LET US FOUR DATE, BUT WHAT ABOUT THE EXTRA ONE?

The first person to insult Zina that evening was Tobi. The second was her boyfriend. The third was herself, although she would not realise it until much later. “Zina, abeg, shift your leg. You are occupying the space of two human beings.” Zina looked down at her legs, then at Tobi, who was standing in front of the sofa with a plate of jollof rice balanced in one hand and a piece of chicken in the other. “Is this your father's house?” she asked. “No. But your father's daughter is sitting like somebody who paid for the building.” “Then go and sit on the ceiling.” Tobi burst into laughter, nearly dropping his chicken. “Do you people hear her? Every small thing, this girl will insult somebody. One day, somebody will beat you, and you will still be explaining grammar.” “Anybody who tries it will explain their hospital bill.” “Jesus!” Tobi shouted, turning to the others. “Amara, come and collect your friend. She's becoming a national security threat.” Amara did not look up from her phone. “Keep her. Maybe she'll finally use that mouth to find a job that pays her properly.” “See this one,” Zina said. “You people gathered here to eat my food and insult me.” “Your food?” Naa Adom asked from the dining table. She had been arranging the disposable plates into a neat stack, an activity nobody had requested. “You bought two bottles of Coke. Tobi brought rice. I brought chicken. Amara brought drinks. What exactly did you contribute apart from your presence?” “My presence is a gift.” “Then please take it back,” Amara said. Everybody laughed. Everybody except Zina, who picked up a cushion and threw it at her. It missed Amara's head and landed on the floor. “Violence!” Tobi shouted. “Somebody call the police. This gathering has become dangerous.” “Call them,” Zina replied. “Tell them to arrest one useless man who has eaten three people's food and is still talking.” “Four pieces of chicken,” Naa corrected. Tobi turned to her slowly. “You counted?” “I have eyes.” “You need to use those eyes to find a husband.” Naa smiled sweetly. “I have a job. I have peace. I have a savings account. What exactly will the husband contribute?” “Blood pressure,” Amara answered. This time, even Naa laughed. The apartment filled with the kind of laughter that made neighbours knock on walls and made people forget, for a few minutes, the problems waiting outside the door. It was a Friday evening in Lagos, the sort of evening when traffic could turn a thirty-minute journey into two hours and everybody who had survived the week felt entitled to enjoy themselves. The apartment belonged to Amara's older sister, who had travelled to Abuja for a work conference and trusted Amara with the keys. The trust, Zina suspected, was misplaced. Amara had invited four people over, and by the end of the night, somebody would probably have to explain why a wineglass was missing and why the sitting room smelled like a restaurant. Still, it was a good place to gather. There was a functioning air conditioner, a television mounted on the wall, enough space for everybody to sit, and a balcony where they could pretend the city was quieter than it really was. For a while, that was enough. Tobi dropped into the armchair and stretched his legs. “Okay. Since all of us are here, I have an announcement.” “No,” Amara said. “You haven't heard it.” “I know your announcements.” “This one is serious.” “That is what you said before you told us you were going to marry a woman you met at a filling station.” “She had potential.” “She asked you for money to buy fuel.” “And I respected her hustle.” Zina laughed so hard that she had to put down her drink. Tobi pointed at her. “You see? This is why I like you. You understand the streets.” “Please, don't involve me in your foolishness.” “Too late. You're my witness.” Naa sat down opposite him. “Can we hear the announcement before this man starts another business?” Tobi cleared his throat, sat upright and adopted the expression of a man addressing shareholders. “I have come to the conclusion that relationships are a scam.” Amara slowly lowered her phone. “Ah. What happened?” “Nothing happened.” “Then why are you talking?” “Because I have been studying the situation.” “What situation?” “The situation of men and women in this country. Everybody wants love, but nobody wants responsibility. Everybody wants a partner, but nobody wants to be accountable. You will see somebody posting, 'My king, my king,' by Monday. By Wednesday, they are typing, 'Men are scum.'” “Maybe the king was a criminal,” Zina suggested. “Exactly! That is my point. How will you know the king is a criminal if you don't investigate before dating him?” Amara snorted. “You, that once dated a woman for three months without knowing her surname.” “Her surname was not relevant to the relationship.” “You called her by her i********: handle.” “It was a beautiful handle.” “Your name is Tobi, not