Can we try again?

Seven.

"Hey. You forgot your phone in my car."  It was Buchi, his hands outstretched, handing me my phone.

"Oh geez!" I exclaimed. "Uhm . . . thank you. I thought I put it in my bag. I hadn't even noticed it was missing." I took the phone from him.

"Well, it must have dropped out. I heard it ringing underneath the seat. So I turned around to bring it you."

"Who is it?" Oma asked, walking over to me.

I moved the door a little bit, so it was obscuring Buchi's view of inside and turned to face Oma. "It's Buchi, the guy I told you about, the one who took me to the place and brought me back." I whispered to her even though he was standing outside, a few feet from me and could hear me. Then I turned back to Buchi and Oma came to stand behind me. "Buchi this is my roomie and my bestie, Ijeoma. Oma, Buchi." I introduced them and they both smiled, and said hello to each other.

"Alright, I've got to run now, got a lot to do. Nice to meet you Oma," he said, the smile never leaving his face. There was something else. Was that a slight wink I spotted?

"Thanks once more Buchi," I said. "I really appreciate."

As soon as he left, I shut the door. "Nice guy, isn't he?" I turned to Oma. She was still grinning. I could almost see her blushing.

"What?" she said as soon as she noticed me staring at her with raised eyebrows. "Why are you looking at me like me like that?"

"Why are you smiling like that?" I fired back.

"Like how na?"

"Like that?" I pointed to her face.

She rolled her eyes and hissed. "I'm going to prepare some food. Feel free to join me in the kitchen or if you like you can sit there on your lazy ass." She walked away into the kitchen.

I grinned. My friend was back, along with her wittiness which I loved. I had to admit, I'd missed her all these while she's been giving me the cold shoulder. But now we were back to normal. I couldn't be more relieved. I followed her into the kitchen.

It took nearly two hours but the food was finally ready. The aroma in the house was inviting. Heavenly. All the credits to Oma.

We carried a tray of freshly made semolina and a bowl of Egusi soup, with assorted meat, stock fish, dried fish, that every bit of the soup you take, there was always something to munch on. It was very tasty. As usual, Oma never failed to deliver.

"You know what; I think you're pursuing the wrong dream. Forget business admin, you should become a caterer, a chef, a cook, whatever. You have a lot of talent that the world needs to see, or should I say taste." I told her as I licked the soup off my fingers.

"You try. And then what will I tell my father, that my stupid friend convinced me to quit school to cook. He will find you to your house." She took a swig of '5 Alive' drink from her cup. "I just enjoy cooking; I don't want to do as a profession."

I'd heard her say that many times before but I actually believed that she would make a fortune as a chef, seeming how good she was at it.

We finished eating and cleared out the dishes. I felt full, from Oma's tasty meal. Also, I felt worn-out. For the first time, I thought I was beginning to feel the weight of the baby in me, or maybe it was just the food I'd eaten; I couldn't tell. I'm sure it was too early for that though. I read online that at this stage, the foetus was only a mere clot of blood.

After having a shower, I went straight to the room and slumped on the bed. Even though it was only past 8, I was exhausted and ready to call it a night.

"What are you doing in bed so early?" Oma asked as she walked into the room.

"Girl, I'm tired. I want to sleep." I yawned loudly.

"What? My friend, get up," she said, tapping on my bum.

"Abeg you, leave me let me sleep na" I pleaded. But she carried on, and then she starts tugging my legs. I giggled, failing to keep a straight face. "Ij stop it. What's wrong with you?"

"You can't be sleeping now, it's too early. You know I won't let you do that. Get up." she was still holding my legs, trying to make me fall to the ground.

"Let go of my legs," I said kicking. "Okay. Okay, stop. I'm not sleeping anymore."

So I sat up and listened to her talk about the events that took place during lectures and the call from her siblings. In between the stories I yawned and nodded slowly, partially concentrating on what she was saying; the power of sleep, surmounting my urge to pay attention.

Then she moved onto telling me about the new series she was watching on Netflix and that was all it took. That was all I needed. It sounded like lullaby to my ears and soon, my head was drooping and I was drifting away into oblivion. I tried to keep my eyes open, but it was hard. I felt Oma's hand give me a shove, and heard her mutter something, but I was already gone.