HE SHOULD HAVE LEFT

The Cost of a Wedding

At first, wedding planning seemed harmless. Just a quick call to a caterer here, a stop by a hall in Ikeja there—nothing overwhelming. But small things pile up fast, and Kel saw that happen in real time.

Amara had a vision. She wanted the kind of wedding that people still talked about years later. After organizing so many weddings for other couples, she knew exactly which details set one apart—and she wanted all of them for herself this time. Not just a DJ, but a live band. Not just someone with a decent camera, but a real photographer. Fabric for the aso-ebi that actually looked good in photos. And then there were the extras—custom party favors, a second outfit for her, a videographer who could somehow turn everything into a “cinematic” film. She said that word a lot; Kel still didn’t quite get what she meant.

“It doesn’t have to be everything at once,” Kel said one evening, eyeing the wedding budget Amara had made. The total at the bottom made his stomach twist.

“It’s our wedding, Kel. We only get to do this once.” She tried to sound casual, but there was something sharp underneath—like she was trying not to remind him that, with clients, she always got what she wanted. But he wasn’t a client.

“I know. I just don’t have this kind of money right now.” He pointed at the spreadsheet. “Not with the way the shop is.”

Amara’s face shifted—barely, but Kel caught it. Chidi had warned him about that look before, and Kel still tried to convince himself it meant nothing.

“We can figure it out,” Amara said. “My aunty can help with some of it. And I have savings, too.”

“I don’t want you paying for my part,” he said, softer now. “That’s not how I want this to start.”

“So what do you want, Kel?” Her voice cut sharper. “Because it sounds to me like we can’t afford the wedding we’ve spent all this time planning.”

Kel didn’t answer—just stared at the spreadsheet. Every little expense had added up to something enormous, and with it came that old, tight feeling in his chest. Same one he’d felt when the compressor at his shop died, same one he felt whenever his mom called lately.

“Let me talk to a few people,” he said finally. “I’ll figure something out.”

He had no real plan. Maybe he’d get a loan. Maybe he’d end up selling the last bit of his father’s land—just thinking about that made him sick. But the idea of Amara’s family thinking he couldn’t provide stung even more.

That week, Kel barely slept. He picked up extra work at the shop, staying late even when his body begged him to stop. Some days, he skipped meals and lied to Amara about it. When his mom called to ask how wedding planning was going, he told her everything was fine. The truth would’ve only given her more to worry about.

He got in the habit of writing everything down in one of his little notebooks—the same kind he used to track shop supplies, but now filled with new numbers: wedding hall deposit, aso-ebi, payment for the photographer. Every line took money he hadn’t made yet, a promise to a future he just hoped he’d reach.

Amara noticed the changes: He got slimmer, quiet, tired. She chalked it up to wedding stress. She didn’t dig too deep, because deep questions led to answers that might delay things. Part of her, a part she didn’t like to think about too much, wanted that wedding fast—she wanted the date set before anything else could get in the way.

She didn’t tell Kel about Richard’s text, either, the one she still hadn’t answered. She promised herself she’d deal with it later. There was always later—until suddenly there wasn’t.

One day, Amara’s mom called about the guest list, and Amara, without really thinking, added more of her mother’s cousins, family friends—people Kel had never agreed on—more seats, more meals, more costs. It didn’t feel like extra pressure on Kel; it just felt normal. Pretty much every wedding she’d ever planned had grown beyond its original size.

Kel found the updated list a few days later, open on her laptop. He counted the names twice, running through the math in his head, feeling that tightness again.

“The guest list grew,” he said when she stepped out of the shower.

“A little. My mom wanted a few people.” She spoke without looking at him. “Not a big deal, Kel. Just a few more plates of rice.”

“It’s not just rice, Amara. It’s the hall, the seating, the budget. The one we already agreed on.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but something in it was starting to unravel. “I need you to talk to me before you add things, not after.”

“You’re overreacting.” She tossed her towel aside. “It’s a wedding, Kel, not a business contract. Families add people. That’s just how it works.”

He almost argued, but her tone warned him off, so he dropped it—like he’d been dropping a lot of things lately, filing them all away rather than digging in.

That week, he slept even less. Took any side job he could, worked late, skipped meals—sometimes told Amara he’d eaten when he hadn’t. Another small lie, which seemed innocent enough, except they piled up just like the bills.

By the end of the week, Kel settled on a number. It wasn’t a good number, but it was the best he could manage. Femi, an old friend from his first garage job, agreed to lend him money—no interest, just pay it back over the next year. It wasn’t the whole amount, but with some help from Amara and what little savings Kel had left, it would keep things moving.

“Are you sure about this?” Femi asked, sliding an envelope of cash his way. “Weddings always cost more than you write down.”

“I know,” Kel said. “But what choice do I have?”

Kel didn’t give Amara the details of the loan. He just said, “I made it work,” and let her assume it was luck or old savings or something less embarrassing. He told himself it wasn’t really a lie—just a little secret, nothing serious. If someone else did it, he’d probably call it what it was.

When he told Amara the wedding could go ahead, she hugged him tight. “I knew you’d figure it out,” she said. And she meant it, in that simple way she believed in Kel—she loved that he always found a way, no matter the cost to himself.

Amara didn’t see just how much the wedding was taking out of him, because she wasn’t looking closely. Kel was barely eating, barely sleeping. Whenever she asked, he just said, “I’m fine.” It got to the point where “fine” was almost automatic, even though it wasn’t true—not even a little. He couldn’t imagine telling her differently.

He started ducking his mom’s calls, too. Not because he didn’t want to talk, but because every conversation turned into questions about wedding plans, which meant more harmless lies. The lies were starting to come easy, and he hated that. He’d picked that habit up from watching Amara, maybe more than he cared to admit.

Chidi saw through it all, as usual.

“You look like a man running on empty,” Chidi said one evening, watching Kel fumble a tire he should’ve lifted without thinking. His hands shook, a little tremor that hadn’t been there the month before.

“I’m fine,” Kel muttered, trotting out the usual answer.

Chidi raised an eyebrow, not mean about it. “You use that word like it’s a password to shut people up instead of an answer.”

Kel laughed—the first real one he’d had in days. “Maybe it is.”

“Eat,” Chidi said, passing him leftover food across the bench like he’d done a hundred times. “You can’t build a wedding or fix a car if you’re falling apart on the inside.”

Kel ate, every slow bite easing some of the tension out of his bones, just from having Chidi there. Chidi didn’t dig further that night, but he was keeping track—watching Kel wear himself out for a wedding that was supposed to be the best time of his life.

Late that night, after Chidi left, Kel sat alone in the shop with his notebook of expenses, adding up the numbers again and again, hoping for a miracle total. It never came. The wedding would push through, just barely. A loan he couldn’t admit to, savings he didn’t really have, a body he was driving way past empty.

He didn’t know that, miles away, Amara had her own private accounting sessions—not of money, but of old promises and guilt, of a message she kept meaning to answer, a chapter she kept meaning to close before walking down the aisle, but never quite did. Both of them carried their own burdens, convinced theirs was heavier, not realizing they could’ve made it lighter if they’d just dropped it all, honestly, together—instead of dragging it around alone, each in a different room, under the same roof.