mother died a few weeks ago.’
The anger dissipated and I was overtaken by sadness. I’d loved his mother, her vivacious personality and zestful eagerness to assure others of her affections, and I often wondered if that was how regular families functioned, so different from mine.
My eyes closed of their own volition. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said.
‘Eat with me Zina, please,’ he begged, placing the menu in front of me once more. ‘Cancer,’ he explained to me minutes later, plates of steaming pasta in front of us. ‘Why do Lagos girls like pasta so much?’ he’d joked when I placed my order, then asked for the same as well.
‘She liked you a lot,’ he said.
‘I liked her too,’ I heard myself murmuring.
‘I told her the truth before she left; she’d been asking what happened and I finally told her.’ He held my eyes. ‘I told her everything: the baby, the hospital, everything. I didn’t want her going without knowing. It didn’t matter anymore if she was disappointed in me or not, I just wanted her to know.’
Tears converged to a well behind my eyes and I struggled to blink them away. He reached across the table and held my hands, and for a while we were both silent, caught up in the waves of the past, nostalgic for what could have been.
27
Mistakes
Life is to be lived, mistakes to be made, or at least that was what I told myself as I let Bayo into my house days after our meeting at the restaurant. He held a teddy bear in his hands and I was going to joke that he thought I had a child in the house when I thought better of it.
‘Thank you,’ I said instead, taking it from him and smelling the fur. My favourite perfume. He remembered.
Bayo looked around my living room like he wanted to fulfil a curiosity he’d had for a while. ‘You decorate well,’ he said, picking up a throw pillow and relaxing on a sofa. I perched on the arm. He was more confident today.
‘Thank you,’ I said, following his eyes, trying to view the curtains and paintings through them. I picked an imaginary thread from the sofa. ‘Do you still practise law?’
He turned to me. ‘Yes, I run my father’s law firm now actually. It was really small back then, but we’ve been able to grow. We received an award from the Nigerian Bar Association just last year.’
‘Oh wow! Congratulations,’ I said. I wondered if he felt the need to impress me, and if my desire to assure him reflected in how I said ‘wow’, drawing out the phonemes unnecessarily.
He gestured at me. ‘And look at you, you did it. You talked so much about acting and now look at you. I passed a billboard on my way here with your face on it.’
I blushed, self-conscious.
‘I watch your movies, you know,’ he said.
I raised a brow. ‘Really?
‘Yes, really. At first, I was curious – “what does she look now? Is she any good?” – that sort of thing, then I actually enjoyed them and so I decided to see more. I have to say, they’re good. I really like the fact that you pick scripts outside the usual themes, like the one about a woman’s battle with her past demons and mental health, it seemed so real and personal.’ He stared at me, waiting for me to say more, to admit the movie had been personal.
I waved a dismissive hand. ‘Oh, well I have to give my friend Zino credit for that one. He chooses the best screenwriters and mentions my name in every casting room.’
His smile faltered at the mention of another man’s name, and I didn’t bother to correct his assumptions, delighting in it; I was a bundle of nerves and uncertainty and here he was acting like it was a regular day.
‘I should offer you something,’ I said, pushing to my feet. ‘What do you drink? I won’t boast but I have a decent wine collection.’ I walked towards the wine bar.
His smile returned. ‘Well, let’s see what you have,’ he said and got up to join me. We were flirting, and I wasn’t sure why.
I pulled out a bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild. ‘It’s French,’ I said with a wink.
