Chapter IV
IV
She found her mother in the kitchen. The aroma of omi ?ran filled the air and she could taste the ata at the back of her throat.
Her mother had a habit of using too much pepper in her cooking.
Eniiyi watched for a couple of minutes as Ebun deftly diced onions.
She tried to get a handle on her emotions before she spoke.
“She called me Monife.”
Her mother paused dicing, but only for a moment. “She is not herself.”
“I get that. But she became seriously agitated when I pointed out that I am not in fact Monife.”
Her mother shrugged. “You are not a child any more. Maybe you should just play along.” She said it as if it were nothing, and did not look back to note how Eniiyi’s mouth became slack, how her pupils dilated and her lips trembled.
“I’m going out.”
“You just got here.”
She didn’t respond. She’d only been back for half a day and already she needed a break. “I won’t be late,” she said quietly, as she left the kitchen.
—
She called Funsho and he told her he was at a bar with friends; he offered to pick her up, but an Uber would get her there in half the time.
She entered the low-lit, cool-aired bar, instantly spotting Funsho.
He was with Tobias and Kunle, who had a unique talent for rubbing her the wrong way; but any company would do right now.
It was daytime, so the bar was nearly empty.
“Last Last” was being blasted from the speakers, followed closely by “Bloody Samaritan.” She was still dressed in a graphic tee and shorts, but now she wondered if she would be too cold; the air conditioner was blowing a gust of frosty air in her direction.
As she approached, she hoped the guys had chosen a warmer section of the room.
“Eniiyi. Eniiyi. Beauty of life. The one and only. The Queen of Ice.”
“Good to see you are as verbose as ever, T.”
“Only for you, my lovely.”
“Hey, Kunle.”
“Wassup.” Kunle barely turned his massive head towards her. He was dressed in all black, but she guessed every item on his body had a designer label, to accompany the Rolex watch he was sporting on his wrist.
She slid in beside Funsho, who had made some room for her at their booth.
Tobias resembled a big teddy bear; everything about him was rounded, except his nose.
He had the nose of a cartoon witch. But like Kunle, he took a lot of pride in his appearance; his line-up was exquisite, his cologne potent and he wore rings on every other finger.
She was yet to figure out what Funsho had in common with either dude; darling Funsho, who was like a gazelle, long, poised, with all his nervous wound-up energy.
“What’s your poison?” Funsho asked. She shrugged.
“I’ll have what you’re having.”
He raised an eyebrow at that. “Heineken?”
She laughed. “Okay, order something for me. I’m here to drown my sorrows.”
He flicked a finger at a passing waiter and ordered a mojito. “What’s going on with you? You want to talk about it?” And he looked at her intently, his head slightly cocked to one side. He reminded her of Sango—sensitive, loyal, sweet.
She smiled at him; there was no way she was opening up in front of Beavis and Butt-Head, but had they happened to be alone, she wondered what the words would sound like, what she would say.
If she were to tell him about the mix-up her grand-aunt had made between herself and Monife, surely he would blame the dementia, not appreciating that Grandma West had always flirted with the idea of the two lives being one.
He would not be able to understand why she was so upset, why it was that even now, she felt as though a rock had settled in the pit of her stomach.
“It’s nothing.”
“But—”
“J??! J??! J??! Abeg listen to the woman.” For once she was grateful for Tobias’s interruption.
He couldn’t stand not being the centre of attention for more than five minutes.
“Speaking of woman?” He nodded at the entrance, and Eniiyi turned before she realised what he was nodding at.
Or rather, who. Two long-legged women strutted across the bar, hyper-aware of the eyes that followed them.
Their skin was glowing, and they wore short skirts and tops held together with string. Kunle whistled.
Eniiyi rolled her eyes and returned to her drink, choosing peace; but Kunle had caught her expression.
“What?” he began. “There’s nothing wrong with appreciating the female form.”
“I didn’t say there was.”
“This attitude,” he continued, pointing the neck of his beer bottle at her, “is precisely why you won’t find a husband.
You need to lighten up.” His words landed harder than they should.
How many times had her mother warned her of the seeming faithlessness of men?
And yet she didn’t want to be considered unmarriageable.
She wanted to remain single on her own terms.
“Kunle, I swear down, if you—” began Funsho.
“It’s all fun and games j??,” intercepted Tobias; even though of course it wasn’t, not entirely.
Kunle was a dick. He had always been a dick, he would always be a dick.
And he seemed to feel just as put off by her.
Unfortunately, he was blessed with wealthy parents, and if you could ignore his bulldog-sized head, he was not unpleasant to look at; so he would always have at least one chick hanging on his arm. The whole thing was tiresome.
Funsho sighed. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Yes, let’s. Here’s a fun fact: people often think of their mum and dad when it comes to their physical or mental characteristics; but our genetic traits could come from any of our ancestors.”
“You said the fact was fun…”
“You didn’t let me land. I am saying all that to say, if your daddy was wondering about the source of your elephant-sized head—maybe he worries your mum was unfaithful and you are not in fact his progeny—tell him not to worry; he can blame your imperfection on the curiosities of genetic mutation.”
“Fuuuuuuuuuck,” said Tobias.
Kunle finished off his beer and shrugged. “Was that little rant supposed to prove that you’re not going to die alone?”
But she had found a chink in his armour. His words had been said to his empty bottle and not to her face. She swallowed her laughter by draining her mojito.
They fell to talking about the presidency—the disappointment that was the president’s run thus far; the seemingly arbitrary decision to change the national anthem whilst his citizens faced economic crisis; the lack of hope in the political process.
Funsho quickly ordered her a second.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” She said it as a joke, but his eyes widened and he began to stutter.
“I…no…I wouldn’t…”
“Please,” cried a frustrated Tobias, “ask this girl out and let us have some peace.”
It was her turn to stammer. Funsho was her friend and she didn’t want to complicate an otherwise easy relationship. The mojito was brought to a quiet table.