Bleeding Perfection

Chapter One: Accounts 6:03pm The text from Femi said lol. Taiwo saw it at 6:03pm because NEPA had taken light for the third time that day and the WiFi died with it. The inverter in the passage gave one tired beep and went silent. Now the phone screen was the only light in the parlor, painting the white lace of her boubou the color of a hospital sheet. Two blue ticks sat under lol. He was supposed to be here two hours ago, but she was the only one who noticed, she was the only one who ever noticed this kind of thing, everyone else just went on with their things. He was late, and did not look like he was coming here tonight, yet he couldn't tell her ahead, or give a reason, or at least apologize, instead all she got was "Lol" at 3:14pm, to the picture she’d sent of herself that morning. The one Mum forced her to take. "Send it to your husband, let him see you’re praying for him this Easter. Men like to feel important". The dress was new, white with silver embroidery at the neck, the kind women who were called “wife material” wore to introduction ceremonies. The kind Femi’s mother, Mrs. Adeyemi, had looked at during their first family meeting and said, "It’s nice. Plain. Not too loud". She had sent the picture, and she didn't not get an acknowledgement, all she got was 'lol'. 'Lol' was not in the script. 'Lol' was not, " Oh you look beautiful babe", or "You look blessed, dear". It was not " I can't wait to see you after service". 'Lol' was what boys sent when they didn’t know what to say, or when they did and didn’t care, and Femi was anything but a boy. He knew what to say, it wasn't that he didn't, he just didn't care. She folded her palms tightly and bit her lips, an habit she had cultivated over the years whenever she felt threatened by anything. Taiwo didn’t move. She stood by the dining table , the mahogany one Dad bought when he made Deputy Director, thumb hovering over Femi’s contact. Her name for him was still 'My King' from when she was 24 and stupid, when they were both informed about their marriage. She was counting. She always counted. It was what she did instead of asking why. Instead of calling Kehinde and saying to ask, "Do you think he’s lying?" Instead of being the kind of daughter Mrs. Adeyemi already thought she was: needy. One. For 'lol' Two. For the read receipt. He’d seen it. He’d typed ' lol' instead of something thoughtful , instead of something that acknowledged her. Three. For "Are you coming for dinner? Mummy asked", sent at 10:04am. Still two grey ticks. It had been delivered, he just didn't read it. Four. For the fact that this marriage was arranged. That was the one she didn’t count out loud. Not even in her head, most days. But it was there. The number between the numbers. The unspoken words she tried so hard not to think about. The words she badly refused to think was the reason for Femi's behavior to her. Femi Adeyemi was not a love story. Femi Adeyemi was a business merger. Two years ago, her father and Chief Adeyemi, Femi’s father, had sat in the Island Club, eaten catfish pepper soup, and decided their children should marry. Dad had a land file Chief wanted approved. Chief had a daughter in London and a son who “needed to settle down with a good girl and not all these Lagos girls" Taiwo had a degree from UNILAG, a job at the Ministry, and a face that photographed well. Femi had a nice start up IT company that was doing really good and a mother who wanted a good girl with adequate home training. But the reason her father told her was because he and Chief had been friends for a while now, and they both felt the need to unite their families. It was Kehinde who told her the real reason, and added, "Plus, the Adeyemi's are really rich, and our father loves money. He took the opportunity and used you as the sacrificial lamb". But she didn't think about that, she never thought about the negatives. They’d been formally told about the engagement at a “prayer breakfast.” Femi, the boy she had known her entire life, the boy whom she went to school with, the boy who lived two houses away just sipped his tea calmly and stared at the phone the entire time. Her sister snorted and sipped her coffee, a ridiculous smile dancing on her face, while she sat at the table, biting her lips and pinching her wrist. Mrs. Adeyemi had looked at Taiwo’s hands, no rings, short nails, no acrylic and said, "At least she doesn’t look like these i********: girls. She's good enough, she is perfect . She would make the perfect Mrs. for Femi". Then she’d turned to her mother, who kept a smile so tight she had wondered if her face would burst open from the sheer force of the smile and said, "Your daughter is very.... manageable for my son", to which her mother had replied, "That's our Taiwo. She is a very good girl, wonderful and just perfect. They would make the most perfect couple", then she gave a very nervous laugh to which Femi's mother gave a fake laugh and took a bite of her toast. Manageable. Taiwo carried that word like a stone in her bra. 6:05pm. Kehinde walked in. She had taken a stroll right after lunch. She claimed she wanted fresh air, but she knew that was her excuse to smoke, and to avoid helping their mother and aunty with cooking dinner, but she didn't not say anything, not even when their mother pointed it out. She wasn’t in the 'MEN ARE TRASH' crop top, their mother had threatened to burn the first time she came home for their mandatory family dinner wearing it. She was in an old T-shirt from their secondary school, St. Louis. It said 'Class of ‘16' across the chest and was too small now, riding up to show a line of her stomach. Her jeans were brand new, and ripped slightly at the knees. Her hair was in a big puff, little beads in the puff, somehow in a way she didn't understand. She didn’t smell like the cigy she was sure she smoked. She smelled like the expensive perfume she always wore, and Taiwo wondered if she had sprayed herself after her smoke. “Good evening everyone”, Kehinde said. Not to anyone. To the air. To the jollof rice Taiwo had burned because she’d been staring at 'lol' instead of the pot. The jollof was in the blue cooler on the kitchen counter. The lid was on, but the smell had escaped. Burned. Bitter. The bottom would be black. The top would be orange and lying. Like arranged marriages. Mum didn’t look up from the small chops, she always called 'appetisers'. She was arranging them on the good tray, the one with the gold rim they only used for "important visitors", visitors like Femi's parents. Puff-puff, chin-chin, meat rolled in pastry, the kind Mrs. Adeyemi liked. “Kehinde, go and change. Is that how you’ll greet your in-law if he comes?” In-law. Not fiancé. Not husband. In-law. Because until the introduction was done, until the bride price was paid, Femi was still Chief Adeyemi’s son before he was Taiwo’s husband. She wanted to laugh at her mother's question to her sister bet she knew he would not come, but she was not Kehinde. It was Kehinde who scoffed in situations like this, instead, she smiled brightly and said, "Mummy, Femi won't be able to make it. He is very busy with work, but he sends his greetings and he said he will come and see you soon". She hated lying, but when she had to, she did, and she was perfect at it. Her life was perfect, she was the perfect daughter, and Femi's stupidity wasn't going to ruin that for her. They were perfect, she was p erfect, and maybe he was really busy.