Simi my love

Chapter 10: The Proposal

The proposal happened two weeks later, and it was exactly as dramatic as Damilola had

promised.

He'd arranged—in secret, because apparently he was good at secret-keeping—for them to

have dinner at the same restaurant where they'd had their first official date. The staff was

in on it. Mama Kemi was in on it. Even his mother was in on it, which meant the entire

compound already knew.

Simi, however, was completely blindsided.

She thought they were going out for a casual dinner. She'd worn her nice black dress but

nothing too fancy. They arrived at the restaurant, and she noticed their old table was

decorated with flowers and candles, but she still didn't put it together.

They ordered. They ate. The server brought wine. And then, as dessert arrived, Damilola

stood up.

Everyone in the restaurant suddenly stopped talking.

"Simi," he said, and his voice shook in a way she'd never heard before. "We've known

each other for less than a year. To most people, that would seem fast. But I spent five

years looking for you before I even knew you existed. And then you showed up at my

gates with a pink suitcase and changed my entire life."

Simi felt tears pricking her eyes.

"I love you. I love your strength, your humor, your realness. I love that you challenge me

and make me better. I love that you came from nothing and you're still standing here like

you belong everywhere." He pulled out a box, and inside was a ring—elegant, simple, with

a diamond that caught the light and threw it across the restaurant.

"Marry me," he said. "Please."

Simi was full-on crying now. She was making ugly crying sounds in a restaurant full of

strangers.

"Yes," she sobbed. "Yes, yes, yes."

He slid the ring on her finger, and the entire restaurant applauded.

By the next morning, it was all over social media. Lagos being Lagos, someone at the

restaurant had filmed it, and now #SimiMyLove was trending on Twitter.

Her mother called her at 6 AM.

"Why am I finding out about my daughter's engagement on the internet? Why didn't you

call me first?"

"Mom, the sun hasn't risen."

"Don't matter. You should have called your mother first! What kind of daughter hides such

important news?" But her mother was crying too, happy tears, the kind that come when

your child has finally become an adult with a person of their own.

Work was chaos. Everyone was congratulating them, which was sweet but also made

them self-conscious about keeping things professional.

Damilola pulled her aside on day two.

"We should probably start thinking about the wedding," he said.

"When were you thinking?"

"Whenever you want. I'm ready whenever you are."

Simi had always imagined her wedding would be stressful and complicated. But planning it

with Damilola was surprisingly easy. They agreed on basics immediately: garden wedding

in the compound, small guest list, nothing ostentatious.

The only complication came from his mother.

Chief Mrs. Adeyemi had opinions about everything. The flowers (she wanted orchids; Simi

wanted roses). The colors (she wanted gold; Simi wanted silver). The time (she wanted

morning; Simi wanted evening).

"This is your wedding," Damilola kept saying whenever his mother bulldozed another of

Simi's choices. "Not hers."

But Simi found herself giving in on small things, because at the end of the day, she was

marrying Damilola's family too, and if Chief Mrs. Adeyemi wanted orchids and gold and a

morning ceremony, well, it was only one day.

The real conflict came when his mother suggested they should have multiple ceremonies.

"Just a wedding and a reception," his mother said casually at dinner one night, as if she

wasn't suggesting they double the workload.

"Chief, we discussed this. Simi wanted something simple," Damilola said.

"Simple is boring. We should have the traditional introduction first. The wedding. Then the

reception. Then perhaps a dinner for close family. The girl deserves to be celebrated

properly."

"The girl is sitting right here," Simi said, "and she would like to not spend her entire

wedding day in different locations in Lagos traffic."

Chief Mrs. Adeyemi looked at her, and for a moment Simi thought she'd gone too far. Then

her future mother-in-law smiled.

"Good. You know how to stand up for yourself. That's what this family needs. Someone

who won't be pushed around." She turned to Damilola. "One ceremony then. But it will be

beautiful."

The wedding was scheduled for three months later—a Saturday in April. It gave them time

to plan, to invite people, and for Simi's family to arrange their travel from Ibadan.

