𝓛𝓲𝓶𝓲𝓽𝓼

𝔸𝕓𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕚𝕤 ℂ𝕙𝕚𝕕𝕚
______________________________________

I scan the bar as I walk in; it is half empty. I observe, and Chidi is yet to be seen. I take out my phone from the silver purse hanging across my shoulder, tapping twice on the phone screen to reveal the time. 11:48 AM—I'm early. I approach an empty table after spotting it and pull a chair out from underneath it before taking a seat.

Unconsciously, I repeatedly tap my fingers on the polished black, wooden surface while pondering if he will show up or not. I open my contact list on my phone, search out his number, and just as I am about to dial it, a gentleman walks up to where I'm seated.

"Can I get you anything, ma’am?" The waiter in a black polo with the bar's name —Primy— inscribed on it asks politely.

I smiled briefly at the young man. "Em, I’m waiting for someone. Maybe a bottle of water will be fine for now, thanks."

"Ok, ma'am," he replies with a warm smile. He leaves, returning shortly with the water.

I detest the circumstance I'm in at the moment. having to wait for someone who has trouble keeping track of time He stated noon, but the clock says it's already 12:58 PM. Is it because I don't have a glamorous profession to keep me busy that he thinks less of me? The prospect of his possibly failing to show up causes me to sigh.

I briefly raise my head to the entrance of the bar, only to find Chidi standing there, looking as admirable as always. Well, Chidi isn't the most handsome of men, but he tries to compensate for that with his sense of fashion and charisma. At least, that was what got me attracted to him in the first place.

Searching for me in the bar was a fair, tall guy rocking his skin-cut head and his neatly outlined beard that runs from his ears to his chin and a little above his lips. I always pity him whenever I see him in a suit and tie because, unlike those jaw-dropping CEOs we watch in movies, Chidi can't seem to look like one of those, and his tie just ends up acting like a noose, trapping any little air left in his lungs. I know, wearing a suit is supposed to make them appear smart, but on Chidi, well, let me leave his description at that; it's not the best outfit you want to see him in, and today, he chose a nice, plain black suit, a white shirt, and a blue tie. Finally. I wave at him to signal him where I am, and then I watch him stroll towards me.

"Hey baby." He calls as soon as he is close enough, drawing out the other empty chair opposite me to sit in. "I hope you didn’t wait long." He inquires, but his facial expression shows his lack of interest in whatever my response will be.

"No." I lie, but who cares? Certainly not him.

I observe as his focus shifts to my green, below-the-knee dress with a floral motif. When his gaze lands on my bare lap, showcasing my moistened brown skin, I realize that I made a poor clothing choice. His gaze then moved to the dress' v-neckline where he searched for the flesh of my burst. I try to mentally calm myself down as I feel my rage growing.

I cleared my throat in an attempt to bring his eyes back to my face, but I failed. I may have successfully chased his eyes off my body, but I have failed to get his undivided attention. This was annoying; I glared at him while his eyes went to his side. I admit, I notice something is off about Chidi, and deep down in my gut, I know what is coming—a feeling I know too well. Déjà vu? Maybe.

The waiter who attended to me earlier returns, noticing my company, and asks politely, "Can I get you anything else?"

"No, I’m good, thanks." My eyes follows the waiter's gaze as it travels to Chidi's expressionless face.

"How about you, sir?" I hear him asking Chidi.

He waves his hand to him arrogantly, telling him that he doesn’t care for anything, and then sends off the waiter to his post.

I watch as Chidi struggles to get comfortable in his chair, clearing his throat and adjusting his blue tie. Sitting close, I can see the tiny red stripe on his tie. He takes out his handkerchief and wipes his face with it.

"Why is it so hot in here?" He complains, still avoiding looking at me.

Why would he ask me that? I question myself, marveling at his predicament. It's not like I’m the one who invented the suit and tie in Nigeria, knowing the kind of wonderful weather we’ve got, especially in Lagos.

"Why did you ask me to come?" I broke the awkwardness by managing to bring his attention back to me.

"Eh baby," he begins in his unapologetic Igbo accent, "I want to formally apologize for not taking your calls and replying to your texts."

