Eniola raised her head from her laptop the moment she noticed Tumise’s swift movement in and out of the sitting room. Wondering what was going on, she put the device aside and waited patiently for his comeback.
“Architect Tumise Alakija, what are you up to?” she probed officiously, as soon as he returned.
“My dear snoopy wife,” Tumise said, flinging his arm around her shoulder. “The last time I checked, your attention was fixated on your laptop as though it was your life support. You know what? If I hadn’t gone to a tertiary institution, I would have concluded that writing a project was a big deal.”
“You know I’m writing an MSC project.”
“You speak like I didn’t write a project for my MBA,” Tumise laughed. “Dear, I am writing about a very sensible topic and—”
“Tell that to the birds,” he said, standing up. “Who sent you on that wild goose chase? You already have a good university degree in Mass Communications and a thriving fashion business. What do you want with an MSC in Psychology? Hashtag human trafficking! Hashtag #EniolAlakija! Hashtag #MargaretIkwue! That’s all I get to see on your Instagram page.”
“I’m proud to flaunt what I do,” Eniola sighed as she resumed work on her laptop. On noticing her husband’s indifference, she stopped. “Tee love,” she said as she moved closer to him. “You’re an introvert, no doubt about that, but my gut feeling tells me you’re shielding a vital part of your life from me. For instance, I don’t even know who your best friend is.”
“Is that all?” he asked, holding her arms. “To clear your doubts, you are my best friend.”
Eniola watched in delight as he carried her like a baby to the bedroom, swirling her around. Then, he lowered her gently to the bed.
“I’m sorry Eni love for being so busy with work that I’ve forgotten how we both started. Just yesterday, you were going to tell me about your day out at the music album launch, but I was too preoccupied to give you an audience.”
“So, are you now ready to hear the gist?” Eniola asked as she sat up on the bed.
“Sure girl. I’m all ears.”
“The musical launch was something else. My dear, you should have listened to Margaret Ikwue’s girl as she sang. Her voice was angelic. I would have bought the CD, but the copies were insufficient. Merely watching her brought back memories of Bolu—”
“There you go again, dear,” Tumise flared up. “Bolu is gone, and there’s nothing we can do about that. It was even a relief that she died because I wasn’t ready to father any child back then. Now that fate brought us back together and we are now married, who says we can’t have another child? Doctor Kasali confirmed that we’re both medically fit. Keep your mind at rest. There’s no cause for alarm.”
“I believe Doctor Kasali’s verdict. I just couldn’t resist thinking about Bolu. She too would have been the same age as Margaret’s daughter if she hadn’t…”
“Died.” Tumise completed the phrase, “Eni, love, Que sera, sera. Whatever will be will be. If talking about Missus Margaret Ikwue’s daughter will make you sad, then I think you should put an end to this gist on the music launch.”
“Okay dear,” Eniola said with resignation. “Now let’s talk about you. Is there anything else you want your dear wife to know about?” Eniola gazed at her husband.
“Yes, dear. My love for you is deeper than the oceans,” he said as she grabbed her hands.
She pushed him aside. “Scammer!” she teased as she threw a pillow at him.
Tumise reciprocated and the trend continued until an ear-splitting banging at the door brought an end to their pillow fight.
“Who could that be at this time of night?” she whispered.
“Ssh!” Tumise whispered, glancing at the wall clock. “It’s strange the person couldn’t even call first.”
As the banging persisted, Eniola watched her husband swiftly pulled out bundles of foreign currency notes from his briefcase and hide them under the rug.
“Dollars?” she whispered, chuckling.
“Ssh! Please, don’t move an inch,” he said as he went to the sitting room.
“Who is that?” Tumise asked authoritatively.
“It’s your neighbour, Felicia,” a distressed voice resonated. “I’m Mrs Alao’s daughter.”
At the sound of Felicia’s voice, Eniola immediately joined her husband in the sitting room.
“Felicia, is there anyone else with you?” Eniola interposed.
“No, ma.”
The couple stared at each other and eventually unlocked the door.
The moment the teenage girl gained entrance to their apartment she began weeping profusely.
“What’s the matter?” the couple asked simultaneously.
“My mother says I should leave her house.”
“Why?”
“The same old story she keeps telling everyone that I’m not bringing money like her friends’ daughters,” she said and broke down into tears again.
“Missus Alao has taken this matter too far,” Eniola said. “Dear, please let us go and talk sense into that woman.”
“Baby, you go instead,” Tumise insisted.
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