Follow Us on Google
The next morning, I woke up with a croaky voice, glitter on my eyebrows, and half a fried snail in my purse. Classic girls’ night. My phone was buzzing like someone owed it money. Zara had already sent 16 photos and one boomerang from the night before, tagging everyone and adding her signature caption: “Sinners in heels, saved by karaoke.” But it was the private message from Rick that stopped me mid-scroll. Rick: “You looked beautiful last night. I should’ve been there with you.” I stared at the screen. My heart did that annoying flip thing. Rick was sin personified, a little too polished, but thoughtful in that ‘calls-you-sis-but-still-buys-you-chocolate’ kind of way. But then there was Dennis…with his 5 o’clock shadow, unfiltered confidence, and voice like warm yam porridge on a rainy day. He was the type that whispered “you’re mine” like a promise and a threat and I hated that I kinda liked it. I sighed and tossed my phone onto the bed like it was responsible for my emotional confusion.
Meanwhile, the group chat was on fire.
Zara: “Kaycee, pls tell us if you laid hands on the kitchen staff to get those meat pies.”
Kaycee: “The Lord provides through favour and ₦5k tips. Don’t play with my anointing.”
Jasmine: “Ladies, I think I’m done with Christopher. Tolu was right. I need a man, not a male roommate with dreams.”
Bola: “Thank God. Now I can unmute your name in my prayer list.”
I laughed, but then Jasmine dropped the unexpected:
Jasmine: “BTW, what are you going to do about the two hunks after you?”
My breath hitched. Before I could respond, Bola beat me to it.
Bola: “Keep them both of course!” (general laughter)
Zara: “Oya spill, Tobs. Who’s it gonna be: Mr. Courtroom/Boardroom or Mr. Sinful Smirk?”
I stared at the ceiling like it held all the answers. Truth is, I didn’t know. Rick was chaos wrapped in cologne and contradiction. Dennis had stability, thoroughness and a future you could hang curtains in. But before I could pour my heart out in the chat, my phone rang. It was Dennis. “Hey you,” he said, voice like hot tea on a sore throat. “Hey,” I replied, trying to sound cool but failing miserably. “I passed by your karaoke spot last night. Saw you dancing on chairs. You always that fun when I’m not around?” I laughed. “We were celebrating life and fries. Mostly fries.” He chuckled. “You’re something else, Tobs. I like that about you.” Before I could respond with something witty or wise, he added, “Dinner tonight?” I hesitated. “I’ll let you know.” As soon as I hung up, Rick’s text came in. Rick: “Can I take you to dinner tomorrow? I miss our long talks.” It was like the universe had dropped me in the middle of a Nollywood love triangle and lost the script. Just then, Kaycee called. Not text. Called. Which meant it was serious. “Tobs,” she began, “pray before choosing. You’re not picking between rice and beans. You’re picking between peace and pepper soup.” “Wow. That’s deep. And oddly specific.” She chuckled. “Just saying. One of those men looks good in a suit. The other might look good in your life.” That one landed. Hard. I thanked her, hung up, and decided to do what any confused Lagos babe with a complicated love life does, I went to the spa. Fast-forward to later that evening. I was on my third glass of Chapman, legs crossed, staring at my phone like it held prophecies. Bola called. Her voice was breathless. “Babes! Are you at home?” “Yeah, why?” “I’m coming over. Bring your head tie.” “What? Why?” “There’s a vigil tonight. Kaycee’s church. I need divine Wi-Fi. Sugar Daddy just ghosted me after I told him I did not want a baby and did not want to marry him as a 2nd wife, then I asked for a nice villa I saw in Banana Island.” “Again?” I laughed “He said he needed ‘time to think.’ You know who says that? People trying to avoid school fees!” We both burst into laughter. Five minutes later, she was at my door, dramatic as ever, in ripped jeans and heels with a Bible in hand.“I came prepared,” she declared, “Spiritual warfare and fashion.”
Later that night, under Kaycee’s supervision and Zara’s off-key praise worship, we joined what could only be described as a chaotic vigil-slash-group therapy. Jasmine cried during prayers (we suspect she blocked Christopher), Kaycee had to hold hands with Zara who kept falling down dramatically, and Bola gave a testimony that low-key shaded her ex-sponsor. And me?
I stood in the back, eyes closed, not for the drama but for clarity. Because deep down, I wasn’t just choosing between two men. I was choosing between who I’d been and who I wanted to become.
To be continued…