Detective Conan. Sit down.” He ignored her. “My proposal is simple. We need a new system.” Naa folded her arms. “I'm already afraid.” “Four people. Four relationships. No unnecessary drama. We agree to be honest, respect boundaries and communicate. If one person has a problem, we talk about it. Nobody will be hiding things. Nobody will be pretending. Nobody will be doing rubbish.” Zina stared at him. “You want four people to date each other?” Tobi blinked. “Why would you say it like that?” “Because that's what you just described.” “No. I mean, each person should have their own relationship, but the group should have rules.” Amara burst out laughing. “Ah, Tobi. You have finally lost it.” “Laugh all you want. One day, somebody will write a book about my wisdom.” “Let the person use a fake name,” Naa advised. Zina reached for the bowl of rice. “So where does the fifth person enter this your system?” “What fifth person?” She pointed around the room. “Count us.” Tobi looked at Amara, then Naa, then Zina, then himself. Finally, he looked towards the kitchen, where the empty drinks bottles were stacked beside the sink. “Four.” “Count again,” Zina said. He counted on his fingers. “Me, you, Amara, Naa.” “And the extra one?” “Which extra one?” Zina smiled. “Exactly.” The joke was small. Nobody gave it much thought. Tobi made another ridiculous comment, Amara threw a serviette at him, and the conversation moved on. But the words remained somewhere in the room. The four and the extra one. It was the kind of joke that became funny because nobody stopped to ask why it had been made. By eight-thirty, the food had almost finished, the drinks were warm, and Tobi had somehow convinced everyone that he was the only person among them who understood relationships. He was explaining why people should never date somebody who used too many heart emojis when Amara's phone rang. She glanced at the screen and smiled. “Excuse me.” “Who is it?” Naa asked. “My person.” Tobi clutched his chest. “Your person? As in human being? Amara, we need to discuss this.” She stood up and walked towards the balcony. Zina watched her go. “See her face,” Tobi said. “This is how it starts. Somebody will just smile at their phone, and the rest of us will be eating garri at their wedding.” “Some of us are capable of having relationships without announcing them to the whole world,” Naa said. “Some of us are also capable of lying.” “Are you speaking from experience?” “I'm speaking from research.” “Your research is based on three failed relationships and one woman who blocked you because you borrowed her charger and never returned it.” “That charger was old.” “It was new.” “New to her.” Zina laughed, then reached for her phone when it vibrated against the sofa. A message from Daniel. Are you still there? She typed back. Yes. We're just hanging out. His reply came almost immediately. Who is there? She frowned slightly. My friends. The usual people. Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Kojo too? Zina looked towards the balcony, though Kojo was not there. He had been in Ghana for several months, and she had not seen him in person since his last visit to Lagos. He still called regularly, sometimes at odd hours, and he had a habit of asking questions that sounded casual until she thought about them later. No. He's not in Nigeria. Daniel replied with a thumbs-up. That was all. Zina stared at the screen for a moment. She did not know why the question bothered her. Daniel had asked who was present before. It was not unusual for a boyfriend to want to know where his girlfriend was, especially when they had made plans to see each other the following day. Still, something about the way he asked made her feel as if she had failed to provide the correct answer. She locked her phone and put it down. “What's wrong?” Naa asked. “Nothing.” Naa looked at her for another second. “You're doing that thing again.” “What thing?” “The thing where somebody asks you a question, you say nothing, and then you spend the next thirty minutes looking like your village electricity has been disconnected.” Zina laughed despite herself. “I'm fine.” “Okay.” Naa did not push. That was one thing Zina appreciated about her. Naa could be irritatingly opinionated, but she usually knew when to leave a person alone. Tobi, unfortunately, did not possess the same gift. “Is it Daniel?” he asked. Zina looked at him. “Why would it be Daniel?” “Because you looked at your phone like it just sent you a court summons.” “Can I not receive a message in peace?” “You can. But you won't. Not in this economy.” “Eat your food, Tobi.” “I have finished.” “Then go and wash the plates.” He looked offended. “Why is everybody attacking me tonight?” “Because you're available,” Naa said. Amara returned from the balcony, smiling at something on her phone. She slipped it into her bag and sat down. “What's happening?” “Tobi wants us to wash plates,” Zina said. “Good. He should