Resurgence

10. Tug Of War

“It was a brutal picture, a tug of war between two equal but opposing impulses. It had the ring of truth, however.” – Deborah Harkness.

•••

“So, what would your orders be―Mr. and Mrs…”

An elderly, grey-haired man, who was dressed in a white apron with a resplendent, yet attractive emblem plastered in its center―beamed down at them. A portable dashboard was glued to his fingers. He oozed an aura of control and ease, and Lani knew without making enquiries that he was the founder and manager of the establishment. It was well into afternoon―a couple of minutes past noon, she guessed. She was here on Tari’s request to grab a quick, light lunch with him. After agreeing to his earlier proposal, she had gone further to iterate, that it’d be a concise and succinct meeting as she didn’t have the luxury of time to lavish. That was broadly the truth though, but wasn’t quite so far off the mark.

The interior of the outlet was decorated mostly in oak and vintage upholstery. Although the furniture was very much contemporary, and glass paneled with the radiant, almost conspicuous logo of the establishment scrawled on it. The same went for the artillery and utensils, and pretty much the walls. The table they currently occupied was one of several ones pitched by the large floor to ceiling window frame. It gave them an uncensored, explicit view of the busy life in progress outside their confinement of comfort.

“…Ibiyemi.” Tari returned the man’s exuberant smile, as she suppressed the urge to ram the peak of her pointed peep-toe, platform heels into his shins. She wondered why he refused to rectify the man’s misconception and indulged it further. It was probably all in an elaborate ploy to send her into a fit―which he enjoyed―but she wasn’t going to become a subject of his cunning game to amuse himself. “We just returned from our honeymoon in France actually, we had a blast. Don’t mind my wife’s obvious frown, she just wishes we could spend our entire lives in Paris and not have to return to the cutthroat life back here in Nigeria.”

“Oh, I see.” The man’s fascinated pair of eyes had shifted to her now. Oh great. She was still glowering at Tari, hoping that the heat of her gaze would morph into laser beams and wrench open his wretched, handsome face. “It is hard, I guess. To be in a very pleasant, developed area compared to ours here, ejected from life and being with the one person that means the world to you…”

Oh, please.

“…but the real thrill and challenge is keeping it magical while being in a non magical place, I guess.” The man finished. “It’s more work for you, but the end product is more fascinating. So, what would you like to have then?”

“I’d have a Bacon cheeseburger, two platters and one bottle of Coke.” Tari replied, as the man scribbled the orders into the pad in his hands, seemingly as though his order was a convoluted item on the menu that could be prone to forgetting. “She’d have the same thing as me.” Tari finished off and turned to face Lani, who’s squinted eyes was fixed on the manager. “Right, honey?” A jeering smile washed all over his face.

Her brows furrowed, and she bit down on her lower lip. It was taking every atom and molecule of resistance that she had in her to not voice her protest on his charade of lies, and now he was extending it by choosing for her? Rather than find it imposing, offensive or sexist, she shrugged nonchalantly in a way that implied that her taste was in accord with his. After the man walked away, she picked up the fork laid out before her on the table, right next to a white saucer and waved it in his face like she was going to jab it in.

“The next time you choose something for me or do any other thing that relates to me without seeking my opinion first―we’d be having your eyeballs for lunch.” She mustered her most daring glare and threatening voice and judging by his resulting reaction, it seemed that he didn’t get the message at all—as he was fighting his own battle of suppressing a grin. “You think it’s funny? Coming in here and acting like you’re my husband and taking orders for me? Even if you’re my husband, that’s just wrong. So because I’m married, I’m not entitled to my own opinion anymore?”