"But feelings can't be ignored, no matter how unjust or ungrateful they seem. "
--Anne Frank

Romola was dressed by  5PM and her carryall bag was ready thirty minutes later. She sat on the same chair Olumide had sat in last Friday and stared at the beautiful peacock patterned dress that he had gifted her. How had he known that it would suit her so well? She loved the feel of the silk against her skin.

“Romy baby, you’re all set, right?” Yetunde asked, emerging from her room with a black clutch purse strapped across her chest. “Look at you. See how all your hips are showing. I wished Olumide had given me that dress. It would look so much better on me.”

“Na so. Where is the flesh to hold the dress? Better hurry up so we’ll all get to Red Glasses before it gets full,” Romola replied.

Her mother would not be pleased but this was her way of relaxing and living the life she had always dreamed of and watched on the small TV set in her mother’s house. It was her way to relax after the tedious job.

Romola had braided her hair into long black box braids that tumbled halfway down her back.  She finally had the money to dress up as she liked. But she was not going to take any alcohol today. She needed be sober for her job.

“If you’re ready, what are we waiting for?” Romola asked.

She longed to move her body to the loud beats blasting from the booming speakers. It was not the same as dancing to the beats that Yetunde’s large sound system, sitted at a corner of the living room, emitted.

She loved the neon lights of the club and the freedom to move her body along with other people swaying to the loud beat of the song. It was never about the lyrics for her. It was always about the beat.

“We’re chilling for Olumide.”

Yetunde sat on the couch opposite her and stared her straight in the eye. Romola’s heart thundered at his name. She struggled to keep a smile off her face and only succeeded because Yetunde was staring at her with a straight face.

“He’s coming with us?” Romola asked.

She felt the urge to fly out of her seat and change her clothes to one of the ones her mother’s tailor sewed. For some reason, the very same reason that her heart still raced, she didn’t want Olumide to see her in the dress he’d gifted her.

“No, he’ll just drop us at the club. He’s heading that way,” Yetunde explained before pulling her smartphone from her bag. She plugged in her head phones and sighed. “He’d be here soon.”

“I’ll be right back.” Romola got to her feet and walked to her room. She stripped out of Olumide’s dress and wore a dark green shift dress that she’d collected from the tailor a week ago then she returned to the living room.

“Why the sudden change of apparel?” Yetunde asked, as she took her seat again.

“Why the sudden change of diction?”  Romola shot back.

“I want to impress Olumide with how well I can speak.” Yetunde mimicked Olumide’s accent.

“Okay oh, madam impresser,” Romola teased.

“But seriously, why are you changing your apparel?” Yetunde reverted to the normal Nigerian accent of the country’s elites. The same accent that Romola had taught herself to speak.

“I just remembered that my mom doesn’t know about the dresses and if I tell her I got it from a guy, well, you know how she can be." Romola said.

As far as Yetunde was concerned, Romola was a rich child from an over sheltered home but as far as her mother was concerned. Romola, did not own any of the clothes she used in school.

A good roommate lent them to her. Her mother was never to know about all the clothes she had, how expensive they were, or how she financed her shopping sprees. It was her secret and no one - not even her mother- could know about it.

“But you could tell her I gave them to you.” Yetunde offered. “Technically, I was the conduit between you and Olumide.”

“Have you forgotten how my mother is? She hates when I borrow things from people.”

Yetunde opened her mouth to speak but the blare of a horn from the car park stopped her.  Romola raised a brow as Yetunde raced to the balcony overlooking the car park, and then returned, squealing.

“Olumide is here!" Yetunde picked up the phone that she had dropped on the chair and raced for the door but Romola held her fast.

“Calm down. Do you want him to think that you’re a desperate little child?” Romola asked, even though she really wanted to see Olumide too so she could thank him for the dresses.
“No, but I just feel so excited.”

“Well, do you still want to be a small child to him, small rat? You need to show him that he’s taking a classy mature person out,” Romola advised.

“Yes.” Yetunde threw her hands around Romola’s neck, eliminating any space between their bodies with a hug.  “You’re the best, Romola. You’re like the sister I never had.”

Romola hugged Yetunde too. “And you’re the sister that I always wished I had.”

They separated as Yetunde awed at her words. Romola smiled too but behind that smile she was biting her tongue. It would be terribly wrong to envy a sister and it would be worse to want a sister’s boyfriend. So no matter how handsome Olumide was he was off limit. He belonged to a sister.