start.” “Amara!” “What? You ate the rice.” “So did you!” “And I brought drinks.” “Half of which you drank yourself.” “Evidence?” Zina shook her head. For a few minutes, everything returned to normal. Then Amara looked at Zina. “How is Daniel?” There was no reason for the question to feel strange. Amara had asked about him a hundred times before. “He's fine.” “You're seeing him tomorrow, right?” “Yes.” Amara nodded. “Good.” Zina studied her face. “Why are you saying it like that?” “Like what?” “Like you're happy about something.” “Am I not allowed to be happy?” “Not when you look like that.” Amara's smile faded slightly. “Zina, must everything be a problem with you?” “I asked a simple question.” “And I gave you a simple answer.” The room became quiet enough for Tobi to notice. He looked between them, then slowly lifted his plate. “Ladies, please. I beg. Let us remember that this is a peaceful gathering. I don't want to be caught between two women. I have a future to protect.” Naa rolled her eyes. “Nobody is fighting you.” “Not yet.” Zina looked away first. It was a small disagreement, the kind friends had all the time. There was no shouting, no dramatic exit, no slammed door. But later, when she thought back to that evening, she would remember the way Amara had smiled before asking about Daniel. She would remember the message from Daniel asking whether Kojo was there. And she would remember how quickly everyone had pretended that nothing was wrong. By nine-fifteen, Tobi had moved from relationships to politics, then to football, then back to relationships because he claimed football was simply a metaphor for dating. Naa was arguing that nobody should be allowed to give relationship advice unless they had successfully maintained one for at least three years. “That's nonsense,” Tobi said. “A doctor doesn't need to be sick before treating a patient.” “A doctor studies medicine.” “And I study people.” “You study i********: comments.” “Which is where people reveal their true selves.” Amara laughed. “Actually, I agree with Naa. You cannot be giving people advice when your own life is upside down.” “Must a mechanic own a car?” “No, but he should know how to repair one.” “Exactly. And I know how to repair relationships.” Zina shook her head. “Then why are you single?” Tobi opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked at the ceiling. Finally, he said, “Because I am too intelligent for this generation.” The laughter that followed was so loud that Amara's neighbour knocked on the wall. “Sorry!” she shouted towards the ceiling. Tobi leaned towards Zina. “You see, this is why I need a woman like you. You understand my pain.” “God forbid.” “You didn't even think about it.” “I don't need to.” “Your loss.” “My peace.” He laughed and reached for his phone. For a moment, his expression changed. It was quick enough that Zina might have missed it if she had not been looking directly at him. The laughter left his face. He read something, locked the screen and slipped the phone into his pocket. Then he picked up the conversation as if nothing had happened. Zina noticed. She did not ask. Everybody in that room had something they preferred not to explain. She had learned that asking the wrong question at the wrong time could turn an ordinary evening into an interrogation. Besides, Tobi was always doing something strange. If she questioned every change in his expression, she would never have time to eat. “I'm going home soon,” Naa announced. “Already?” Amara asked. “I have things to do tomorrow.” “Like what?” “Live my life.” Tobi nodded solemnly. “An excellent plan. Please remember us when you become successful.” “I'll remember to block you.” “See wickedness.” Naa stood up and collected her bag. Before leaving, she hugged Amara, then Zina. “Call me when you get home,” she told Zina. “I will.” “And don't forget what I told you.” Zina sighed. “Which one?” “About not ignoring things just because you love somebody.” Tobi groaned. “Ah! Here we go again.” Naa pointed at him. “You too. Stop advising people to do things you cannot do yourself.” Then she left. The door clicked shut behind her. For a few seconds, the remaining three sat in silence. Then Tobi stood. “Okay, I am going too.” Amara stared at him. “Why?” “Because I have somewhere to be.” “Where?” “Somewhere.” “You have been sitting here for four hours.” “And I have enjoyed every minute. But a man must move.” Zina raised an eyebrow. “Is this somewhere connected to a woman?” Tobi placed a hand on his chest. “Why must every destination in my life be connected to a woman?” “Because you are Tobi.” He pointed at her. “One day, you will all miss me.” “We'll manage,” Amara said. He collected his things, made another joke about being underappreciated, and left. The apartment grew quieter. Amara began gathering the plates. Zina helped her carry them to the kitchen. “You don't have to do that,” Amara said. “I know.” “Then why are you