Chapter 14
14
We spend the rest of the meeting focusing on his school years. Wale has a lot of stories. He was far from a popular kid. He wanted to be the popular kid.
‘I have to give it to you,’ he says, after taking a quick glance at his watch. ‘You’re a sick writer. You write like how I would write if I could write. If you know what I mean?’
I’m in the middle of packing away my belongings so that I can nip out for a quick walk when Aunty Shirley enters the café with the most gigantic smile.
‘Good meeting?’ she says as she looks between us, standing over our table.
Wale and I exchange a glance.
‘Yes, I’d say so,’ I reply.
‘Well, if you ever need anything –’ she puts a hand on my shoulder – ‘you know where to find me.’ I give her an appreciative smile. ‘Oh, and the other day, forgive me. I was too busy chatting away that I didn’t even ask you about your line of work. You been a ghostwriter long?’
I stall for two seconds. ‘Um, I’m actually still fairly new to it …’ I stop myself from saying more.
‘She’s written a novel, you know,’ says Wale as if he’s disclosing an epic secret. I stare at him. He gives me a toothy grin in return.
‘A novel!’ Aunty Shirley’s eyes turn into saucers. ‘My Lawd, look at you. What’s it called? Maybe we sell it here.’
‘It’s actually not published yet,’ I say, feeling sheepish.
Wale jumps in once again. ‘Only a matter of time, though. Aunty Shirley, you’re looking at the next Malorie Blackman. Make a note of the title: Wildest Dreams . It’s a romcom. Think love triangle but with a paranormal twist. I’m telling you, it’s sick, Aunty Shirl. Ended up reading it in two days!’
I snatch my bag and pretend to rummage for something, my forehead heating up from the sudden spotlight. I appreciate Wale’s enthusiasm, I do. But I really don’t want to get into the specifics right now.
‘Well, you have to let me know when it comes out.’ Aunty Shirley beams down at me. ‘You can even launch your book here—’
‘I’m so sorry but I just remembered I’ve got another meeting.’ I reach my tipping point with more force than I expect. My chair scrapes the floor as I rise to my feet. Aunty Shirley stares at me, stunned. Wale looks confused.
‘Wale, I’ll catch up with you later.’ I’m speaking so fast my words blend into each other. I turn to Aunty Shirley. ‘Nice seeing you again.’
I power walk out of the café feeling equally flustered and embarrassed, and when I reach outside, the sun stings my eyes. Holding my bag tightly, I head in the direction I came from, manoeuvring around slow-moving pedestrians that are in my way.
And then I hear Wale call my name. I groan. A hand catches me by the shoulder. I turn around.
‘What’s wrong? Why did you leave like that?’ he says.
‘I told you. I’ve got another meeting.’ Even I don’t think I sound convincing. ‘And don’t you have a radio interview to get to?’
Wale stares at me. ‘C’mon, Temi. I know that face. Speak to me. Wassup? Did I say something wrong? We used to manifest about you becoming an author all the time.’
He dips his head so that he can look me straight in the eye. It was what he did whenever he wanted me to tell him what was troubling me. I avoid his gaze and glance at a nearby dustbin. Eventually, I succumb. As always. ‘ Wildest Dreams ,’ I croak. ‘It got rejected again.’
Wale closes his eyes briefly as he absorbs the news. He looks utterly devastated. ‘Man. Temi,’ he says. ‘I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.’ He places a hand on my forearm and I flinch.
‘It’s okay. I’ll be all right,’ I say shakily, scared that I’ll burst into tears. ‘Besides, we’re still waiting on one editor at Ocean. So, who knows? They may be the one.’ My attempt to sound optimistic is let down by my quivering voice. I swallow. ‘Anyway, I’ve started working on another novel. So, we’ll see what happens with that.’ I smile; my lip wobbles.
Wale is still staring at me – his dark, piercing eyes searching mine.
And then, he tugs me closer to him and wraps his strong arms around my shoulders. I hold still, defiant, but the pressure of my emotions is too much.
‘Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay,’ he says in hushed tones as I choke back a throaty sob. He strokes my hair, squeezes me tighter.
I don’t want to give in so easily but I feel so overwhelmed. I find myself hugging him back.
‘I feel like such a failure,’ I whisper, and in a smooth, low tone, Wale says, ‘You’re not.’
I sniff. ‘Sometimes I just want to pack it all in,’ I carry on. ‘I mean, what’s the point? I’m only going to get rejected anyway. Even with your memoir, now I’m starting to think, Can I even do it? I’m the same girl who got fired, remember! Honestly, Wale. I wouldn’t be offended if you decided to hire somebody else.’
Wale lets go of me quickly. He places his hands on my shoulders then looks at me as if to say, No, we’re not doing that . His gaze is so earnest, so strong, that I have to turn away.
‘Temi, look at me. Look at me.’
With tears running down my face, I slide my eyes back to his. People nearby are probably staring. But I don’t care.
With a familiar, calm conviction, he says, ‘You. Temiloluwa. Ojo. Are. A. Writer.’ Each word pushes fresh tears to my eyes. He gives me a moment to absorb them. ‘Listen, as long as you’re writing, you’re a writer. And nothing, and I mean nothing , can ever take that away from you, yeah? I meant what I said the other day – you’re fucking talented, Tems. I chose you as my ghostwriter ’cause I believe in you. But whatever you do, please, please don’t ever stop believing in yourself.’
A single tear falls.
Around us, the street noise dissolves into a liquefied blur. Wale continues to stare back. My heart aches with every beat. This is the Wale I fell in love with. This man right here. The Wale who was always a shoulder to cry on whenever I got a rejection email. The Wale who encouraged me when I couldn’t motivate myself. The Wale who affirmed me. The Wale who was the type of prince who would hand me his own sword to help me slay my dragons. The Wale who saw me. Who trusted me.
‘Do you want another hug?’ he says after a quiet moment.
This time I don’t hesitate. I nod.