Improvised Plan #ProjectNigeria

30- Remember Me

Saheed:

I feel her absence even before I am barely awake. The pillow beside me smells of her, her coconut conditioner and whatever body cream she had applied the night before. The silence around me tells me that Ola is not in the room or the bathroom. Maybe she rose early for a quick breakfast, or to attend to her online customers?

Sitting up, I rub my eyes and rise from the bed, only to realize that I am wearing nothing at all. Slightly embarrassed, I pick my shorts from the floor and shove my feet into them.

Since when did you remember your home training on nudity? I ask myself with a slight shake of my head.

"Ola?" I call, making my way towards the sitting room.

There is no sign of her there. She isn't in the kitchen, either. Taped to the refrigerator is a sticky note that reads: Saheed, I went running in the neighborhood. Make yourself breakfast. Ola.

"Burning more calories after last night's activities," I muse.

Last night's activities. The memories have me grinning from ear to ear. Ola, pliant under my hands initially, only to surprise me by mounting me with a wicked laugh. Matching me stroke for stroke as I'd held on to her waist, my control lost, my lips uttering words that I cannot remember.

What if you had promised her one of your cars? Or your heart? Didn't I say you are cheap, Saheed?

Safe to say I am moving closer towards certain doom. It feels all too familiar, like with...with Queen. Except that with Queen, it had only been about the sex. That was all she ever saw me as, a warm body to soothe an itch, a mere distraction that came with expensive gifts she didn't even care about. And I waited like the fool I was, waited for her to realize that I was waiting.

The vulnerability I am experiencing feels like a new skin I am unable to fit into. Shaking my head, I move towards Ola's little kitchen. It doesn't take me long to boil water, find her beverages on one of the shelf compartments and make myself a cup of black coffee. Seated at her little table with its slender chairs, I lose track of time as I sip my beverage. My thoughts are formless, swirling around in my head and bouncing off the insides of my skull.

I let myself think of the work I have to do in the coming weeks. There are meetings, site visits, and ceremonies that Bello and Sons are sponsoring. Trust Baba to make plans that put our business in the spotlight and then delegate the task of showing up to me. I find myself thinking of taking Ola to some of these events, all dolled up on my arm and making hilarious commentary when things get boring. I think of us at night, alone after the outings, able to be ourselves while I slip into her arms and relax there till day break.

Whipped, Saheed, I muse. You've been whipped.

When I gulp down the last of my coffee, I realize that it won't do because I need actual food. In Ola's refrigerator, I find half a loaf of sliced bread and some butter, which I devour- but I leave a few slices for her. While I am chewing the last of my portion, Ola walks into the kitchen. I hadn't heard her come back into the apartment. Her forehead and arms are covered by a sheen of sweat and she is breathing hard. The front of her lilac sports vest is stained with sweat. Her hair is braided in two long pigtails behind her.

"Good morning," she greets cheerily.

"Why did you go out to burn more calories after all that exercise last night?" I tease.

She shakes her head and holds up a plastic bag I hadn't noticed her holding before. "If it's any consolation, I got akara for replenishment."

I am unable to stop the smile that spreads across my face. "Amazing. You won't believe I haven't had akara in years."

She raises her brows in mild surprise. "When I say you're bougie, you protest."