As the date got closer, Simi found herself getting nervous in a new way. Not about

marrying Damilola—that part was certain. But about introducing her mother and aunts to

his family, about the inevitable comparison, about whether they would be judged for not

being as sophisticated or well-connected.

"My family isn't going to judge your family," Damilola said, reading her mind as he often

did.

"Your sister literally asked me how much I made on our second meeting."

"My sister is rude and I love her anyway. But my mother is the matriarch, and she's

already decided you're the best thing that ever happened to me. Everyone else will follow

her lead."

Simi wasn't sure she believed him, but she was too tired to worry about it. She was

working full-time while planning a wedding and dealing with pre-wedding jitters and trying

to keep her head above water.

Three weeks before the wedding, she fainted at work.

She came to with Damilola's face above her, looking terrified.

"Hospital," he was saying. "We're going to the hospital."

The doctor's diagnosis was simple: stress, lack of sleep, not enough water, and also—her

eyes sparkled as she said this—pregnancy.

Simi went numb.

"What?" Damilola was staring at the doctor like she'd spoken in an alien language.

"About three weeks along, from what I can tell. You two should start prenatal care

immediately, but for now, rest. A lot of rest. No stress."

They walked out of the hospital in a daze.

"We're having a baby," Damilola said in the car.

"We're having a baby," Simi confirmed.

"Before we're married."

"Yes."

"Okay." He started laughing. "Okay, this is fine. This is actually perfect. My mother will get

her grandchild before she dies."

"Your mother is sixty-two!"

"Point being, this is not the end of the world. This is actually kind of beautiful. We're getting

married, and we're having a baby." He took Simi's hand. "Are you okay? Are you happy?"

Simi considered the question. A month ago, she'd been unemployed with ■50,000 in her

account. Now she was engaged to a man she loved, living in his house, and pregnant with

their first child.

"I'm terrified," she admitted. "But also very happy."

"Good. Because we're going to tell my mother tonight, and she's going to have the biggest

party anyone has ever seen."

He was right. Chief Mrs. Adeyemi threw a dinner party announcing the pregnancy, and by

the next morning, all of Lagos knew that Simi was pregnant before the wedding.

"This is actually traditional," Damilola's mother said. "Many Yoruba couples have children

before marriage. It's not as important as people think."

But Kamila pulled Simi aside at the party.

"People are going to talk," she said.

"I know."

"People are going to say you trapped him."

"I know that too." Simi met her eyes. "But here's what I know more than anything: he

wanted this. He wants me, he wants the baby, he wants the wedding. Nobody trapped

anybody. Sometimes life just works out differently than you planned."

Kamila studied her for a long moment. Then she surprised Simi by pulling her into a hug.

"Welcome to the family," she said. "Officially."

Two weeks before the wedding, Simi's mother arrived from Ibadan. She took one look at

the compound, then at Simi in Damilola's arms, and started crying.

"My baby," she said, pulling Simi into an embrace. "My baby girl is getting married. And

she's pregnant. And she's happy."

"Very happy," Simi confirmed.

"Good. Because if that boy ever hurts you, I will come and deal with him myself. Don't test

me."

Damilola laughed from the doorway. "Hello, Mrs. Okafor. I'm honored to meet you. And I

promise not to test you."

The wedding was perfect in the way that things are when they're planned with love instead

of stress. They had it in the compound gardens, under an arch of white flowers and green

vines. Simi wore a simple white dress that didn't yet show her pregnancy. Damilola wore a

white agbada with gold embroidery.

When they exchanged vows, Simi broke down in tears again. Damilola wiped them away

with his thumbs and smiled at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," she whispered back.

When the priest pronounced them husband and wife, the compound erupted. Mama Kemi

was sobbing happy tears. Damilola's father stood to applaud. Chief Mrs. Adeyemi was

fanning herself with a program, overcome.

And then Damilola kissed her, and it was so complete, so perfect, that Simi forgot to be

nervous about anything.

She'd found her place. She'd found her person. She'd found her home.

All in the compound where the landlord had sworn never to love, until he found her .