doing it?” “Because I don't want your sister to come back and find evidence of a food festival.” Amara laughed. They washed in silence for a while, the tap running steadily as cars moved along the road outside. Then Amara spoke. “Zina.” “Hmm?” “Do you really think Daniel is the person for you?” Zina's hands paused beneath the water. There it was again. The question that always seemed to arrive when she was least prepared for it. She turned off the tap. “Why are you asking me this?” “Because I'm your friend.” “You've asked me this before.” “And you've never given me an answer that makes sense.” Zina dried her hands on a towel. “What answer do you want?” “The truth.” “I love him.” Amara looked at her. “That wasn't what I asked.” Zina felt irritation rise in her chest. “Then ask the question you want me to answer.” Amara leaned against the counter. “Do you feel safe with him? Can you talk to him without worrying about how he'll react? Can you make a decision without wondering whether he'll be angry?” Zina stared at her. The questions were too specific. Too familiar. She thought of Daniel's message asking whether Kojo was there. She thought of the way he sometimes went quiet when she mentioned certain friends. She thought of the arguments that ended with her apologising because she was tired of explaining herself. Then she pushed the thoughts away. “Every relationship has problems, Amara.” “That doesn't mean every problem is normal.” “You don't know everything about us.” “I know enough to worry.” “Maybe you just don't like him.” Amara's expression changed. For one brief moment, she looked as if Zina had touched a wound. Then she shrugged. “Maybe.” Zina waited. Amara did not explain. Instead, she picked up another plate and continued washing. Zina watched her for a moment before returning to the dishes. She wanted to ask what had happened between Amara and Daniel. She wanted to know why Amara's dislike seemed deeper than ordinary concern. But she did not ask. She was afraid of the answer. Or perhaps she was afraid that Amara would say something she already knew and had spent months trying not to believe. Zina left the apartment a little after ten. The night air was warm, and the road outside carried the familiar mixture of exhaust fumes, distant music and the sound of people negotiating with commercial drivers. She booked a ride and stood near the gate while she waited. Her phone vibrated. Daniel. Are you on your way? Yes. Waiting for my ride. Okay. She stared at the message. Then another one arrived. We need to talk tomorrow. Zina's stomach tightened. About what? The reply did not come immediately. She watched the little loading circle appear and disappear. Finally, her phone rang. Daniel. She answered. “Hello?” “Where are you?” “Outside Amara's place. I'm waiting for my ride.” “Are you alone?” “Yes.” “Okay.” She waited. He said nothing. “Daniel, you said we need to talk.” “Tomorrow.” “Can you tell me what it's about?” “Zina, must everything happen immediately?” She closed her eyes. “No. I'm asking because you said it like something is wrong.” “Nothing is wrong.” “Then why do we need to talk?” He exhaled sharply. “Goodnight, Zina.” The call ended. She lowered the phone. For several seconds, she stood perfectly still. A few months earlier, she would have called him back. She would have asked what she had done, whether he was angry, whether she needed to apologise for something she had not even understood. Tonight, she simply stared at the screen. Then she opened her messages and typed to Kojo. Are you awake? She deleted it. She typed again. Can I talk to you? She stared at the words before deleting them too. Kojo always answered. That was the problem. He answered when Daniel did not. He listened when she felt foolish for being hurt. He remembered things she had said weeks earlier and brought them up as if they mattered. Sometimes, he made her feel understood. Sometimes, he made her wonder whether he was listening because he cared about her or because he was waiting for the day she would need him more than she needed Daniel. Her ride arrived. She got into the car and gave the driver her destination. As Lagos moved past the window, her phone vibrated again. A message from Kojo. You were going to call me? Zina sat up. She had not sent him anything. She read the message twice. Then she replied. How did you know? Kojo's answer came after a short pause. I know you, Zina. She looked at the screen for a long time. Then she locked the phone and rested her head against the window. Outside, the city continued as if nothing important had happened. But somewhere in that ordinary Friday night, the first pieces of her life had begun moving into positions she could not yet see. And the people who loved her, the people who claimed to love her, and the people who believed they knew what was best for her were already making decisions. None of them had asked her what she wanted. Not really.