I grinned a little as I felt the knot in my gut loosen.

"But,"

"But?" I echo. Feeling that pause in the releasing knot.

"Baby," he sighs.

I lean forward,

"About dinner at my parent's," he coughs, as if the words that are about to escape his lips have left a large lump at the back of his throat.

"What about it?" I asked, trying to keep my cool.

"I’m sorry, but it’s cancelled." He finally said it. That feeling when you know something is going to happen, yet you wish so hard for it not to happen, but it happens anyway. That is my feeling right now. I had expected this news right from the time Omoh and I had this conversation a day before. I have prepared myself for this. But why does it still hurt?

"Wh —why?" I mumble.

"Eno, I didn’t know how to tell you this, but I have to tell you anyway." Sitting straight up, he said, "I’m being transferred to Port Harcourt." He exhales.

"So?" I ask, confused.

"I don’t think I can cope with a long-distance relationship."

"Really," I blurt without realizing, "you know I can visit, right? I mean, we can make this work if we try." I try to convince his already-made-up mind.

"I know, but it still can’t work," he argues.

Oh, not again. I could feel sweat dripping down my legs and the room becoming too hot for me. "Or you don’t want it to work?" I can't help but feel my temper slipping gently out of control.

"Baby, you don’t have to get angry; ok, I told my parents about you; they truly want to see you, but, you know, I thought about it oo, I really did, and then I realized, I cannot be a father before actually becoming a father. If you get what I mean, He turned his head to the side, twining his lips as he spoke and, at the same time, watching my expression through his side eye.

That is it—the last straw that keeps breaking me to extinction. "You thought about it!" I repeat, almost calmly, in an attempt not to explode.

What is it with this world and labeling? Is it wrong for a single mom to find love? At the moment, the only thing feeling the wrath of my frustration is the bottle of water suffocating under my tight grip.

"Yes, you should understand now. Ok, look at all the circumstances surrounding our relationship. I want to settle down; I really do, but we can’t really go far with this, and I know you knew this wouldn’t lead to marriage. This is where the border line is drawn. I don’t deserve you, and I don’t think I can afford you."

Shit, I snigger, listening to his outrageous speech.

"What is going to happen when Bright’s father shows up? And look at our age difference—three years, baby. Not I, but you are older than me by three years; what do you think my parents would say? I can’t wait for that to happen." Seemingly irritated, he sighs and shakes his head, running his left fingers through his beard.

Dumbfounded, I saw this coming; I only subjected myself to believing in a lie. Just like my past relationships, this breakup isn’t any different. They all complained about the same thing.

"You just figured that out, now? That explains why you’ve been avoiding me. I get it now. So, what have we been doing?" I ask, trying to phantom the essence of our affair.

"When my friend introduced you to me, I thought it was not a bad idea to have a little distraction, so we had fun and—"

Is this oga serious now? "I was a distraction, uh?" How ridiculous

How on earth did I, for a second, think that Chidi would be any different? I’ve been here before, and he’s not worth a tiny drop of my tears. We learn either way, right? Either the easy way or the hard way, what matters is that we learn. This is me learning from all my fruitless relationships. But it's painful at the end, having to hear the same thing over and over.

"I have to go. So much to do at the office." He stands, adjusting his tie again. "I hope you don’t hate me." He says this, blinking a smile, and leaves.

Just like that? I’m so pissed and angry at myself for my stupidity. I gritted my teeth while watching him go through the exit.

I realize I haven’t even touched my water. I opened the lid of my sorry-looking bottle of water and gulped down the whole contents.

I can feel my eyes hurting, and all I can say to console my heart is, "It’s a phase; it will surely pass." Words of hope, I guess.

I walk to the cashier and pay for the bottle of water. "What a gentleman he is; he couldn’t even pay," I mutter irritably.

I hurry out of the bar, hitting a hard body belonging to whoever was about to step into the bar. And instead of apologizing, all that escapes my mouth is "Abeg, wakar well," without caring to see who it was I hit earlier.

PIDGIN                            ENGLISH

abeg, wakar well-    -    -    -    -    please watch where you are going

Oga -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -   Mister (man)

1770 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