With Love, Dieko

Three

I woke up and blinked at the screen—still on call with Cameron.

He looked so pretty. Even in his sleep. God, I missed him. I wish we were still together.

With a sigh, I ended the call and checked the time. 5:30 a.m.

Woah.

I'm usually a heavy sleeper. No idea why I’m awake this early. Maybe I still haven’t adjusted to the time difference.

Also, I was really thirsty.

Careful not to wake my sisters, I slipped out of bed and tiptoed toward the corridor between our room and my parents'.

That’s when I heard it.

"Finally, you're awake. The girls are asleep now. Come on, I missed you."

"I don't want is to disturb them. The house is pretty quiet. Let's calm down, BB"

…Excuse me?

Ew. I'm traumatized.

Did I actually just hear my parents about to do the deed?

At 5:30 in the freaking morning?

I spun around so fast I almost twisted my ankle.

Nope. Not today. Not ever.

My thirst vanished instantly. So did any trace of sleepiness.

I tiptoed back into the room like my life depended on it, gently shut the door, and climbed into bed like I’d just seen a ghost.

“I can’t do this,” I whispered to myself, burying my face in my pillow.

Tola stirred. “Dieko?” she mumbled.

“Shhh,” I hissed. “Go back to sleep.”

“What happened?” she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep, unless you want to be permanently scarred like me.”

She grunted and turned over.

I lay there, wide awake, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons. Who told Nigerian parents they could still be in love? This was not the kind of homecoming energy I needed.

Eventually, I dozed off again, only to be woken by the sound of my mom’s voice calling us for devotion.

At 6:00 a.m.

Jet lag didn’t matter. Devotion was law. No one questioned it unless they wanted to be spiritually flogged.

Tola groaned. “Why is she like this?”

“Because she wants to make heaven,” I muttered, dragging myself up.

We shuffled out of bed like zombies and joined the rest of the family in the living room. My dad was already there, Bible in hand, looking like he hadn’t tried to seduce his wife forty-five minutes ago.

Trauma. Real, fresh trauma.

He looked up and smiled. “Good morning, girls.”

I gave a tight smile in return and sat far away from both of them. Social distancing. For my soul.

Mom cleared her throat and started singing.

“I have decided to follow Jesus…”

Bolu sang like she was auditioning for The Voice Nigeria, eyes closed, hands lifted. Meanwhile, Tola and I barely moved our lips. We were just trying to survive.

After the fourth song, a prayer, and a 15-minute mini-sermon from Dad about “discipline and returning home,” devotion finally ended.

“Dieko,” Dad called as I stood to leave.

“Sir?” I turned, trying to keep my tone respectful.

“We’ll talk later. I want to hear about your time with Alice.”

“Okay sir,” I said, forcing a smile. What I wanted to say was: Can we not? Please?

Back upstairs, I grabbed my phone and flopped onto the bed.

Messages.

From Alice, obviously.

From Cameron.

From a random group chat I forgot to mute.

I opened Alice’s first. She had sent a photo of my empty room and a message that said:

“Missing you already. Hope the food didn’t finish before you got there 😭.”

I smiled.

Then I opened Cameron’s message.

Cameron 🐻: “Morning. Can’t believe we slept on call. Again. I miss your face.”

I smiled instantly, butterflies filled my belly.

Ugh. Why did he still have this effect on me?

I didn’t reply immediately. I couldn’t. I wanted to savour the moment and also because my heart was playing jump rope in my chest.

“Why do I like this boy?” I whispered, scrolling back to the photo I once took of him half-asleep. He looked peaceful. Annoyingly peaceful.

Just then, Bolu burst into the room, dramatically as always. “Tife’s mum is here.”

I sat up. “What?”

“She came to see Mommy. And she brought Tife.”

“Why?”

“No idea. But I think something’s about to go down.”

I exchanged a look with Tola.

What now?! I just got home, I'm not ready for the drama.

“Let’s go.”

We tiptoed to the top of the stairs and leaned over the railing just enough to hear the conversation.

Mummy Tife was crying. Like, actual crying. Not the fake-sniffing-and-dabbing-eyes kind—ugly crying. And my mom? She was patting her back like she had no idea what to do with all that emotion.

Tife sat stiffly on the couch, glaring at the floor like it had personally offended her.

“She’s not going to live with me anymore,” her mother was saying. “I can’t handle the disrespect. All she does is talk back and stay out late. She even started living with a man! Sarah, A man! At her age. I arrested them both, but I couldn't let my child stay there for more than a month, why is she so adamant on behaving like a bastard?.”

I almost gasped.

Live where?

Don’t say it.

“I was hoping… maybe she could stay here for a while,” her mom continued, sniffing.

Oh, HELL no.

I turned to Tola and mouthed, No. No. No.

Tola looked equally horrified. Bolu was already five steps ahead, whispering, “We’re doomed.”

Mom gave one of those long, dramatic sighs that always meant she was going to say yes.

And then she did.

“She can stay here for a bit. Maybe a change of environment will help.”

Tife looked up, shocked. I wanted to scream. She made eye contact with me for a brief second, and I swear I saw the smirk forming.

I ran back into the room.

“God,” I said, flopping on the bed. “Why do you hate me?”