Bleeding Perfection

THE TRUTH

Across the table, Kehinde was pushing rice around her plate with a fork. Not eating. Not looking at Taiwo. Not sorry, not knowing, not anything. Just there. A body in the same room. A soul that got to feel tired and show it. A soul that got to wear an old St. Louis T-shirt and not be assessed for "wife material". A soul that got to say "he’s not cheating" and not be asked, "why are you saying that? Do you have to say it out loud?"

Taiwo wanted to ask her.

"Have you seen him? Did Deola tell you anything else? Do you know why he sent lol? Do you think his mother told him not to marry me?"

But she didn't not ask, and she would never ask. She was perfect, everyone believes she is perfect. Her life was perfect and Femi was the icing on top, she would never try to give Kehinde or anyone a reason to think otherwise. She would do it herself, she would find out. She would put the pieces of this puzzle together by herself, without help from anyone.

7:42pm

Taiwo stood.

The parlor was still loud, her mother and Aunty Funmi arguing about the perfect color for aso ebi, Kehinde typing on her phone, the generator humming like it was tired of them. But the sound went thin in Taiwo’s ears, like someone had turned the volume down on the world.

She was done counting. She had counted from one to thirty one. Thirty-one was the last number. Thirty-one was lol. Thirty-one was "he’s not coming". Thirty-one was "manageable". Thirty-one was the receipt she didn’t have yet but could feel in her pocket already, burning.

She stood up and announced that she was going out. She didn't say to where, she just picked up her car keys.Perfect girls didn’t announce when they were leaving to commit treason against their arranged marriage.

“Where are you going to?” Mum called, not looking up from the small chops.

“ I will be back soon. I want to take a drive before I sleep, you know it helps me sleep better” Taiwo said and flashed a reassuring smile.

She was coming back. Not a lie. Back to something. Back to before "lol". Back to before "calm".

Kehinde didn’t look up from her phone. Didn’t say, "where?" Didn’t say, "be careful". Just kept typing on her phone.Kehinde always knew when she was lying. Kehinde just didn’t always call it.

Outside, the rain had softened to a drizzle. Lagos rain — it didn’t stop, it just negotiated. The air smelled like wet earth and generator smoke and the suya man who’d set up down the street because NEPA was off and people were hungry.

Taiwo got in the car. Locked the doors. Not because she was scared of Lagos. Because she was scared of herself.

7:49pm

The drive to Lekki Phase One took twenty-three minutes because the rain had turned Admiralty Road into a slow river. Okadas splashed past, their riders in blue plastic bags, shouting, "Aunty, well done o!" Taiwo didn’t honk. Didn’t swear. Didn’t play music. She just drove.

The spare key to Femi's place was in her cup holder. Femi’s key.

"For emergencies", he’d said. "You’re always so careful, Taiwo, but even you. Even you lock yourself out sometimes".

Even you.

Like she was an exception to being human. Like manageable meant doesn’t have emergencies.

A flash. Age eighteen .Second year uni. Femi had just come back from London. Computer Science, and was trying to transfer to UNILAG to finish up. Clean accent. Clean shirts. He’d come to their street to visit them. Kehinde had met him first at the estate gate. Taiwo remembered because she’d been inside, ironing Dad’s senator dress for church , the one with the embroidery Mum paid extra for so Mrs. Adeyemi wouldn’t say "local". She’d heard Kehinde laugh. Loud. The "look at me" laugh.

Taiwo had gone to the window. Femi was leaning on his Lexus, white, abroad, clean, talking to Kehinde. He’d looked up. Seen Taiwo in the window, in her old wrapper and house T-shirt, no makeup, hair in thread, face shiny with Vaseline. Kehinde looked back and waved.

"You remember Taiwo now", she heard her say.

"Yes, I do, the calm one", Femi replied.

Calm.

Mum liked that word. Mrs. Adeyemi liked that word. Chief Adeyemi liked that word. Dad liked that word.

Nobody asked if Taiwo liked it.

8:01pm

The estate gate glowed orange. Mr. Bello, the security man, was hunched under an umbrella that was broken, one spoke sticking up like a finger. Like Mrs. Adeyemi’s finger when she said at the introduction, "We are not saying your daughter is not good. We are saying she is... from a different background. But love covers, eh?"

Love.

This marriage was not love. This marriage was a land file. A PR application. A manageable solution.

“Good evening, ma. Oga no dey house,” Mr. Bello said. He called her "our wife" since last year, after the “small introduction” at Femi's father’s house. The one where Mrs. Adeyemi wore lace that cost more than Dad’s yearly salary and kept saying,

"We are simple people, we don’t like noise".

“I know,” Taiwo said. Smile on. The one for strangers. The one that said, "I belong here, my bride price is in negotiation, don’t ask questions".

“He said I should water the plants. The ones in the bedroom. He said they’re dying. You know how he is about his plants.”

Femi didn’t have plants. Femi killed cactus. Femi once said, "I don’t have time to care for things that don’t talk back"

. But Mr. Bello didn’t know that. Mr. Bello knew Oga_gave instructions and "our wife" followed them because of her home training.

Mr. Bello hesitated. Rain was running down his face, into his collar, into the fold of his neck.

“But oga no call me o. He no say anybody dey come.”

“He was in a hurry,” Taiwo said. “Traffic. Beach day. You know how he is. He said I should tell you he’ll sort you for the stress. For the rain.”

The word 'sort' did it. 'Sort' was a Lagos word. 'Sort' meant ₦5,000 later. 'Sort' meant, "don’t ask questions because questions don’t pay school fees".

Mr. Bello nodded. Femi had given her access before. For emergencies. For plant-watering. For being calm, for being trusted, for being the one who wouldn’t snoop because her father is a civil servant and they raise their daughters wel

l.

The gate opened. The metal groaned, like it knew.